Page 40 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Rest,” Franny said.

Wincing, Genevieve dropped her fists and straightened.

Franny removed the mitts. “There will be a million distractions in the ring, and allowing any of them to steal your focus could be your demise, which in pugilism can be dangerous. Deadly even.”

“Sorry,” Lord Davenport said as he came around in front of Genevieve.

“I am as well,” Lord Griffendale said.

“No need to be sorry,” Franny said. “’Tis good to train with distractions. If every training session goes this well, Gen will be ready for her exhibition.”

“Wonderful,” the duke said. “Gen, I am sorry that I allowed my hubris to show its ugly face last night. I behaved rather poorly. Roseanna is excited to have someone worthy to train with, and I am looking forward to hosting the event.”

She would ask Franny what event he was referencing later. For now, she steepled her fingers beneath her chin to communicate her appreciation.

“We were just talking about your fighting name,” Griffendale said.

How exciting!

“Davenport wants to call you The Butterfly.” The duke snorted.

How lovely that Jonathan saw her as a butterfly.

“But whoever heard of a threatening butterfly?” the duke said.

True.

“Roseanna is Thorny Rose,” Lord Davenport said. “How threatening is a rose?”

The duke rolled his eyes. “Roses look harmless, but pluck one from the vine without caution, and you will surely encounter a thorn. What is a butterfly going to do? Land on your nose and flutter its wings?” He wiggled his fingers in front of his face. “They don’t even bite, for Christ’s sake. I think Gen should be The Ghost. The Ghost silently appears out of nowhere, glides into your thoughts, and then haunts your dreams.”

Lord Davenport scowled.

“I favor it,” Franny said. “Gen, what do you think of The Ghost?”

Ghosts were ruthless and terrifying. They did not cower from their enemy. Besides, she was as pale and gaunt as a ghost. Smiling, she nodded.

“Well, damn.” Lord Davenport frowned.

The duke formed a speaking trumpet with his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, projecting his voice. “You are about to witness the finest in ladies’ pugilism. The Duke and the Viscount present Thorny Rose versus The Ghost.”

*

It seemed theladies were not averse to the tangy scent of sweat because they simply toweled themselves off and entered the upstairs parlor. They chatted as they filled their dainty china plates with iced cakes and biscuits and chose their libations. Mrs. Jane Brown, a pretty blond woman close to Genevieve’s age, stood behind a polished rosewood bar, serving the women their refreshments. Genevieve was much too nervous to eat. However, she was thirsty, so she accepted a glass of refreshing-looking sherry.

Her body wrung out in the best sort of way, Genevieve carried her glass to a chair in the farthest corner of the room. She sat and studied her surroundings.

The elegant parlor was upholstered in various shades of purple. Velvet draperies hung to the floor. Pretty landscape paintings adorned the walls, and a lovely old clock sat on the marble fireplace mantel. The scandalous ladies of The Silk Knuckles Saloon had created a feminine oasis in the masculine desert that was London.

Genevieve paid close attention to the conversations whirling around her as she tried to learn who each of the ladies was. Lady Helena Siddons, the duke’s aunt, was a vivacious redhead in her middling years who commanded the room. Lady Hillcaster andLady Whitehill were older women who arrived after the ladies’ exercise session. Bridget was all giggles as she waved her arms about while telling a story to a couple of other debutantes, whose names Genevieve hadn’t yet learned.

Unfortunately, Celeste Milton glided straight toward Genevieve. “May I join you?” she asked.

Unable to meet the lady’s gaze, Genevieve held out her hand indicating the seat beside her was free.

Lady Milton balanced her food and drink and gracefully sat. “I am pleased to meet you. I am Celeste Milton.”

Suddenly, the room felt too small and unbearably hot. Genevieve struggled to breathe, and she feared she would pass out. This was a terribly stupid idea. Genevieve had no business being here, pretending to be normal, when she was anything but. Normal people could talk without overheating and becoming dizzy in crowds, things that eluded her.