Page 47 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“I hate how the alarm on this thing tinkles. Damnable, annoying sound. And I dare say, I don’t think humans are supposed to be up at this God forsaken hour.” Yawning, he snapped the watch closed and stood. “I was afraid you’d overslept after you coerced me into this.” His lip quirked up on one side, letting her know that he was teasing.

Even tired and “coerced,” the man kept his good humor.

She did a double take because he was dressed in old-fashioned breeches, like the pair he’d loaned her. The sleeves of his untucked shirt were rolled, and a blue kerchief was wrapped around his neck. Instead of his Hessians, he wore flat leather shoes. Of course, she shouldn’t have been surprised. He wasdressed for ease of movement, not an evening at the theatre or a formal dinner.

“You look like a woman,” he declared, his nose wrinkled.

You look like biscuits at breakfast.And, oh, how she adored sweets in the morning.

He unwrapped the kerchief from his neck and handed it to her. “Here. Wrap this around your head. I was going to use it to soak up my sweat, but you need it more than I do.”

She gratefully accepted it. Inhaling his intoxicating scent that clung to the fabric, she faced the mirror, folded it in half, and tied it in place. Since she’d pinned her hair in a tight chignon, all she had to do was tuck a few renegade wisps beneath the covering. Facing him, she held out her hands, palms up, presenting herself.

He frowned. “You still look like a girl.”

Seeing as how she hated for him to see her as anything but feminine, she couldn’t help but smile. But unfortunately, she couldn’t run across the city looking like a girl who dressed like a man.

“Wait here,” he said.

His stockings clung to his well-formed calves as he climbed the stairs. If only he’d tucked in his shirt so she could see if his buttocks were also perfectly shaped. Surely, they were since his back, chest, biceps, and of course, his calves were chiseled.

Her body heated, and she swallowed a mouthful of saliva. Hopefully, exerting herself during the run fixed her out-of-control libido. Pushing aside her naughty thoughts about separating Jonathan Davenport from his clothing, she hopped back and forth from one foot to the other. She continued preparing her body for physical exertion until the stairs creaked, alerting her to his return.

While he’d been gone, he’d tucked his shirt into his breeches, slid into a wool Spencer, and tied a brown kerchief around his neck.

He’d also retrieved a second men’s spencer that he handed to her. “To keep you warm and hide your—” he waved his hand in her direction—“femaleness.”

Grinning, she donned the coat.

He studied her, his nose wrinkling. “Good thing ’tis still dark.”

She supposed that meant she still looked like a woman, but what else could she do? It wasn’t as if she could sprout a beard and moustache with a snap of her fingers. She followed him out the front door and onto the front stoop.

They were met with silence and an endless dark blue sky. She filled her lungs with the damp air, then exhaled a white puff that swirled upward until it dispersed. Magical, truly.

“For the love of God,” he mumbled. “Not even the bloody birds are awake, and it’s colder than Medusa’s quim.”

Frigid, peaceful, safe, and glorious, so she would not let his unseemly language faze her. In fact, maybe now that she was a pugilist, she would take up swearing. Unfortunately, it would have to be in her mind, or when she was alone with Horatio.Bloody bollocks!

Yes, indeed. There was something immensely satisfying about thinking indecent words, so it was probably exceedingly fun to say them out loud.

She lifted her arms overhead, stretching her fingertips to the sky. He imitated her. She dropped forward and touched her toes. He joined her. Together they hung upside down. She slowly breathed in and out, as her muscles elongated in a delicious stretch.

They simultaneously stood. Raising his brow, he chuckled, then reached for her. His fingers brushed her cheek. Heat boltedthrough her. Was he about to cradle her jaw, pull her close, and kiss her on his front stoop?Yes, please.

Instead, he rearranged her kerchief. “That’s better. ’Twas a bit off kilter,” he declared. “Next time we are upside down, I’ll hold it in place.”

He blinked, looking slightly befuddled. She, on the other hand, found the idea of him touching her, even if it was just the top of her head, arousing.

Goodness. She was ridiculous for thinking he was about to press his lips to hers. He probably thought she looked silly in his kerchief. Well, it was a good thing she’d been mistaken, since she wanted to go for a morning run right now.

However, she wouldn’t mind kissing later.

With an exasperated huff at herself, she returned to stretching.

“I thought we could run to Grosvenor Square and from there Hyde Park, then circle back. That should be almost five miles. So it should take us—” he rubbed his jaw—“about five hours.”

Silly man.