Page 49 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

She was almost to the front gate when he grabbed her waist.

The scoundrel was trying to cheat. For a split second, she considered allowing him to overpower her just so that she could be in his arms. But she couldn’t let him win. She only had to stay out in front of him for a few more steps, but she couldn’t do that with him yanking her backward. Additionally, the chortles wracking her body had her at a disadvantage. Although, since he was also laughing, maybe she could still win.

She shoved on his shoulder until he let go of her. With one final extended stride, she catapulted forward, crossing the first gate post. She slowed, then whirled to face him. He was hunched forward, his hands on his thighs, breathing hard.

Victory!She hopped and clapped.

“Damnations,” he said, between gasps. “Well done.”

She started up the front walk. Instead of following her, he plopped into the cobblestones and lay down, his arms and legs spread wide.

Good God, she’d killed a viscount. She hurried to his side.

Shielding his eyes from the rising sun, he stared up at her and grinned. “You know, I let you win,” he declared.

At least he wasn’t dead. She rolled her eyes and held out her hand.

After a few dramatic breaths, he sat up and grasped her proffered hand. His touch elicited tingles that traveled over her palm, along her fingers, and up her arm, ensconcing her heart.

She helped pull him onto his feet. He stepped so close that she had to look up to see his face.

“That wasn’t fair because I didn’t even know we were racing,” he said, a mischievous gleam in his bright eyes.

If the grin tugging on his lips indicated his true feelings, he’d had as much fun as she had. Together they strolled to the front door.

“I’m going to eat an entire pound of bacon,” he said. “And drink a tub full of water. Then drown myself in a bucket of tea.”

Once she gently stretched and cleaned herself up, she would eat three eggs and a huge bowl of porridge. The tub of water and bucket of tea sounded like the right amount of liquid.

“All teasing aside,” Jonathan said as they entered the foyer. “You are remarkable. I had no idea that ladies could run that fast. The thing is, not only are you fast, but you also ran that distance like it was nothing.” He hummed appreciatively. “As if you do it all of the time.”

They faced each other.

“The truth is,” he said, “I both fence and box, so I’m not exactly a lump.”

She had suspected as much, and he was far from a lump.

He shrugged. “Mayhap you should be racing instead of boxing.”

Mayhap. She loved running. But, oh heavens, she liked hitting things, too. It made her feel less vulnerable. Less afraid. Like she wasn’t a disabled poltroon who was so pathetic that she couldn’t even force her words from her throat.

She was halfway up the stairs when her shocking revelation slammed into her so hard that she stopped in her tracks. Jonathan had grabbed her from behind, something that would have terrified her in the past. But instead of being afraid, she’d laughed until her body shook. Meanwhile, she’d still found the strength to win their unofficial race. Was it possible that a brave woman resided in her body alongside the terrified child?

Although more frustrating than shocking, a second realization hit her: unfortunately, the run had done nothing to temper her inappropriate thoughts about Jonathan Davenport.

Chapter Fifteen

Jonathan did notfavor running in circles for sport, especially when fencing and boxing existed. He also enjoyed a spirited game of cricket. On the rare occasions that he visited Millhurst, a hike about the grounds or a horse ride across the dales held appeal. But trotting across London with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth until his lungs warmed up, huffing and puffing, and pounding his feet on cobblestones in a pair of shoes that had very little cushioning, had never held appeal.

Until this morning. With her.

Perhaps his changed opinion was because Gen had smiled the entire run. Or maybe it was the beautiful scenery. Unless, God forbid, deep inside, he was a predator.

At first, he’d chased her because she’d taunted him into a race. But then some sort of predatory urge had taken over, and he’d wanted to catch her so that he could hold her captive and make her his. They’d gently wrestled for a moment as he tried to pull her backward so that they crossed the arbitrary finish line together. She fought back with a shove, which only enticed him further. He’d ended up letting go because the beast within him was entirely too hungry and craved to swallow her whole. Even now, hours later, the thought of overpowering her aroused him, as evidenced by his pego.

There was no point in spending the afternoon staring at the stack of unread ledgers on his desk. Glaring at the pile wouldn’t make it go away, and so far the interviews had been a huge wasteof time. He leaned back in his chair and widened his legs to make room for his growing arousal.

Closing his eyes, he palmed the bulge beneath his trousers and pictured Gen, her wide eyes blinking as he rippedhisclothing fromherbody. Her pert nipples pebbled. He slid his finger inside of her. Liquid slicked her quim.