Page 53 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

He had tapped at the pile of documents on his desk. “These are what I have to read, and I must find a trustworthy man of business to help me with them. I’ve interviewed a couple of men, but no one suits.” He sighed. “There are so many words and letters moving about.”

At least now she knew that he was conducting interviews for a man of business. She hated to see him glowering, and his pile seemed to grow every day. If someone didn’t help him, hewould soon drown in a tidal wave of ledgers and documents. She wanted to offer assistance more than anything in the world. He was doing so much for her that she had to return the favor.

He’d proven that he could decipher single words. He’d also indicated the letters moved around and were sometimes backwards, and more than once he’d said, “…so many letters and words.”Is there a way to trick his brain and eyes into thinking the documents have fewer words?she’d pondered. And that was when her idea for a shield was born.

Returning from her memories to the task at hand, she placed her invention atop a page ofEmma.Designed for documents, her shield hung over the edge of the page. Still, she gently tugged on the ribbon, revealing one word at a time. Once she reached the end of the text, she lowered the shield and pushed the slider all the way to the left. With a gentle tug, she started over, unveiling one letter, then the next, until the entire word was visible.

Pausing, she turned from her small escritoire to share her moment of triumph with Horatio. Sprawled out on her bed, his chin resting on a pillow, he watched her through sleepy eyes.

“Horatio, it works,” she said. And even though it wasn’t the perfect fit, it was enough. “I hope it helps Jonathan.”

Horatio blinked.

She probably shouldn’t refer to the viscount by his given name. But what did it matter? He’d never hear her do so, and Horatio certainly didn’t care. “Shall we take it to him now?” she asked.

Her pup sat up and smiled.

“Come along, then,” she said as she gathered the shield and the heartfelt, truthful note she’d written earlier.

Horatio at her side, her materials clutched to her bosom, and butterflies fluttering in her chest, she strolled down the hall, immersed in her thoughts.

Life was perfect. Well, almost perfect, besides her overwhelming attraction to a man who didn’t seem to share her feelings. Deep inside, she couldn’t help but wonder if he still saw her as the filthy boy from the alley.

And then there were the nights she cried herself to sleep, her fragile, smudged note from her brother on her nightstand. Somehow, someway, she had to find the courage to sneak back to Terrace House to see if Christopher had sent her a message.

Lately, she’d been feeling brave. Perhaps she would go tonight, since she had the evening free. If Kilsby happened to stumble upon her, she would bloody his nose. According to everyone at The Silk Knuckles, her combinations were sharp and quick. Once she pummeled the dickens out of him, she would run away. There was no way he could catch her.

“Who would have guessed that such a small package could contain such power,” she’d overheard one of the male pugilists at the gymnasium say.

“Technique, work ethic, and passion go a long way,” Coach Valentine had said.

Apparently, she missed her siblings so much that now she was even crying in the middle of the afternoon, because tears trickled down her cheeks. She had been so excited to present Jonathan with a gift. It would not do to give it to him while she boohooed. She swiped her tears and composed herself.

They reached the study, then hesitated. What if her invention didn’t help? It was unsophisticated and not very sturdy. So much for feeling pride.

Horatio stared up at her, his head tilted as if asking,Why are you standing here when we have a viscount to jump on and lick?

After one final sniffle and swipe, she knocked.

The last few days, it seemed as though Jonathan had been prepared for Horatio’s jubilant greeting. Today was no exception. He opened the door and ushered them in.

“What ho, Floppy?” he said, bending down to pat the pup. Once they’d thoroughly fawned over each other with kisses and a few, “Good, good boys,” Jonathan stood, and Horatio curled up in his favorite light beam.

“How are you this afternoon, Gen?” Jonathan asked.

It had only been a few hours since they’d had an afternoon repast, during which the Davenports had practically force-fed her cauliflower, carrots, and beef.

“We must put weight on you,” Jonathan had declared, like he did every meal. “Muscles,” he’d added as he folded his bicep and grunted. His muscle strained the fabric of his tailcoat. Genevieve had tried not to giggle at the table but had failed. Meanwhile, Lady Davenport had pursed her lips, but her eyes had been as mischievous as her son’s.

Muscles, blubber, it did not matter; if Genevieve continued to consume piles of food, she’d no longer fit into her borrowed dresses. But that was a concern for another day because currently, her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear Jonathan’s gentle voice over the increasing pace of thethump, thump.

He frowned. “Were you crying?”

She wanted this to be a happy moment, so she shook her head.

His brow rose as if he didn’t believe her.

Shoving her homesickness for her siblings deep and hoping to distract him, she smiled. She may also have fluttered her lashes.