Page 55 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Jonathan,” she said again, his name spilling from her lips like the anticipated first chords of an orchestra.

Realizing that her finger was still pressed to his lips, she dropped her hand. She’d disclosed too much, too soon. What had made her think this was a good idea? Someone should slap some sense into her. And the worst part was he still hadn’t read the last line. Although now that she had come this far, there was no turning back.

They sat in silence, the only sound her thudding heart. The air seemed to grow heavy with emotion and unsaid words.

Before she could change her mind and snatch her note back, she stood and moved the shield down the page.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

She had no idea, but she couldn’t stay here, watching him decipher this message. She’d wither away to nothingness if his jaw tensed or he gawked at her as if she were a sentimental goose. Or even worse, told her he could never return the sentiment. Gathering her skirt in her hands so that she didn’t trip as she fled, she hurried to the door.

Horatio sneezed in indignation but followed her.

“Gen,” Jonathan called.

She ignored him, leaving him to read the rest of her message on his own.

Chapter Seventeen

The fire inthe drawing room hearth crackled as Jonathan stared into his glass of whisky, thinking about his day. After Gen had given him the word thingamabob, then left his study, he’d attempted to read a document. He’d been shocked to learn that the roof on one of his barns collapsed over three weeks ago, and he’d never responded about having it repaired. If he’d decoded the message correctly, a couple dozen chickens had died, and at the time the missive was written the goats were still roaming the countryside.

A gray cloud had hung over his head during the evening meal, so despite the delicious food and his mother’s happy chatter, dinner had been a brutal affair. In addition to his business failures, Gen sat across from him, staring at her plate with a faraway look in her eyes.

“Are you feeling well?” his mother had asked her.

Gen had raised her gaze and smiled. She’d had that same look on her face earlier, when she’d denied crying. He may have momentarily been distracted by her fluttering lashes, but he would not be bamboozled, no matter how beautiful she was, or how much he favored her eyes and her smile. Something was bothering her. Perhaps that she was about to bare her heart. And hitherto, he had done nothing to acknowledge her confession.

My lord, you are the most wonderful man in the world,she’d written.I do so favor you.

The courage it must have taken for her to confide in him was admirable. He should have gone after her, but he’d panicked because he’d had no idea what to say since he didn’t understand his feelings.

He’d known all along that she was falling for him, and he had not discouraged her infatuation. Truth be told, he’d encouraged it, with his flirtatious comments and showing off every chance he got. He liked to make her smile, and a handstand on their runs or a taunt followed by a raised brow and a smirk never failed to make her lips turn upward.

And then, as if he wasn’t confused enough, last week, he’d taken her into his arms and almost kissed her. This brief encounter had turned him inside out and upside down. Now, he wanted to spend every waking moment with her. No woman, no matter how enticing or good at bed sport she was, had ever consumed his thoughts like Gen. It wasn’t just that he wanted to steal her breath as he pressed his lips to hers; he also wanted to hold her in his arms and make love to her. What he wouldn’t give to hear her purr his name as she came apart beneath him.

As if these sentiments weren’t overwhelming enough, he wanted to protect her from whatever nefarious thing had stolen that lovely voice. Kilsby might not have murdered her mother, but someone had. Despite her protestations, he’d known from the look in her eyes.

After dinner, they had retired to the drawing room, where they still sat, Gen and his mother sharing the settee, embroidering flowers onto linen, and reminding him of the goldJDon his reading device. Whether or not the device could help him read a pile of documents without getting a headache remained to be seen. However, it was the most heartfelt gift he’d ever received.

After berating himself for Gen’s return into her protective shell, he placed his half-empty glass on the side table andstretched his legs long. He had to tell her that he’d read the message. But what to say after that? Would a simple acknowledgment be enough for now? Of course, he couldn’t bring up the private conversation in front of his mother. But he could take Floppy for a walk and invite Gen to join him.

Before he had a chance to propose a constitutional, Gen traded her embroidery for paper and a pencil. She wrote something and handed it to his mother.

“Of course you are tired,” his mother said. “You are working so hard. Sleep well, my dear. We shall see you in the morning.”

Obviously, Gen had told his mother that she wanted to return to her chamber, which was rather vexing, since he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her.

“Give me a hug, dear,” his mother said.

His mother had a habit of growing fond of house guests, unofficially adopting every lonely soul he brought home. And of course, in turn, they also fell in love with her. He’d never minded sharing his mother before. She had enough love for everyone. However, he would have liked for Gen to wrap her arms around him instead of scurrying past with nary a glance.

At least Floppy sought out his good night pats before he followed Gen into the hallway.

“Is something bothering you?” his mother asked.

Numerous things. The stack of unread documents on his desk. His unsuccessful search for a man of business. The amount of time that had passed since he’d had a good tup. The mysterious woman who had found her way under his skin.

For a moment, he considered telling his mother that he might have feelings for a woman who wasn’t of their class. She might not care since she harbored affection for a working-class bloke. And yet, Jonathan had a duty to produce an heir. His mother had done her duty when she’d married his father and had two children. Therefore, if she desired a companion at thispoint in her life, it mattered not what the man’s pedigree was. But did the same hold true for Jonathan?