Page 56 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Honestly, he didn’t know, and he definitely one hundred percent did not care. He’d been over this a dozen times. He didn’t want to produce an heir or marry at the moment. He simply wanted to talk to Gen. Never mind that he had no idea what he wanted to say.

“Nothing is wrong.” He struggled to meet his mother’s gaze as he feigned a yawn. “I’m just tired. Would you mind if I called it a night?”

“Go on, dear. Once I finish stitching this rose, I will retire to my chamber. I suppose we have been quite busy and could all use some extra sleep.”

Feeling slightly guilty for lying, Jonathan strolled to his mother and bussed her cheek.

“By the by, Helena is planning a betrothal competition house party for Tristan,” she said.

That sounded like a fate worse than death. “Oh?” he asked.

“She plans to call it The Duke’s Lady Love Choosing Party and invite the diamonds of theton.At the end of the week, Tristan will choose his bride. She wants him to keep the woman’s identity a secret and announce his choice at her annual Spring Blossoms Ball, with a lot of pomp and celebration, of course.”

Griffendale hadn’t mentioned this hideous idea to him. A betrothal competition between title-seeking debutantes and their ambitious mothers should go over like mud pies at a society tea.

Not bothering to hide his disgust, he gawked down at his mother. “Does Griffendale know about this, or is it another of Lady Siddon’s meddling machinations?”

His mother swished her wrist dismissively, her needle almost stabbing Jonathan’s shoulder. “She told him he had until theend of last month to choose a bride, and if he were unsuccessful, then she would step in and provide assistance. He has been too obsessed with mills and female fighters to do anything about it.”

And too busy tupping his way across London. Not that Jonathan could pass judgment, since until recently, he’d been running neck and neck for the title of theTon’sMost Notorious Rake.

Jonathan snorted. “So, he has no idea.”

On second thought, this might not be such a horrible event. It would provide delicious fodder for wagers.How many chits could Griffendale tup before the end of the weekend? How many chits could he get into bed at once? How many angry women slapped him?Jonathan could make a fortune at White’s. This betrothal competition might be fun, after all.

For him. Not Griffendale.

Jonathan rubbed his hands together.

“Tristan is not getting any younger,” his mother declared. “Neither are you, for that matter.”

With two bloody sentences, his mother had ruined his fun.

“Bloody hell, Mother. Don’t even think about it.” No way in hell was he participating in some fiancée contest. To the devil with that.

“Oh, do stop pouting, Jonathan. It does not suit your optimistic personality.” Smirking, she returned to her sewing. “Now run along and get some sleep.”

At the moment, he did not need his mother meddling in his life. He had enough on his mind. Besides, if he were to choose a woman to do anything with, she was already in his life, in his house, and she favored him.

Still stitching, his mother cast him a sideways glance and winked. Bloodywinkedat him, as if they were sharing some sort of secret.

“No fiancée contests for me, Mother. I am quite serious. Banish the thought from your mind,” he called over his shoulder.

The woman chuckled as he stomped away.

*

Jonathan finally hada plan. Despite Gen telling his mother she wanted to sleep, he suspected she was wide awake and avoiding him. Therefore, he would ask Gen if she would like to take Floppy for a walk, and they would avoid the house where they’d seen Kilsby. He’d wait outside her door if she wanted to change into men’s clothing. While they were strolling along, enjoying the fresh air, he would tell her that he thought she was wonderful, too. If they found themselves somewhere private and secluded, which he would ensure they did, he’d steal a kiss. He’d worry about the repercussions on the morrow.

After retrieving his coat, gloves, hat, and a lantern, Jonathan knocked on Gen’s door. Unfortunately, she didn’t answer, although Floppy barked. He knocked again, then waited.

There was no way she was sleeping with Floppy making enough noise to wake the long dead, which proved his suspicions—she was ignoring him.

Wincing, he cracked open her door. Not one for doing things incrementally, Floppy crashed through the small space, opening it wide and leaping at Jonathan.

He coaxed the mutt back into the room and looked around. To his disappointment, Gen was not there. Once he calmed Floppy, Jonathan went in search of her.

She was not in the drawing room, his study, or the kitchen. Although it would be odd to find her in the garden without Floppy, he headed outside. His footmen, Michael and Robert, were returning from their night off.