Page 7 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

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Since her siblings were safe, and hiding at their townhouse was much more palatable than marrying Kilsby or being strangled by their father, Genevieve had sold the candlestick weapon to pay for a carriage to London.

However, according to the butler who opened the door, her family no longer owned Terrace Place. “The former occupant sold it to Doctor Arnold three months ago,” the butler said.

The sale of the property was news to Genevieve. Obviously, Christopher as well. Perhaps her father had gambled away more than the£1,000or his oldest daughter.

Genevieve had tried to find lodging in Mayfair to no avail. Since she’d used most of the candlestick money for passage, she had very little left. She couldn’t even afford a bed in a lower-rent borough. She’d ended up sleeping in an alley near The Purple Rabbit, where the street ruffians had threatened hideous things to her person.

She’d fought them off using the only weapons at her disposal: her fists and her booted feet. The next day, she’d had no choice but to trade some inebriate her frock and pelisse for his clothing and disintegrating greatcoat. Her vestments didn’t smell like a chamber pot as his did, so he seemed to think he’d gotten the better end of the bargain. Just wait until every male miscreant roaming these streets harassedhim. She’d gotten the more advantageous deal by far. Unless he found pleasure in male attention and wearing purple muslin. In that case, he’d struck gold, and she wished him well.

Running her hand over Horatio’s back, she leaned close to whisper, “Thank you for protecting me.”

He hummed contentedly.

Although mud caked his golden fur, she suspected that he’d had a shiny coat once upon a time. “Just like me,” she whispered to him. And just like the couple who’d come upon them in the alley.

Heavens, the man who’d taken on her assailants had been winsome. Shockingly handsome, if truth be told. Maybe the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Green eyes, the color of her favorite emerald gown that had hung in her wardrobe at Thorn Manor. Light brown hair golden highlights, as if it had been kissed by the sun, and couldn’t decide if it wanted to curl impishly or sit and be orderly and behave. A jawline as chiseled as any Greek god’s. A chest so broad that his athletic physique was evident despite layers of finely-tailored clothing.

Unfortunately, the most handsome gentleman in the world had thought she was a filthy beggar.

Because youarea filthy beggar.

If that wasn’t humiliating enough, he’d also thought she was a man.

A red-hot lightning rod of shame pierced her heart. She’d lost her once enviable figure. She’d caught a glimpse of herself in a window earlier today. Although distorted, her reflection proved what she suspected—her head looked too big for her skeletal body. The Earl of Shipley’s estranged niece—thanks to her father and his pistol—had been reduced to a pile of bones and a pair of eyes. How she could still punch and kick while starving was anyone’s guess. Meanwhile, the captivating gentleman’s voluptuous wife wore a fine red pelisse and satin slippers. Sparkling rubies dangled from her ears.

If only her handsome savior could see her wearing her emerald dress with her hair secured in a velvet ribbon. Not that it mattered, since he was married and she was no longer a suitable match for an aristocrat.

Shivering from the bone-chilling cold, Genevieve rested her back against the numbing bricks and closed her eyes.

Chapter Three

Haunted by memoriesof a starving bugger with big blue eyes, Jonathan stared out the carriage window. Disappointment radiated from Celeste as she folded her gloved hands on her lap and looked out the opposite window. Jonathan was well aware that if he didn’t satisfy the sensual woman’s needs, there were chaps itching for a chance to woo her. So, why, oh why, were thoughts of a wretched bloke wreaking havoc on his desire for his lovely companion? When had he started caring more about the indigent than cunny?

Maybe he wasn’t giving himself enough credit. He definitely found it unconscionable for a person to starve to death on the street while being terrorized by bullies. He might be a bit puckish, but he’d never taken pleasure in another’s seriously tragic misfortunes. However, his uncharacteristic disquietude might be more than a social conscience. His revelation was in fact, life changing. How in the devil had he not known that he was attracted to muck-covered, smelly chaps?

Truthfully, he’d never,everfound a man attractive. Not while sharing living and bathing quarters at Bedford or Cambridge, and not when he’d been so drunk he couldn’t see straight. And there had been some men who had tried to persuade him then; it hadn’t interested him, much to their chagrin.

No, he wasn’t just lying to himself; to his knowledge, he’d never desired anything other than soft, sweet females. So why in the hell had his loins reacted to this particular piteous bloke?Was it his fortitude when he was outnumbered? Was it his ability to use his fists? Maybe it was his filthy, albeit loyal, dog. Jonathan favored breeds with floppy ears, and this particular mutt had an adorable pair that drooped over his cheeks.

Now, he was just being ridiculous and rationalizing. It wasn’t so much that he was horrified by his predilections—to each his own—it was simply puzzling that it had taken him five and twenty years to figure it out.

He leaned back against the squabs, turning the events over in his mind. He thought again about the bloke’s pretty, long-lashed eyes. As pretty as a girl’s…wait. No.

Could it be?

It was possible. After all, at a quick glance, one might think Roseanna, Griffendale’s new champion, was a man. On closer inspection, she had pretty eyes, smooth pink skin, and pleasantly plump breasts, whenever they weren’t bound.

Well, tie bacon to his bollocks and throw him to a pack of hounds. He’d experienced the lightning bolt of lust because there was awomanbeneath that crusty garb. A chit with sapphire blue eyes. A gamine being terrorized by adolescent scalawags.

“Jonathan, what is troubling you?” Celeste asked, interrupting his introspection.

“What makes you think something is troubling me?”

“Normally, you’d have me naked by now.”

True! Celeste was utterly desirable. All thick dark hair and shapely curves.