Page 62 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Indeed, they would. And the disguise would help protect her from whoever and whatever she was hiding from. “Bravo, Gen,” Jonathan said. “I am quite proud of you.”

Gen looked up at him, her soulful blue eyes seeming to ask,Really?as she nibbled on her lip.

“Exceedingly proud,” he said. Despite his misgivings about her getting hurt, he truly was.

She smiled at him, and it was as if the entire room brightened.

Suddenly feeling optimistic, he sent her the charming grin that, before yesterday, she’d seemed to favor. “Would you care to ride home with me?”

Her gaze slid to his mother, who was descending the stairs. She’d probably been enjoying a drink in the parlor with her friends, and she certainly wouldn’t care if Gen chose to ride with him.

He was not above groveling in front of Franny and Edward. “Please,” he pleaded. “I want to talk to you.”Neededwould be the more accurate word.

To his delight, Gen nodded. His hope was restored as the air around them crackled with unsaid emotion.

Chapter Twenty

Jonathan sat acrossfrom her, his foot incessantly tapping on the carriage floor. Genevieve couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but he radiated nervous energy.

Conversely, for the first time in forever, she was completely relaxed. Running always made her feel euphoric, and boxing magnified those pleasurable sensations. Tonight’s strenuous training even cured her earlier melancholy. Melting into the squabs, she accessed her performance at her extra-long session.

After body exercises, rope skipping, and shadow sparring, she’d sparred with Franny while Coach Valentine called out directives.

“Brilliant. A natural,” Coach Valentine had declared a few times.

She’d been disappointed that Jonathan hadn’t been there to see her excel. But then she’d had a pleasant surprise as he’d sauntered across the gymnasium. Instead of wanting to avoid him, she’d been thrilled he was there. Looking utterly delectable, his hair disheveled and damp, and his neck visible above his haphazardly buttoned shirt, Jonathan had leaned against the wall and watched her final drill. She’d had to block out his reactions to concentrate on her breath work and technique. Upon completing her session, she was all too aware of Jonathan Davenport and his heated gaze.

When he’d told her that he was proud of her, her confidence had increased tenfold. A man’s opinions should not be the sun,moon, and stars, but she did not care to overthink her feelings. For the time being, she simply wanted to live in the moment.

“My mother decided to stay at The Silk Knuckles for a bit longer this evening,” Jonathan said, bringing Genevieve to the present. “She is meeting with Lady Siddons in the ladies-only parlor. I believe they are discussing one of Helena’s feather-brained ideas. Apparently, she means to have a debutante contest to find Griffendale a wife.”

Genevieve chortled so hard she snorted.

He also laughed. “Better him than me.”

Genevieve couldn’t agree more, but Jonathan’s finding a wife was one more thing that she didn’t want to think about.

“That means we shall have the drawing room to ourselves,” he said.

Being alone with Jonathan would be wonderful.

Wait! No!She was avoiding him.

At least, shehadbeen avoiding him until he’d told her he was proud of her, heated her body with his smoldering gaze, and told her he desired to talk to her. He’d watched her with uninhibited intensity. Then, he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of Edward and Franny, because the truth was, she could have turned down his request. Dare she hope that these gestures meant something? If only… because she’d give anything to hear him say that he favored her, too.

Please. Oh, please.

She was overthinking things again, and that would not do. Picturing a plain white wall, she tried to clear her mind.

“When we get home, would you like to have a light repast?” Jonathan asked. “I can have a tray delivered to the drawing room. I’ll request oranges. When Josie stayed with us, she ate dozens of hothouse oranges.”

Now Genevieve was picturing fruit. Despite drinking a large tumbler of water before leaving the gymnasium, she was still a bit dehydrated, so a juicy orange sounded perfect.

“You do have to put on weight. However, I don’t want to overfeed you.”

He was probably referencing her gagging on her breakfast. How humiliating. That had been partly nerves, partly the too-large bite, and partly the prodigious amount of eggs she’d eaten since arriving. But currently, she was ravenous. For fruit. Oranges in particular. Her mouth watered.

“’Tis amazing that Franny thinks you are ready for your exhibition and perhaps for a professional fight at The Purple Rabbit. And in such a short time. I am more impressed by you every day.”