Page 65 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“I don’t want your first time to be in the drawing room with a randy fuck who lasts less than five seconds.”

As long as he was the “randy fuck,” she was beyond fine with it. She lunged, her lips reaching for his.

He grasped her shoulders, halting her attack. “Gen, you mean more to me than a quick toss where anyone can walk in on us. Let me be deserving of your trust.”

As much as she wanted him right this second, she needed him to think the moment was perfect, too. Resigning herself to his request, she stood and stepped away at the same time that Lady Davenport swept into the room.

“I had the most wonderful planning session with Helena,” the dowager viscountess declared, plopping into the spot Genevieve had just vacated. “Wait until I tell you all about it.”

“For Puck’s sake, Mother,” Jonathan grumbled while shifting as if uncomfortable. “Again, with this ridiculous idea.”

Lady Davenporttsked. “So grumpy these days. You never used to be this disagreeable. There was a time when you would have thought a competition involving ladies quite enjoyable.”

Genevieve agreed with Jonathan. Although humorous, the contest sounded like an absurd way to choose a wife. Poor, unfortunate Tristan Keats. Although he could take heart that it wasn’t nearly as demeaning as being lost to an unpleasant reprobate in a card game.

Since it would be rude to walk away, Genevieve settled into the chair Jonathan usually sat in, folded her hands in her lap, and listened as Agatha Davenport chattered. Frowning, Jonathan crossed one leg over his lap—more than likely hiding what lay beneath his trousers.

It was only later, when Genevieve was tossing and turning in bed, that she understood the significance of her encounter in the drawing room. Jonathan Davenport might not understand his emotions, but she suspected he was falling in love with her. Anda good thing too, because she had fallen completely and totally in love with him.

Chapter Twenty-One

Despite the chilloutside and his earlier ablutions, sweat coated Jonathan’s body.Damn lustful thoughts! Adding to his misery, the flames in the hearth heated his chamber to the temperature of Satan’s lair.

He leaned over his washbasin and dipped his hands into the bowl, splashing water on his cheeks, then his neck and chest. The cool liquid took the edge off his current state. Still, he probably needed to submerge his entire body in an icy bath if he meant to calm his out-of-control libido. Unfortunately, the ewer and basin would have to suffice since he didn’t want to disturb Stevens or anyone else on his staff, especially forthis.

He patted himself dry, tossed his towel on his washstand, finished undressing, and then tumbled into bed.

He slammed his fist on the pillow and attempted to stifle his moan. Gen would be the death of him. His facade of a man in control of his emotions was cracking.

Then again, maybe he was fooling himself, and no one anywhere had ever held illusions that he was anything but a fun-loving, out-of-control scoundrel.

“Fuck,” he growled.

Tossing the pillow aside, he stared at the shapes the flickering flames cast on the ceiling as he tried to make sense of both his feelings and his actions.

Discipline wasn’t one of his finer qualities, so it was rare that he sent a woman who wanted him away. Only twice that he could remember, and both occasions had happened recently.

He wanted Gen, and she wanted him, so there shouldn’t be a problem. And yet, his current conundrum seemed insurmountable because she was not the type of woman he could tup and leave, when he was the type of man who bedded, then sprinted.

Every time he thought about the things he wanted to do to her—suckle her breasts, feast on her cunny, slide his cock into her wet heat—a gut-churning guilt ate at him. He should keep his filthy thoughts far away from her purity. Despite her reassurance that she was not porcelain, Jonathan was much too emotionally clumsy for someone so innocent. Somehow, he would crush her, just like he’d destroyed his fragile pet butterfly.

Gen required a gentle man. Someone tender. Someone who knew his mind. Someone who loved her…

He favored her. But did heloveher?

He wanted to be with her all the time, protecting her and enjoying her athletic success. Playing the clown to make her laugh filled him with immense joy. As he’d recently discovered, the air between them sizzled when they kissed. Shameful but undeniably true—he was obsessed with fucking her.

But was this love?

He sighed. Perhaps. However, what did he know since he didn’t understand his own feelings?

The one thing he understood was that his aching cock, which was reaching for the ceiling, needed to be tended to. A rough frigging was just the thing to clear his mind and refocus his priorities.

He took his hard-as-stone shaft in hand and squeezed at the same time that his chamber door squeaked, startling him.

Damn Stevens to hell.“Good God, man. Knock.” Jonathan grabbed the pillow and pressed it to his crotch.

The latch clicked into place.