Page 66 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Jonathan,” a feminine voice that didnotbelong to his valet said.

Jonathan bolted upright.

Looking wraithlike in her white nightdress, Gen stood in front of the door with her hair unbound. She’d wrapped a blue shawl around her shoulders, and her feet were bare.

He’d told her to lock her door to keep him out, but it had never occurred to him that he needed to lockhisdoor. He gawped, as any sane man would in this confounding situation.

“Gen, what are you doing here?” he asked.

Gaze cast downward, she strolled across his room and sat on the opposite side of the bed. Meanwhile, his cock twitched beneath the pillow.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

He swallowed the frog in his throat. “Could you turn away for a moment?”

She finally looked up and took him in from head to toe, her gaze lingering on his chest, and then the pillow. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.

Well, what in the devil did she expect if she was going to barge into his room at all hours of the night? Did she think he slept in his waistcoat and trousers and never frigged? Not that he begrudged her the visit. Although he’d prefer her to be naked, her hair on his pillow, her cunny walls squeezing his cock—

No! Don’t go there, he berated himself.

Nibbling on her lip, she turned her back to him.

He removed the pillow. Unfortunately, his freed cock waved like a surrender flag. Wriggling about, he pulled the counterpane over himself and then sat up and leaned his back against the headboard.

“There. Decent,” he said. Or as decent as he could make himself, considering.

She was still gnawing on her bottom lip when she faced him.

“Is something bothering you?” he asked.

She took so long to respond that he feared she’d lost her voice again. Finally, she raised her gaze to look into his eyes.

“Jonathan, I’ve been afraid for so long, and for the first time, I’m not. You make me feel safe, and boxing makes me feel powerful.”

She was hardly safe sitting on the edge of his bed, while his cock and conscience warred.

Damnations, he was a rapscallion, and she was vulnerable. Even a wanton like him knew that sporting a cockstand while a woman poured out her heart and soul was inappropriate. Exhaling, he willed his cock into submission—not a simple thing to do with this woman in his bed.

“I am exceedingly glad,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I am sorry I barged in on you. I understand how you feel, so we don’t have to do anything indecent.”

How did she understand how he felt when he didn’t know?

“You see…” Her voice—which sounded almost cultured—quivered. “What if I wake up on the morrow and am afraid to talk? I can’t take that chance, so I have things I need to say. Now, while I can.”

“I hope you always feel as though you can talk to me,” Jonathan said, hoping to comfort her. “But if you are ever too afraid, then we will find other ways to communicate.” He aimed for a reassuring smile. “I dare say, we’ve been doing a blasted good job of it so far.” There had been quite a few miscommunications, but they’d found ways to work through them. Besides, dwelling on the negative rarely helped unfortunate matters.

She swung her bare feet onto the bed and leaned against his headboard. The lantern light illuminated her in a seraphim’s halo, as if even the universe was reminding him to keep his hands off her.

Her gaze grew unfocused as if she was looking into the future. “Do you know what is interesting? It would be scandalous for me to crawl into your bed if I were a lady. But since I am a pugilist, no one cares what I do.”

It was still rather scandalous that she was in his bed, in the middle of the night, talking to him. Again, not something he would point out, especially since he’d been in bed with a lot of women doing much more scandalous things than talking. However, if his mother found out, she would skin him alive. Which begged the question, why had she left them alone tonight?

He cleared his throat. “Is there something specific you want to discuss?” If, by chance, she told him who had hurt her and what she was running from, he could better protect her.

She ran her index finger over his swollen knuckles. Her hands were cold, but her touch was scorching. “Were you angry tonight at The Silk Knuckles?”