Page 67 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Was he? He couldn’t remember. “Why do you ask?”

“You were pounding on the sandbag.”

Ah, yes.“I was boxing.” He grinned. “Which involves fists and hitting things.”

Her brow rose skeptically. “But you seemed intent on murdering someone, and your knuckles look as though someone took a scythe to them.”

True. He chuckled.

Her jaw tensed. “I do not want to get your staff into trouble, but they have been worried about you. They fear that something is troubling you. I just hope it isn’t me.”

Her, among other things. “Lately, so many things are weighing on me.” He needed to take his time and try to articulate his feelings without being dismissive or turning this into a joke. “I have shared that I lost my man of business, but I have not told you of all the consequences.”

“You can tell me anything,” she said. “Mayhap I can help you solve whatever is causing you stress.”

First, he reiterated the pain of losing his father and the responsibility of inheriting a title. Next, he talked about Kincaid and Nashel’s deaths, and then Nashel’s young widow and children. And then, he told her all about his interviews and the men he’d sent away because he was afraid that they would discover his secret. All the while, she listened attentively.

“But you saw to Mr. Nashel’s family. Oh, Jonathan, you are so kind.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“You are, you know? Kind and generous. Why do you try so hard to convince yourself otherwise?”

He was hardly monstrous, but he wasn’t exactly saintly. And yet, he cared deeply about people and looked out for his friends, family, and staff. After his father’s death, he hadn’t insisted his mother move to her dowager house, because he didn’t want her to be lonely. And he favored cute animals, not that he’d ever seen an animal that wasn’t adorable. Still, he wasn’t sure these things made him deserve Gen’s praise.

“Despite what many pig-headed men say, compassion isn’t a sign of weakness,” she said. “In fact, I find it to be a sign of strength. Cruel men are actually weak.”

He wholeheartedly agreed, which was why he despised men like Kilsby.

“And you shouldn’t be ashamed that reading is hard for you.” She gently caressed the broken skin covering his knuckles, easing the sting. “What if you stopped trying to hide what yousee as a disability and instead embraced it? That would take the stigma away, and you could let the world know how intelligent and kind you are with your head held high.”

Easier said than done. “I have no idea how to embrace being such a dolt that I can’t run my estates.”

“Oh, Jonathan.” She sighed. “I don’t know a single aristocrat who runs their estate without assistance. It isn’t that you are struggling to read that’s causing you problems. It’s your own self-doubt and pride.”

How many aristocrats did she know?

“What about the first man you interviewed?” she said. “You could give him another chance. His responses about helping Mr. Nashel’s family were kind. Mayhap he could help you organize and process information using visuals such as charts and graphs.”

How did she know so much about teaching? A mystery to be solved later, since he was currently naked and she had turned his hand over and was now exploring his palm.

“The truth is, my feelings for you confuse me.” He stared at their hands, holding his breath as she drew what looked and felt like aG.

“Are you writing me a message?” he asked.

Smiling, she nodded. “Another method of talking in case I lose my voice.”

Doing his best to ignore the scent of citrus, rose soap, and woman, he concentrated as she wrote anE,then anN.

“Gen?” he asked.

Nodding, she continued writing,E V I E V E. She paused and looked into his eyes.

“That is a lot of letters to remember, so you have to do it again.” He had no idea what she’d spelled, but he was enjoying her touch.

“My real name,” she whispered.

The one thing he thought he knew about her had just been taken from him. His heart crashed. “Gen isn’t your real name?”