Page 79 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Genevieve fought her panic as she made her way to the angry trio, Horatio by her side. The second she saw the handbill, her heart thumped, and the wind was knocked from her lungs.

Come one, Come all. Step in from the cold and celebrate His Grace’s Frosty Set-to,she silently read.Feast your eyes on two female professors of the sweet science. Stay for the grand display of the manly art. Considerable purses.

A sketch of the four male fighters, their gazes intense, their fists poised to strike, stared back at her. In the center, two women, hair unbound, and their likenesses precise, stood. Her and Roseanna. Beneath it all, written in big letters was the location, date, and time.

Bloody hell. It would take someone all of five seconds to recognize her.

“You hung these up all over London?” Jonathan practically bellowed.

“Not everywhere in London.” Griffendale’s shoulders slumped as if he were a child who’d just had an unexpected reprimand. “Just at The Purple Rabbit and a few taverns. But I had my footmen post them all over the village.” His voicedropped until he was almost whispering. “And a few other village taverns.”

“Horse’s arse,” Josie grumbled under her breath.

Genevieve hunched forward and fought to breathe as Franny caressed her back. “’Tis going to be fine, Gen,” she said. “The chance that someone recognizes you from a handbill is highly unlikely.”

Jonathan let out a long exhale and shook out his clenched fists. “It will be fine, Gen. Franny is correct. No one will recognize you. It barely looks like you.”

Obviously, he was trying to comfort her, because the likeness was indisputable.

“I am sorry.” The duke’s handsome face contorted into tight lines and sharp angles. “Truly I am. I will send my men to gather the handbills. Right away. I can also send someone into the city. They will all be destroyed before evening.”

Obviously, the man felt horrible. She needed to put on a brave face of nonchalance so that he didn’t fret over much.

Don’t be a quivering goose,she told herself. There is no way someone is going to recognize you in your face paint. Even so they would have to tell Father or Lord Kilsby and by the time they found out, she would be back at Greenpark House. Besides, you are an intrepid pugilist.

At least, she desired to be courageous more than anything in the world.

*

In Genevieve’s humbleopinion, the duke’s cook and chef were equally talented. Still, she took Nicolas Wentworth’s advice and did not overeat. The movement and stretching session in the ballroom soothed both her tight muscles and her all-consuming trepidation. And the evening with the ladies, whom she nowconsidered friends, was enjoyable. She’d never had a friend—other than her siblings—and now she had three. All of them were intelligent, genuine, and unpretentious. They never made her feel inferior because she struggled to speak. Someday she might even be able to talk to them. For now, listening to their conversations filled her with warmth.

By bedtime, Genevieve was back to fretting.

Roseanna is so much better than you.

What made you think you could compete? You can’t even talk.

Why didn’t Jonathan break down your chamber door to make love to you this week? He would have, if he wanted you enough.

What if one of Father’s friends sees a handbill and tells him and he shows up on the morrow and strangles me?

What if Father has already hurt Sophia or Christopher?

She hadn’t considered that possibility before, and it filled her with competing feelings of terror and anger.

“I will kill him,” she told Horatio. And she meant it because, for the first time in her life, she pictured her fists repeatedly slamming into her father’s face.

Tomorrow she would fight Roseanna for sport and to prove to herself that she had a pugilist’s heart and soul. After that, she would finally confront her father. Whatever happened, she and her siblings were coming out of this with their freedom.

But tonight…? To the devil with the suggestion that she abstain from sexual congress to keep her legs strong and her mind focused. That arbitrary rule was probably for men, anyway, because Josie and Franny raised their brows every time Coach Valentine reminded their prizefighters, “Abstinence is the highest form of physical discipline.” Tonight, she was claiming her musclemassa, and a night of unbridled passion with the man she loved.

She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “Good night, Horatio. You can have the entire bed to yourself.” Then, Genevieve slunk across the hall, letting herself into Jonathan’s room.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jonathan was justabout to snuff the candle when the door opened, and Gen entered his chamber. Although he’d ached for her to visit, they were guests in someone else’s home, so her sudden appearance surprised him—in the very best way. He whipped off his blanket and stood. Enjoying the way her gaze raked over his bare torso and small clothes, he ensconced her in his purposely wicked grin.

“Jonathan,” she said as she approached, “I can’t sleep.”