Page 88 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

And then the truth cuffed Jonathan so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs. “Christ Almighty!” That is what Gen had been trying to tell him. Her father, the murderer, must be the man she’d just pointed out. What if he’d been among the spectators watching her the entire time? No wonder she’d struggled early on. Griffendale and his damnable handbill! Meanwhile, Jonathan had stood there like a dolt, not a clue in his thick skull that the woman he loved was in danger.

He spun toward the ring with every intention of grabbing a rope and hoisting himself onto the platform. His plan was thwarted when a massive body slammed into him. He toppled forward, crashing into the man beside him, and then Jonathan’s face smashed against the floor.

As a heavy body landed on top of him, the cracking sounds of fist against flesh and the discordant, bellowing crowd rose to a deafening roar. All he could see while he was being flattened like a griddlecake was the cold gray ground. From above him, a chorus of blasphemies worthy of Satan himself flew freely.

“Everyone settle down,” Griffendale hollered into the speaking trumpet. “The fights are supposed to take place in the ring.”

It sounded as if a brawl had broken out, and if he didn’t get up Jonathan would be trampled to death. That is, if the elephant on top of him didn’t smother him first.

Jonathan lifted his forehead and turned his head to the side to growl at whoever was smashing him. “Get the hell off me!”

Whale’s big face was so close to Jonathan’s that his eyes and nose appeared elongated and blurry. His bacon-scented breathblew across Jonathan’s cheek. “He took her. I tried to stop ’em, I did. He pushed me.”

If Jonathan’s instincts were correct, Whale had tried to intervene as Gen’s father abducted her from the ring. Whale had toppled into the crowd, landing on Jonathan, in turn, starting an out-of-control melee. If this were the case, a dangerous man had stolen Genevieve in public, with Jonathan a few feet away. He’d failed to protect her as he’d promised.

Someone stepped on Jonathan’s fingers. Another person kicked his head. “Bloody hell, Whale, get up!” he bellowed.

Whale’s body weight shifted forward and back, and then forward and back again. It seemed the behemoth couldn’t gain purchase.

At last, Robinson freed Jonathan from Whale’s crushing bulk. Then, the lawman grabbed him from beneath his shoulders and hoisted him onto his feet. Even as Jonathan steadied himself, someone knocked into him from behind. All around him, fists flew and men swore.

At first, Jonathan couldn’t see into the ring with the tumult surrounding him, but he shoved people out of his way until he could see Griffendale. Their host stood in the ring, the speaking trumpet to his mouth as he yelled something muted and indecipherable. Josie, Franny, Bear, and Roseanna surrounded him, their eyes wide. Gen was nowhere to be seen.

“Gen?” Jonathan yelled over the uproar. “Where in the devil is she?”

“We have to go,” Robinson hollered over the clamor. “Whale, clear us a path.”

“Gotta save Ghost,” Whale declared as if it were a battle cry.

Jonathan grabbed hold of Whale’s shoulder and held on tightly as the avenging leviathan swatted men out of his way as easily as if he were a tidal wave cutting through a shoal of minnows.

*

Jonathan followed Robinsonto a carriage he didn’t recognize. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall ever seeing this particular crest—an intricate wreath encircling anS.

“We can take my carriage,” Jonathan offered, even though he had no idea where they were going.

“Get in,” Robinson said, pointing at the conveyance marked with the fancyS. “And be quick about it.”

This was probably for the best since the Davenport horses were happily munching on hay at the moment.

Whale, who had struggled to keep pace with them as they ran across the field, finally caught up to them. Sweat coated his brow, and his chest heaved as he gulped air.

“Whale, please tell Franny and Josie that we had to go to Thorn Manor,” Robinson said. “Can you remember that? Lord Davenport and I went to Thorn Manor to save Gen.”

At least Jonathan now knew where they were headed.

Whale nodded, his expression deadly serious. “Thorn Manor to save Miss Ghost.”

“Good man,” Robinson said. He shoved Jonathan toward the open door.

Jonathan climbed into an already occupied carriage. A young man had his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a pipsqueak of a girl who couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven. A well-dressed man sat on the other side of the child. Concern radiated from all three passengers.

Jonathan reached for his hat, intending to doff it in a polite greeting, only to discover he’d lost it somewhere along the way. More than likely, when a large human had catapulted into him, thus introducing his forehead to the hard ground. Jonathanexhaled his last dollop of pride. It seemed that falling in love had a way of humbling even the smuggest of men.

“We need to go,” Robinson yelled to the driver as he flung himself into the carriage and pulled the door closed. He dropped onto the empty seat. “I am sorry. We were too late,” he told the other passengers. “We need to head back to Thorn Manor.”

Jonathan plunked his arse onto the squab beside Robinson. “Too late for what?”