Page 91 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“But he will have to catch her first, Mouse,” Christopher said.

“Lord Davenport.” Sophia’s pretty eyes regarded Jonathan with intelligent curiosity. “Mr. Robinson said that Gen is a pugilist. Is this true?”

“’Tis.” Jonathan smiled for the first time since he’d entered the carriage. “And a very good one.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Christopher said. “I always knew she was special. Lord Davenport, have you seen her run?”

“Runs circles around me.” Jonathan chuckled.

Christopher shrugged. “I wager Gen knocks Father out.”

Looking quite pleased at the prospect, Sophia clasped her little hands together. “I think so, too.”

Even though Jonathan would give anything to own a magic carpet that delivered him to Thorn Manor immediately so that he could ensure she was safe, he couldn’t help but agree. Arthur Bailey was most likely going to end up knocked out cold.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Genevieve sat inthe carriage glaring at her father as he glowered back, his pupils unfocused and deranged. When Jonathan tracked them down, he’d kill the man, that is, if she didn’t kill him first. And she just might, once she ensured Sophia and Christopher were safe. She should have known that the evil man would threaten their well-being in order to control her.

As she’d tried to leave the ring to get to Jonathan—who she was surprised to see was talking to Edward Robinson—her father had grabbed her and whispered, “If you do not come with me right now, I will give Sophia to Kilsby. I must pay my debts after all. And wait until you hear your dear brother’s fate.”

“I thought you sold Terrace Place to pay your gambling debts,” she’d snarled, for he would no longer intimidate her.

“She speaks,” her father had declared as his bruising grip tightened even more. “Do not make me remove my blade from my pocket.”

“Bugger you and your knife.”If only the blade in his pocket gutshim.

Now, that had been a delightful thought. Attempting to free herself, she’d shoved him away from her, which seemed to alert Whale that she was in danger.

“Whale is comin’,” her self-proclaimed protector called as he attempted to hoist himself into the ring.

Her father had shoved him backward. Although they were only about two feet off the ground, Whale had not yet steadiedhis bodyweight on the outside ledge of the platform. He lost his balance and toppled into the crowd, landing on top of Jonathan.

“Jonathan,” she’d cried out. Unfortunately, he probably hadn’t heard her because Whale’s fall instigated a domino-style pushing, shoving match within the crowd.

Genevieve attempted to get the duke’s attention with a wave that he never witnessed because a conversation with Franny, Josie, and Roseanna held his focus. Also indisposed, Bear was involved in an animated discussion with an umpire, waving his arms about and pointing at the fray.

“Now.” Her father flashed a shiny, unsheathed blade, which he hastily shoved back into its hiding place in his greatcoat pocket. “Kilsby is with your sister as we speak, and who knows what he is doing. The man likes chits young and has no boundaries.” He’d grinned. “Likes pretty boys like Christopher, too. Enjoys watching them squirm as he forces them to take all he has to offer.”

Bile burned Genevieve’s esophagus. Christopher would slice Kilsby’s bullocks off. And yet, she had no other choice but to allow her father to shove her through the free-for-all. Hopefully, Whale could articulate what had happened to the others.

Her father hissed, bringing her back to their scowling contest in the carriage. “I didn’t believe it at first when Clyde brought me the handbill he found in a tavern. You? A pugilist? You are so dimwitted you couldn’t even speak. But then I realized that it doesn’t take brains to climb into the ring. The less the better.” His chuckle was hellishly low and utterly diabolical. “Whatever made you think you could be a pugilist? You were quite terrible at first. So weak.”

She’d always known that Clyde was dung. Only an arse would drive a man like Arthur Bailey around. And how dare her father comment on her fighting ability? She’d like to see how he fared in the ring while she shot him with eye daggers. She hadredeemed herself in the end, though. Refusing to look in her father’s direction, she’d pulled herself together, concentrated, and finished strong.

“Sod off,” she spat out. As she’d already discovered, saying indecent things brought her pleasure.

Her resolve remained firm. She would not allow him to intimidate her. Eventually, he would have to sleep. And then… Oh, my, the methods of torture were endless. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I will see you hanged,” she said. “And as God is my witness, I swear, if anything happens to Christopher or Sophia, if you have hurt a single hair on their heads, I will kill you myself. Think I jest? Then remember this, old man; your barbarous blood flows through my veins.”

*

As the carriagerolled along, Genevieve lost track of time. The evil man refused to stop at a coaching inn, which was bad for the horses but good for her since it meant less time alone with him in the carriage. Faster travel also meant she would reach her siblings sooner.

The sun was just beginning to set when they arrived at Thorn Manor. Brown vines twisted upward, overtaking the roof and covering many of the windows. The devil in the form of a man had done it; he’d completely strangled their home.

As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop, she pushed the door open and leaped to the ground. “Christopher, Sophia,” she yelled as she darted into the foyer, almost running headfirst into the butler.