Page 94 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Gen,” Sophia called.

Genevieve cut her gaze from the corpse to the doorway. Sophia and Christopher charged toward her. Her uncle, the Earl of Shipley, rounded out the newly arrived party. She hadn’t seen him in years, but since they shared the same eyes, she’d recognize him in a room full of people.

She left Jonathan’s warm embrace to hug her siblings. “Oh, I’ve missed you both,” she said. “I am so sorry I left. I was trying to earn the money to come back for you.”

“We know,” Christopher said. “Mr. Robinson and Uncle helped us escape, and Lord Davenport told us everything.”

“I am sorry, Gen,” Jonathan said. “I followed you one night to your old house, because I was worried. After that, I hired Edward to look into your past. Again, because I wanted to protect you.”

“Do not be angry at Lord Davenport,” Edward said. “He wasn’t the only one worried. Franny and Josie also insisted I find out who you were running from so that they could help protect you. As did Lady Davenport.”

How could she be angry? After spending so much of her life unloved, she’d found people who adored her for who she was. Her siblings were finally safe, and she’d been reunited with her uncle.

Christopher playfully punched her shoulder. “A pugilist, eh?”

They could catch up on life later. For now, she had to focus on their current predicament. “I am afraid Father is dead.”

“Obviously,” Christopher said with a shrug.

“Good.” Sophia tapped the tiny toe of her boot on his forehead. “Now we can live happily ever after.”

Perhaps sniggering over a dead body was in poor taste, but Sophia’s little nose was twitching adorably. Genevieve and Christopher sandwiched their little sister in a tight hug.

“Heavens.” Melvintsked.

The siblings parted to regard their butler.

“’Tis quite difficult to get bloodstains out. Shall we simply purchase new carpeting, sir?” he asked Christopher.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Just two daysearlier, Jonathan had married the amazing woman seated across from him. “The best decision of my life,” he’d declared at least a dozen times since then. Currently, she alternated between smiling as she engaged in the conversation whizzing around them and devouring a sponge cake. He’d known since the first time they strolled past Clifton’s Confectionery—which seemed like a lifetime ago, even though only two months had passed—that she would enjoy the charming shop.

What he had not known was that on their first visit, they would be surrounded by family.

But here they were, all seven of them, seated around the table, the scent of buttery baked goods wafting throughout the elegant but comfortable Parisian-style space as they talked and laughed.

“I dare say, Gen, I had no idea that pugilists consumed cakes, berries, and cream,” Christopher taunted.

Grinning, Gen licked her lips.

Jonathan couldn’t help but chuckle. Now that she was no longer starving to death—as evidenced by her well-defined muscles, as well as her stellar athleticism—she strictly adhered to her training diet of beef broth, porridge, and eggs. He had no idea how she remained disciplined with Cook overfeeding the household, but his wife was determined to be a champion. Today though, she was enthusiastically enjoying her indulgence.

On the other hand, her little sister indulged every chance she got. The mountain of baked goods on Sophia’s plate had toppled over, creating an unappetizing, motley mound.

Fighting a gag at the sight of the hodgepodge, Jonathan leaned toward Sophia. “Do you think you have enough?” He enjoyed watching the girl’s eyes shine every time he playfully goaded her.

Sophia popped a bite into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Father took all of our sweets away. He said we couldn’t have any until we told him where Gen was. Of course, we didn’t know—not that we would have told him if we did. He could have starved us to death, and we still would have protected her. Mrs. Whistler tried to sneak us biscuits, but when he found out, he smacked her and threw them out the window. At least the birds enjoyed them.” She picked up what was once an artfully decorated cake, then licked across the top of it, scooping up the pink icing on her tongue.

Even though Arthur Bailey was dead, every time someone mentioned him, an ache pinged in Jonathan’s heart. He could not erase the abuse the siblings had suffered, and yet he was doing his damndest to make their lives wonderful from here on out.

He nudged his shoulder against Sophia’s and pointed at her overfull plate. “I wager you can’t eat all of those.”

Her adorable nose twitched. “I bet you a kitten that I can.”

He had every intention of gifting her a kitten whether she finished the treats or not. Still, he played along, holding out his hand. “Deal.”

Her sticky fingers clasped his hand and shook.