Chapter Eleven #2
“Good boy.” Jonathan ruffled Floppy’s fur, then strolled to his mother.
“Good afternoon, ladies.” He leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek.
She remained unusually stiff. When she didn’t berate him for missing the morning meal, he turned his attention to Gen.
“I hope you slept well.” He shot her his charming grin.
Seeming unimpressed, she dropped her gaze to stare at the book and paper piled on her lap. Uneasiness landed in the pit of his gut. What if she’d been busy telling his mother what an insufferable, arrogant fopdoodle he’d been the previous evening?
“Josie, what a pleasant surprise,” he said to his unexpected visitor, who was dressed in men’s clothing, a sheen of sweat coating her pretty face. “Looks as though you were out for your morning run. What brings you here on this fine day?”
“Cut the applesauce, Davenport,” the irreverent Josie said.
Gen winced. Even she probably realized that one should not talk to a viscount thusly. And yet, Jonathan sucked up the rebuke. He had no desire to poke the hellion his best friend loved, mostly because he also adored her.
“Nicolas told me what you did,” Josie continued.
Of course, he had—the morally upright traitor.
Josie pinned him in her fiery gaze. “One bloody week? What were you thinking?”
Before he had a chance to respond, his mother waggled her finger. “I told you how I felt about this. I warned you not to let Tristan bait you.”
Resigning himself to the rebuke, Jonathan sat in the chair next to his mother. “I told Gen that I would see Griffendale today and put an end to this wager. She doesn’t have to fight Roseanna.”
“But she wants to fight,” Josie said.
Jonathan rubbed his temple. “I think I need coffee.”
Gen scribbled something on the paper on her lap, then handed it to Josie. Josie regarded Nicolas. Her lips pursed and her nose wrinkled as if he were a smelly rat.
“I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from writing disparaging notes about me until after I’ve had coffee,” he said.
“Oh,” his mother murmured as if something had just occurred to her. Her expression softened. “Jonathan, darling, what we are trying to tell you is that Gen wants to be a pugilist. She doesn’t want you to cancel the fight altogether. She would like you to sponsor her. Right, Gen?”
She nodded.
Oh?
“She would like more than a week to train. I think she was trying to tell you this last night in her notes, but you were too inebriated to read the messages.”
The way his mother exaggerated the word inebriated, half of London would realize she was covering for his stupidity.
Oh.
“Since Gen is eager to earn blunt, which I can appreciate,” Josie said, “I suggested we schedule an exhibition match in a few months. Both Roseanna and Gen can showcase their skills in timed rounds. No knockouts. No champion. After that, when Gen is ready, we can schedule a fight at The Purple Rabbit.”
Oh!
’Twas difficult to sort through everything with the hot coppers still on his tail, but it seemed like a good compromise. He nodded. “If Griffendale agrees, I would be happy to sponsor you in three months, Gen.”
She shook her head and held up her index finger.
“She is insisting on one month,” Josie said.
Hadn’t Griffendale mentioned something about an event a month from now? Jonathan rubbed his temples trying to call forth the details.
Genevieve’s eyes met his. So blue, so beautiful, and pleading. He simply couldn’t deny her after he’d behaved so atrociously last night. Besides, he was already supplying her food, shelter, clothing, and paying for her training. All he had to do was throw in a tiny allowance and travel funds.
“Of course I will sponsor you,” he said.
Gen’s eyes widened, and she clasped her hands together. A smile wreathed her face, making him feel like a hero of some kind, which he most certainly was not.
“For an exhibition match for now,” Jonathan said.
Still smiling, Gen nodded enthusiastically.
“Timed rounds. I don’t want you to get hurt. And Gen—” he stared into her eyes—“Only if Josie and Franny say you are ready.”
Gen’s eyes filled with what he swore was adoration, and a warmth seeped through his skin and into his blood.
No, you fool. Stop with the sentimental mush. She is not your type.
Gen quickly scribbled, thank you, in big letters and waved it about.
It took him a moment to decipher it, but thankfully, he was able to decode the two words. “My pleasure,” he said.
Gen wrote another message and tried to hand it to him, but Josie intercepted it, reading it out loud, “Josie ran fifteen miles this morning. I would like to run on the morrow. But I do not want to run by myself.”
Well, damn. He doubted he could run fifteen miles. Maybe four or five, tops. And only if he didn’t drink another decanter of whisky tonight.
“You can run with Franny and me on the morrow.” Josie pointed at Gen’s dress. “We wear men’s clothing and hide our hair when we train in public. No one wants to see women dashing through London covered in sweat.”
Gen smiled big.
“She already has some of my clothing,” Jonathan said. “We can get her more. And I can run with you too, Gen. If you don’t mind starting with a shorter distance.” That way, he could ensure that Kilsby did not come near her.
Gen’s brow furrowed, then she consented with a firm chin bob.
“That suits.” Josie stood. “I need to head to The Silk Knuckles. I have a new female student coming today. I will see you all this evening. Gen, work up to twenty miles.” She smirked at Jonathan. “You, too.”
The harridan. Jabbing Josie was lucky he favored her.
“Gen, once you are ready, you can run with Franny because any day now, I will weigh as much as a carriage.”
The chit had an insatiable appetite, which Jonathan rather admired. “I doubt that.” He grinned. “Maybe a horse, but not the carriage.”
“Sod off, Viscount. And I can say that since I’m no longer training to be a lady.” Josie patted her flat belly. “Although, perhaps I should watch my language in case this is the future earl.”
His mother popped onto her feet and pulled Josie into a hug. “Congratulations, dear. Oh, my. We will soon have a baby toddling about.”
“Well, I’ll be bound,” Jonathan said. Nicolas would make a damn good father. “Congratulations, Josie. You will be a wonderful mother. Now, if you will excuse me, I need coffee.”
A lot of very strong coffee to counteract the whisky, help him get through an afternoon of interviews, and provide him with the energy to tell Gen the truth.