Chapter Twenty-One
Despite the chill outside and his earlier ablutions, sweat coated Jonathan’s body. Damn lustful thoughts! Adding to his misery, the flames in the hearth heated his chamber to the temperature of Satan’s lair.
He leaned over his washbasin and dipped his hands into the bowl, splashing water on his cheeks, then his neck and chest. The cool liquid took the edge off his current state.
Still, he probably needed to submerge his entire body in an icy bath if he meant to calm his out-of-control libido.
Unfortunately, the ewer and basin would have to suffice since he didn’t want to disturb Stevens or anyone else on his staff, especially for this.
He patted himself dry, tossed his towel on his washstand, finished undressing, and then tumbled into bed.
He slammed his fist on the pillow and attempted to stifle his moan. Gen would be the death of him. His facade of a man in control of his emotions was cracking.
Then again, maybe he was fooling himself, and no one anywhere had ever held illusions that he was anything but a fun-loving, out-of-control scoundrel.
“Fuck,” he growled.
Tossing the pillow aside, he stared at the shapes the flickering flames cast on the ceiling as he tried to make sense of both his feelings and his actions.
Discipline wasn’t one of his finer qualities, so it was rare that he sent a woman who wanted him away. Only twice that he could remember, and both occasions had happened recently.
He wanted Gen, and she wanted him, so there shouldn’t be a problem. And yet, his current conundrum seemed insurmountable because she was not the type of woman he could tup and leave, when he was the type of man who bedded, then sprinted.
Every time he thought about the things he wanted to do to her—suckle her breasts, feast on her cunny, slide his cock into her wet heat—a gut-churning guilt ate at him.
He should keep his filthy thoughts far away from her purity.
Despite her reassurance that she was not porcelain, Jonathan was much too emotionally clumsy for someone so innocent.
Somehow, he would crush her, just like he’d destroyed his fragile pet butterfly.
Gen required a gentle man. Someone tender. Someone who knew his mind. Someone who loved her…
He favored her. But did he love her?
He wanted to be with her all the time, protecting her and enjoying her athletic success. Playing the clown to make her laugh filled him with immense joy. As he’d recently discovered, the air between them sizzled when they kissed. Shameful but undeniably true—he was obsessed with fucking her.
But was this love?
He sighed. Perhaps. However, what did he know since he didn’t understand his own feelings?
The one thing he understood was that his aching cock, which was reaching for the ceiling, needed to be tended to. A rough frigging was just the thing to clear his mind and refocus his priorities.
He took his hard-as-stone shaft in hand and squeezed at the same time that his chamber door squeaked, startling him.
Damn Stevens to hell. “Good God, man. Knock.” Jonathan grabbed the pillow and pressed it to his crotch.
The latch clicked into place.
“Jonathan,” a feminine voice that did not belong to his valet said.
Jonathan bolted upright.
Looking wraithlike in her white nightdress, Gen stood in front of the door with her hair unbound. She’d wrapped a blue shawl around her shoulders, and her feet were bare.
He’d told her to lock her door to keep him out, but it had never occurred to him that he needed to lock his door. He gawped, as any sane man would in this confounding situation.
“Gen, what are you doing here?” he asked.
Gaze cast downward, she strolled across his room and sat on the opposite side of the bed. Meanwhile, his cock twitched beneath the pillow.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
He swallowed the frog in his throat. “Could you turn away for a moment?”
She finally looked up and took him in from head to toe, her gaze lingering on his chest, and then the pillow. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.
Well, what in the devil did she expect if she was going to barge into his room at all hours of the night?
Did she think he slept in his waistcoat and trousers and never frigged?
Not that he begrudged her the visit. Although he’d prefer her to be naked, her hair on his pillow, her cunny walls squeezing his cock—
No! Don’t go there, he berated himself.
Nibbling on her lip, she turned her back to him.
He removed the pillow. Unfortunately, his freed cock waved like a surrender flag. Wriggling about, he pulled the counterpane over himself and then sat up and leaned his back against the headboard.
“There. Decent,” he said. Or as decent as he could make himself, considering.
She was still gnawing on her bottom lip when she faced him.
“Is something bothering you?” he asked.
She took so long to respond that he feared she’d lost her voice again. Finally, she raised her gaze to look into his eyes.
“Jonathan, I’ve been afraid for so long, and for the first time, I’m not. You make me feel safe, and boxing makes me feel powerful.”
She was hardly safe sitting on the edge of his bed, while his cock and conscience warred.
Damnations, he was a rapscallion, and she was vulnerable. Even a wanton like him knew that sporting a cockstand while a woman poured out her heart and soul was inappropriate. Exhaling, he willed his cock into submission—not a simple thing to do with this woman in his bed.
“I am exceedingly glad,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
“I am sorry I barged in on you. I understand how you feel, so we don’t have to do anything indecent.”
How did she understand how he felt when he didn’t know?
“You see…” Her voice—which sounded almost cultured—quivered. “What if I wake up on the morrow and am afraid to talk? I can’t take that chance, so I have things I need to say. Now, while I can.”
“I hope you always feel as though you can talk to me,” Jonathan said, hoping to comfort her.
“But if you are ever too afraid, then we will find other ways to communicate.” He aimed for a reassuring smile.
“I dare say, we’ve been doing a blasted good job of it so far.
” There had been quite a few miscommunications, but they’d found ways to work through them.
Besides, dwelling on the negative rarely helped unfortunate matters.
She swung her bare feet onto the bed and leaned against his headboard. The lantern light illuminated her in a seraphim’s halo, as if even the universe was reminding him to keep his hands off her.
Her gaze grew unfocused as if she was looking into the future. “Do you know what is interesting? It would be scandalous for me to crawl into your bed if I were a lady. But since I am a pugilist, no one cares what I do.”
It was still rather scandalous that she was in his bed, in the middle of the night, talking to him.
Again, not something he would point out, especially since he’d been in bed with a lot of women doing much more scandalous things than talking.
However, if his mother found out, she would skin him alive.
Which begged the question, why had she left them alone tonight?
He cleared his throat. “Is there something specific you want to discuss?” If, by chance, she told him who had hurt her and what she was running from, he could better protect her.
She ran her index finger over his swollen knuckles. Her hands were cold, but her touch was scorching. “Were you angry tonight at The Silk Knuckles?”
Was he? He couldn’t remember. “Why do you ask?”
“You were pounding on the sandbag.”
Ah, yes. “I was boxing.” He grinned. “Which involves fists and hitting things.”
Her brow rose skeptically. “But you seemed intent on murdering someone, and your knuckles look as though someone took a scythe to them.”
True. He chuckled.
Her jaw tensed. “I do not want to get your staff into trouble, but they have been worried about you. They fear that something is troubling you. I just hope it isn’t me.”
Her, among other things. “Lately, so many things are weighing on me.” He needed to take his time and try to articulate his feelings without being dismissive or turning this into a joke. “I have shared that I lost my man of business, but I have not told you of all the consequences.”
“You can tell me anything,” she said. “Mayhap I can help you solve whatever is causing you stress.”
First, he reiterated the pain of losing his father and the responsibility of inheriting a title.
Next, he talked about Kincaid and Nashel’s deaths, and then Nashel’s young widow and children.
And then, he told her all about his interviews and the men he’d sent away because he was afraid that they would discover his secret.
All the while, she listened attentively.
“But you saw to Mr. Nashel’s family. Oh, Jonathan, you are so kind.”
He wrinkled his nose.
“You are, you know? Kind and generous. Why do you try so hard to convince yourself otherwise?”
He was hardly monstrous, but he wasn’t exactly saintly.
And yet, he cared deeply about people and looked out for his friends, family, and staff.
After his father’s death, he hadn’t insisted his mother move to her dowager house, because he didn’t want her to be lonely.
And he favored cute animals, not that he’d ever seen an animal that wasn’t adorable.
Still, he wasn’t sure these things made him deserve Gen’s praise.
“Despite what many pig-headed men say, compassion isn’t a sign of weakness,” she said. “In fact, I find it to be a sign of strength. Cruel men are actually weak.”
He wholeheartedly agreed, which was why he despised men like Kilsby.
“And you shouldn’t be ashamed that reading is hard for you.
” She gently caressed the broken skin covering his knuckles, easing the sting.
“What if you stopped trying to hide what you see as a disability and instead embraced it? That would take the stigma away, and you could let the world know how intelligent and kind you are with your head held high.”
Easier said than done. “I have no idea how to embrace being such a dolt that I can’t run my estates.”
“Oh, Jonathan.” She sighed. “I don’t know a single aristocrat who runs their estate without assistance. It isn’t that you are struggling to read that’s causing you problems. It’s your own self-doubt and pride.”
How many aristocrats did she know?
“What about the first man you interviewed?” she said. “You could give him another chance. His responses about helping Mr. Nashel’s family were kind. Mayhap he could help you organize and process information using visuals such as charts and graphs.”
How did she know so much about teaching? A mystery to be solved later, since he was currently naked and she had turned his hand over and was now exploring his palm.
“The truth is, my feelings for you confuse me.” He stared at their hands, holding his breath as she drew what looked and felt like a G.
“Are you writing me a message?” he asked.
Smiling, she nodded. “Another method of talking in case I lose my voice.”
Doing his best to ignore the scent of citrus, rose soap, and woman, he concentrated as she wrote an E, then an N.
“Gen?” he asked.
Nodding, she continued writing, E V I E V E. She paused and looked into his eyes.
“That is a lot of letters to remember, so you have to do it again.” He had no idea what she’d spelled, but he was enjoying her touch.
“My real name,” she whispered.
The one thing he thought he knew about her had just been taken from him. His heart crashed. “Gen isn’t your real name?”
Her fingertip tickled his palm. Desperate to know her name, he concentrated with everything he had.
G E N E V I E V E, she wrote, then met his gaze.
“This game is confusing, Ge—” he stopped himself from calling her a fake name.
“Genevieve,” she whispered.
“Your name is Genevieve?”
“Yes.”
What a relief, because Gen was short for Genevieve. He hadn’t called the woman by the wrong name as he kissed her. He might be a cad, but he had some standards.
“Genevieve,” he said again, letting her name roll over his tongue. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
Smiling, she continued using his palm as a canvas, drawing two half-circles that met at a point. A heart, perhaps? Then she formed what felt like a J D, a plus sign, and then a G E N.
“Is that us inside a heart?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
His heart fluttered as if he were a girl with a tendre, as it so often did around her. Dear Lord, what was happening to him?
“I should go,” she said. Before he had a chance to stop her, she left him alone, a melty mushy heap of confusing sentiment.
“Who are you, Genevieve?” he whispered to the closing door.
Whoever she was, she was brave as hell. Running away to start her life over. Climbing into a boxing ring and giving it her all. And most importantly, despite not being of his class and her traumatic past, she’d given him, a man who’d never been able to commit, her heart and her soul.
For the first time in his life, Jonathan knew exactly what he wanted. First thing in the morning, he would offer Jacob Thurstan a job. But right this second, he would confess his love to the amazing woman sleeping down the hall from him.