Chapter Nine #3
Jonathan’s heart plummeted. That thought had crossed his mind, and for some reason, he’d refused to acknowledge it. Of course, it would explain why he felt so protective of her, and why he was struggling to come to terms with his attraction to her.
“I don’t know,” he said. Except she could read and write, which Jonathan couldn’t do. So even if she was dim-witted, she was more intelligent than he.
“Do you think someone hurt her?” Griffendale asked. “I mean, really hurt her, so much so, that now she is afraid to talk?”
Obviously, she was terrified of Kilsby.
“Can that happen?” Jonathan asked.
Griffendale shrugged his massive shoulders. “I don’t honestly know, but men can be right, abusive arses. I’ve heard that some soldiers returned from Waterloo so badly affected by the horrors they witnessed that they were unable to speak, so maybe she saw something that terrified her.”
When had Griffendale become such a philosopher?
Thereupon, Jonathan cringed. Were the two of them, with their noncommittal tupping and refusal to take anything seriously, also abusive arses?
The mere thought of being a swine felt like a punch to his gut.
He’d never meant to be like the oppressive men of his class; he’d just been enjoying a privileged, carefree life, and using the charm and charisma God had blessed him with on the ladies.
“By the by, I did not tup Celeste the other night,” Griffendale said. “She started the night as your date, so it felt wrong.”
By God, Griffendale was becoming downright decent.
First insight into Gen’s inability to speak, reflection on what was until just this moment roguish ways, and then refusing cunny simply because Jonathan had been with the lady—but not in bed with her—first. What was happening?
Jonathan had never known him to care about such things.
Perhaps the world was coming to an end.
“But then you were behaving like such a bloody arse tonight that I lied,” Griffendale said.
“The truth is, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve bedded anyone.
I seem to be more concerned about my champion and beating Paulsgrove at the next Duke’s and Dame’s Mill.
I think Roseanna can beat Priscilla Paulsgrove, but what if I’m wrong? ”
Jonathan was at a loss as to what to say or do with the vulnerable duke. Maybe this is why they acted like scoundrels when they were together. He didn’t like it. “Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
“No bloody idea.” Griffendale exhaled long and low. “Mayhap I need to take my mind off of all this boxing stuff and enjoy a good headboard slamming fuckfest.”
“Mayhap,” Jonathan said. As long as he stayed far away from Gen.
Griffendale shifted. “I believe the ladies are finished,” he said.
Jonathan slid his gaze to the lady fighters.
Her eyes bright, and her cheeks flushed, almost as if she’d just been tupped, Gen hung her rope on the hook and skipped across the room to his side. Sweat dripped down her forehead and soaked his shirt.
He inhaled the sensual scent of roses and sweaty female. If she were some other woman, he might associate the delicious smell with sexual congress, but thoughts of Gen naked beneath him needed to be kept at bay.
“You were quite good,” he said.
She pressed her palms together beneath her chin, as if saying thank you.
“It looked as though you thoroughly enjoyed yourself,” Griffendale said.
Grinning, she nodded, then waved goodbye to Franny and Roseanna, who were standing by the dumbbells conversing.
They waved back.
It seemed Gen had made friends and the thought warmed Jonathan’s heart.
Griffendale clapped his back. “I had a jolly good time tonight, old chum. Nothing like a little friendly rivalry with one of my best mates to get the blood flowing and take my mind off my woes.”
“Agreed,” Jonathan said.
“Then, I’ll see you on the morrow evening,” Griffendale said. “Same time, same place.”
A storm of biblical proportions would not keep Jonathan away.
But it wasn’t the bet that had lit a fire beneath him, because after Griffendale’s honest confession, he wasn’t feeling his usual competitiveness.
And once he told his mother what he’d done, she’d skewer him with her disappointed glare—the one that accompanied her pursed lips and indignant finger waggle and made him feel like a heel—unless she’d come to the same conclusion after finding out that Kilsby posed a danger and seeing how much fun their guest had training.
For once, his motivation was pure. He couldn’t wait to bring Gen back so that she could enjoy herself.
“Tomorrow evening,” Jonathan said. “That is, if you would like to return, Gen?”
She bounced on her toes.
He’d take that as a yes and proof that he was correct and that she belonged here.
“Let us head home now.” He pressed his palm into the small of her back and guided her toward the exit.
“I’m famished. Mrs. Porter will have prepared something delicious.
” Hopefully, something that would put some weight on his champion, quickly.
Because she needed to gain at least a stone and a half so that the more muscular Roseanna didn’t knock her onto her arse seconds into the fight.