Chapter Twenty-Four
Genevieve should be enjoying everything about this chance she’d been given and not fretting about the possibility of failure.
Firstly, Jonathan had already given her a few weeks’ worth of allowances.
She’d tucked the money inside the precious note from Christopher and someday soon, she could send for her siblings.
And secondly, she wasn’t going to get knocked out or die.
At least, not at an exhibition fight. Thirdly, no one would recognize her because she didn’t know anyone living near Redhurst House.
And if someone from her past was in the audience, the white paint hid her true identity.
Although Genevieve could now talk to Jonathan, she remained quiet when they were in the company of others.
Her fellow travelers, except for Jonathan, who looked half-contemplative, half-uncomfortable, talked and laughed as if they were on their way to a celebration.
Meanwhile, Genevieve’s lips tingled from holding her breath.
She exhaled and wriggled, retrieving her writing implements from beneath Horatio’s front quarters. Using his back as a desk, she wrote, Josie and Franny, did you remember to pack the white cosmetics?
“Yes,” Franny said. “I remembered.”
From beside her, Jonathan squirmed. “May I ask what it is that you remembered?”
“The white face paint,” Josie said. “I also have the outfit Lady Paulsgrove gave to me.”
“Gen trained in the whiting the other day and some of it came off with her sweat, so we must not get it near her eyes,” Franny said. “It didn’t totally change her appearance, but enough that if you aren’t specifically looking for her, you probably won’t recognize her.”
“Splendid way to get into character,” Nicolas said. “The Fancy will love it.”
Jonathan remained silent, and Genevieve couldn’t see his expression unless she turned to the side to look at him.
But she couldn’t look him in the eyes right this second.
Not after the way she’d avoided him all week.
She wanted to marry him, but she had to see to her siblings safety first. And she wanted to make love to him.
But Coach Valentine had said sexual congress was prohibited the week before a mill.
And, right this second, she wanted him to hold her and tell her that everything would be fine.
But that was also impossible with others watching them.
Inhaling deeply, she ran her hand over Horatio’s back. Luckily, the feel of soft fur on her fingertips helped calm her jitters.
Grinning, Nicolas pointed at Horatio. “I say, Davenport, are you giving up your seat so the dog can be comfortable?”
Jonathan snorted.
The unfortunate man was rather crammed.
Genevieve was just about to nudge Horatio onto the floor when Jonathan hoisted the pup’s rump onto his lap.
“Much better,” he said as he settled his back against the squabs.
Franny laughed.
“Who would have guessed that Jonathan would have a baby before you?” Josie said as she clasped her husband’s forearm. “Or that the wee one would inherit the viscount’s propensity for drooling.”
“Ha. Ha,” Jonathan said. “But Floppy does not drool.”
Of course, only one of them drooled and it was not Jonathan.
On second thought, he had drooled a few times when she’d been naked.
Genevieve laughed so hard that her tense muscles relaxed.
With Floppy’s front paws on her lap, and his hindquarters on Jonathan’s, it really was as if the three of them were one happy family.
“This should be a fascinating event,” Josie said. “I am so grateful to His Grace. ’Tis a wonderful way to promote The Silk Knuckles and perhaps convince more prizefighters to train with us.”
“Agreed,” Franny said. “Lord Griffendale has seen to every detail. It shall be fun to spend the weekend at Redhurst House. I hear ’tis lovely and since I am not training for a fight, I shall enjoy the delicious food. I just wish Edward could enjoy it with me.”
Although it was none of her business, Genevieve was curious as to where he was. Perhaps, since he was a lawman, he was working on a case.
Josie chuckled. “I suppose Bear and his crew will enjoy staying at a fancy estate. I do so enjoy a good mash-up of the classes.”
Her husband rolled his eyes. “Do not instigate trouble, darling.”
Looking quite incredulous, Josie brought her hand to her heart. “Me, instigate trouble? How dare you, husband!”
Jonathan chortled. He seemed to be relaxing.
“What say ye, Viscount?” Josie said, her eyes sparkling.
“Any fun wagers about our companions? Oh, I know. How many hours before Roseanna punches Bear? How long before fisticuffs break out between Griffendale and Spider? How many fancy pastries Whale eats before he casts up his accounts on an heirloom?”
“I plan to behave this weekend,” Jonathan said.
Nicolas, Franny, and Josie snorted. Even Horatio let out a skeptical sneeze.
Rolling her eyes, Franny shook her head. “Back to important matters. After the carriage ride, we should have a thorough stretch. Especially you, Gen. Sitting for long periods of time is hard on your body.”
Stretching sounded lovely. Genevieve nodded.
“You need to make an extra effort to stay hydrated,” Josie told her.
His expression serious, Nicolas leaned forward. “Do not let Griffendale overfeed you tonight.”
Genevieve lost track of the advice from her well-meaning companions because her mind was on Jonathan’s hip, which had brushed against hers, his warmth immensely comforting, and his touch utterly scandalous. “Blah, blah, blah,” someone added.
She really needed to focus.
She suspected no one took notice that beneath Horatio, she’d moved closer to Jonathan. Or maybe, he’d moved closer to her. Whatever the case, craving the feel of him, she gently knocked her hip into his.
From beside her, Jonathan’s breath hitched.
“Blah, blah. Blah, blah,” one of their companions said.
Jonathan stretched his arm to scratch Horatio between the ears.
“Did you hear me, Jonathan?” Josie asked.
“Yes,” he said.
Despite his self-depreciating observations about having the attention span of a puppy, Jonathan must have had better concentration than she did, because Genevieve had no idea what Josie was referencing.
Jonathan’s fingers brushed her hand as she patted Horatio. Once. Twice. Three times.
If only they were alone.
As it was, she had to be content with Jonathan’s occasional touch that sparked a fire in her belly. Boo to Coach Valentine’s training rule that discouraged tupping the week before a fight. Hiss to her avoiding being alone with the man she loved as she tried to resolve her family issues.
“Jonathan, do not go too hard or deep,” Josie said.
“You don’t want to hurt Gen; you just want to work out any of the tension.
I will demonstrate it for you so that you know how to do it correctly.
Since she is your fighter, Franny and I thought you might want to do the honor.
” Jabbing Josie’s lips quirked as if she were smirking.
What the devil? Genevieve’s hand froze, mid pat and her cheeks caught fire. Perhaps she should have been paying better attention because she wasn’t sure what she had gotten herself into. Hopefully not one of Griffendale’s indecent gatherings.
“I’ve been studying what the ancient Greeks and Romans did to foster such amazing athletes.
It seems they incorporated muscle manipulation by rubbing herbs and oils into the skin,” Franny said.
“The Greeks called it massó, the Roman’s massa.
Josie and I refer to it as massage, the practice of kneading.
Not only does it feel lovely, but it is supposed to prevent injury and assist recovery.
We want to incorporate it into our prizefighter’s training programs.”
Jonathan swallowed. “Oil?”
Genevieve fought her urge to turn to the side and stare at Jonathan. Meanwhile, her core tingled as she imagined the wicked gleam in his eyes. His hair had probably morphed into haphazard corkscrews.
“I am still researching what herbs to use,” Franny said. “But until then, the muscle manipulation seems quite promising. Even Papa seems enthusiastic about it. I am seeing to Roseanna’s treatments, and Papa is seeing to Pete’s. He is the first male fighter to embrace it.”
“I say, women are quite innovative and add an interesting take to everything,” Nicolas said. “Don’t you agree, Davenport?”
“Interesting indeed.” Jonathan’s hip nudged hers.
Josie caught Genevieve’s gaze. “Would you be interested in trying it?”
Having her muscles kneaded sounded quite lovely. But were they suggesting Jonathan be the one to do the treatments, because that sounded utterly scandalous?
“Of course, I can prepare her muscles tomorrow morning,” Josie said. “That is, if either of you are uncomfortable with the idea. I need the practice.”
“Or I can do it,” Franny said. “Mayhap after I tend to Pete.”
Genevieve’s mind had pivoted to filthy things, when muscle kneading seemed to be a pre-fight prescription, much like body exercises and stretches. Lately, lascivious thoughts plagued her—probably because she desired to spend time in Jonathan’s bed, while he went very hard and deep.
Genevieve internally rolled her eyes at herself.
Still, her mind whirled. Were these massages done naked or partially clothed? Would she be sitting up or lying down? These were critical things a girl ought to know if a handsome viscount she’d been intimate with was in charge of her muscle medicine.
“Huzzah!” Jonathan called as the carriage slowed. “We are here.”
*
The butler greeted them at the front door. “Good afternoon. His Grace is expecting you.” He stepped aside, inviting them into the foyer. “The footman will see to your luggage. Follow me, please.”
He led them up a massive staircase that curved to the left, and then down a hall of life-sized portraits.
Tristan Keats’ home was as richly appointed as Genevieve had predicted—marble floors, hand-painted ceilings, blue plaster, and luxurious upholstery and draperies.