Page 18 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“I’m sorry for my son’s behavior,” the dowager said. “He is a good man, but he can be a bit impulsive. Although his friend Nicolas has always brought out his best, I’m afraid Tristan brings out his worst. They tend to compete, trying to be the most popular man in the room. Silly, I dare say, but men are ruled by their hubris.”

Genevieve quite agreed.

“The wager I referenced earlier had to do with turning a beautiful pugilist who was quite rough around the edges into a lady.”

Genevieve supposed this was the Josephine everyone went on and on about.

“I played along for numerous reasons. However, turning a gently bred lady into a bareknuckle fighter doesn’t hold the same appeal.”

Gently bred lady? Surely Genevieve had misunderstood, because no one knew about her upbringing.

“I suppose you are wondering how I know?” Lady Davenport asked.

Apparently, she was mistaken, and her hostess had discovered her secret. Biting her lip, Genevieve nodded.

“Your table manners, the way you glide when you walk, your deportment, your porcelain skin.”

Lawks!She should have lumbered and shoved food into her mouth.

“I also suspect you understand every word we’ve said to you.”

Too ashamed to meet Lady Davenport’s gaze, Genevieve stared at her quivering hands folded on her lap.

“I don’t plan to tell your secret to anyone,” the dowager said, her voice gentle. “But tell me, why are you running, and who are you running from?”

Genevieve wanted to confide in this kind, generous woman. And yet, what was the point? As influential as the dowager was, she couldn’t protect Genevieve from her father, the murderer, or the depraved man he’d given her to.

Soft fingers cradled Genevieve’s chin and gently lifted until she met Lady Davenport’s gaze. “What man did this to you?”

Tears burned Genevieve’s eyes. She swallowed to keep them from cascading down her cheeks.

Lady Davenport held her chin in one hand and her palm in the other. “What’s your name?”

My name is Genevieve Baily, and my evil father murdered my mother because he thought she was unfaithful. But she was loyal and kind.Genevieve swallowed.

“Can you write it down for me?” Lady Davenport asked.

“Yes,” Genevieve mouthed. She didn’t want these generous people to think she was trying to bamboozle them.

Lady Davenport stood and strolled to a side table. She returned carrying stationery, a leather-bound book, and apencil. She placed the stationery on top of the book and handed it to Genevieve.

Genevieve stared at it.

“You are safe with me,” she said. “I promise.”

She trusted Lady Davenport, but she was not safe anywhere. She simply couldn’t give her real name. She wrote down three letters and angled the book so that the dowager could read her shortened name.

“Gen.” Lady Davenport smiled at her. “Lovely to meet you, Gen. You are welcome to stay here until you feel safe.”

Thank you, my lady,Genevieve wrote. Beneath it, she penned,My dog’s name is Horatio. We met during a rotten potato scuffle.

The dowager read the message and chuckled. “I suppose that really isn’t funny, is it?”

Now that she had food in her belly and she and Horatio were the best of friends, Genevieve found it rather humorous. She laughed.

Someone cleared their throat. “Ladies, may I enter?” The viscount stood at the door, peering in at them.

“Jonathan, come in,” his mother said.