Page 78 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Genevieve internally rolled her eyes at herself.

Still, her mind whirled. Were thesemassagesdone 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 greetedthem 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.

They were ushered into the drawing room, where the duke greeted them with an amiable smile. Gen did a double take because Roseanna sat on an elegant burgundy chair that could have been in Louis XV’s castle, a dainty teacup clasped in her hand.

The interior’s design and fancy china were not what Genevieve found shocking; what had frozen her in her tracks was that Roseanna looked like a woman. A veryfemininewoman wearing a turquoise dress. A dress, by God. Golden tendrils of hair framed her forehead and cheeks.

Genevieve waved to her opponent. Roseanna waved back. At first glance, the lady fighter appeared larger-than-life and confident. It was only after regarding her closely that Genevieve noticed the teacup quivered. The poor woman must be as nervous as she was, although, probably for a different reason. Roseanna was a working-class woman in a duke’s home. Genevieve herself was an odd goose who possessed an unreliable throat and was predisposed to the jitters.

The four male fighters, who perched around the room in various relaxed postures, looked dashing in their crisp cravats, form-fitting waistcoats, and tight breeches.

“Clinton, now that everyone has arrived, we are ready for our meal,” Lord Griffendale told the butler.

“Yes, sir. I will let Cook know.” Clinton bowed and took his leave.

“I thought a buffet would suit for our afternoon repast,” Lord Griffendale said. “Afterward you can rest in your rooms, or the drawing room, whichever you prefer. Chef Laporte is preparing an exquisite meal this evening to be served at seven of the clock.Ladies, you can retire to the drawing room after dinner and amuse yourselves with lady things.”

Josie’s brow rose. “Lady things?”

Franny tapped her foot. Even Roseanna, who seemed in awe of the duke, scowled at him.

“Like tittering and gossiping?” Josie asked.

Griffendale dismissed her with a swish of his big wrist. “If you like. Or spitting, belching, smoking cigars, tipping brandies, and cussing if you prefer.”

“Don’t tempt us, Duke,” Josie said.

Griffendale grinned, solidifying Gen’s opinion of how very charming he was. Now that she was coming to know him better, his arrogance seemed insignificant when sandwiched between his enthusiasm and hospitality. Besides, he was leading the fight for female autonomy.

“Gentlemen, we can play cards in my study. Afterwards, I assume everyone would like to get a good night’s rest.”

Genevieve craved sleep. However, she suspected her nerves would keep her awake most of the night.

“There will be a buffet in the morning,” the duke continued. “The carriages will depart for the mill at ten of the clock.”

Franny strolled to Roseanna and squeezed her shoulder affectionately. Then she met the duke’s gaze. “My lord, is there a place where we can stretch and do some light exercising later today?” Her gaze dropped to something on the side table, and she frowned.

“Of course,” the duke said. “Feel free to use the ballroom.”

Josie joined her best friend, and together, they gawked at whatever had distressed Franny.

Josie was the one to pick the object up. “Griffendale, what is this?” She waved a light gray sheet of paper about.

The duke grinned. “A broadside. I hired the artist in London and had him go to the gym to sketch the ladies as they workedout. I didn’t say anything—I had him be stealthy and sketch them in full activity. He got their likenesses exact, did he not?” He rocked proudly from heel to toe. “I had them made and placed them around the village. And, before I left the city, I had them posted at The Purple Rabbit and a few taverns in London. I’m expecting a large crowd on the morrow.”

Jonathan, who was standing close to Josie, grabbed the handbill from her. “Bloody bollocking hell. Why isn’t Gen in her ghost disguise in this depiction?”

The duke opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “It did not occur to me to ask the artist to draw her wearing the paint. Perhaps because I’ve never seen her in it.”