Page 16 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“I have me limits, and that is one.” Josie pointed at the backboard. “How many women have died wearing that monstrosity?”

“None, to my knowledge.” Lady Davenport’s voice was calm and steady, but she couldn’t fool Josie. She’d clenched and unclenched her jaw at least a half dozen times since she’d entered Josie’s chamber. The woman was beyond rattled.

“Would you wear one if it made you a better pugilist?” the dowager asked.

Josie had taken leather balls to her gut, worn mittens stuffed with straw, run fifteen miles in sleet, bound her breasts until they itched and burned, and choked down slimy raw eggs, all for the sake of the sweet science.

She shrugged. “I suppose so.”

Lady Davenport swished her wrist. “There you have it.”

“But how will it make me a better boxer?” Josie asked.

“Because passing for a lady is going to open financial opportunities that will make all of your dreams come true. And you will never pass for a lady if you walk and move like a man.”

Walking like a man kept one alive when they’d grown up on the streets. Josie scowled at her hostess.

“My dear, a well-bred lady moves with grace and ease. Watch.” Lady Davenport flowed across the room like a ballerina. “She keeps her back straight and walks tall at all times. Think of Nicolas.”

Even his name made the hair on the back of Josie’s neck stand on end. “What about him? He don’t walk like a lady.” He, in fact, exuded powerful masculinity.

“He is the epitome of how a gently bred person moves,” LadyDavenport said. “Tall, confident, graceful. And that—” she pointed at the backboard—“trains your posture so you can do the same.”

A lot of good a stiff spine had done the earl’s son since he was as poor as a church mouse’s even more destitute cousin.

And yet, Josie had to do something to get close to the duke and this miserable ball might be her only chance. So what if the duke didn’t propose to her? The viscount’s ability to hang out at a gaming hell and Meddlesome’s family estate were not her problems. She simply needed to convince the duke that she should be his fighter. And to do that, she needed to at least appear to be a lady.

“Fine.” Josie held her arms in the air in surrender.

The maids converged on her. Her dress was lifted over her head. The backboard was secured in place, and then she was shoved back into her green dress. Finally, Diana spun Josie toward the dressing table and neatened her hair.

Josie barely recognized the pretty woman in her reflection.

“Now, let us meet the gentleman in the drawing room,” Lady Davenport said. “And Josephine, even when we are in the hall, and there is no audience, be sure to exude elegance.”

Growling, Josie strode into the hall. “I feel like a bloody marionette,” she mumbled to herself.

“You are a beautiful, sophisticated lady,” Lady Davenport said.

“I am a beautiful, sophisticated lady,” Josie repeated. Albeit sophisticated with a hunk of timber practically shoved up her arse.

The second Josieentered the drawing room, the grandeur stole her breath.

The dusty rose walls matched the richly upholstered furniture andthe fleur-de-lis carpeting. Blue velvet draperies hung to the floor. The porcelain and glass gewgaws of various shades of blue and white adorned the tables. Intricate crown molding lined the high ceilings.

Lord Davenport and Lord Meddlesome reclined in the wingbacks, their backs to the marble fireplace. Davenport leaned back, a drink in his hand. Meddlesome closed the book he held. He sat tall, his blue eyes regarding Josie with an intensity she felt in her nether regions.

Her cheeks heated because she did not understand or favor these odd sensations in her female areas.

“Gentlemn, you will be supportive,” Lady Davenport said sternly. “This afternoon’s lesson will cover how a lady moves.”

“Of course, Mother,” Davenport said. “Josephine, you have my utmost support and respect for tackling this.”

“Mine as well,” Meddlesome said, his voice slightly raspy. He shifted in his chair as if uncomfortable.

Davenport regarded his mate and grinned. Meddlesome frowned at him.

Josie wished she understood their masculine communication. But since she hadn’t a clue what their secretive looks meant, she reacted as she always did when she was frustrated—she scowled and harrumphed.