Page 17 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Lady Davenport waved her hand, drawing Josie’s focus to her. “Josephine dear, relax your jaw. And watch me.”

Although Josie’s facial muscles refused to relax, she studied Lady Davenport’s glide to the settee. The viscountess arranged her skirt and sat, her spine so straight she resembled a statue.

This wouldn’t prove too challenging. Of course, Josie could imitate the viscountess. She was an athlete, after all.

“Please walk across the room for us.” Lady Davenport held out her hand, indicating Josie should start.

On second thought, she couldn’t do this. Not with Meddlesome watching her with a critical gaze that seemed to burn her to her verysoul. In addition to that, there was that tingling in the body parts she dared not think about. No, this was impossible.

“This is a safe space,” Lady Davenport said. “We are all in this together.”

Safe. Together.What comforting words. Besides, Josie was not a coward. She could do this. She exhaled and traversed a straight line from one wall to the other, doing her best to mimic how the viscountess moved.

“Very good, dear,” Lady Davenport said. “Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Spine straight. Step gently. Roll heel to toe. That’s it. But don’t swing your arms.”

Josie tuned out her audience and concentrated.Roll from heel to toe. Shoulders back. Chin lifted. Don’t trip. Don’t walk into the fancy furniture. Do not think about the aggravating Meddlesome.

A prickle of awareness ran up her stiff spine, breaking her concentration. Meddlesome’s gaze scorched every inch of her as he again shifted in his seat. She lost control of her body, and her shoulders caved forward.

“No slouching. Ever,” Lady Davenport called.

Josie brushed the sweat from her brow, which in turn led to a jolt of anxiety. Ladies probably didn’t sweat. Exhaling slowly, she composed herself and repeated her stroll across the room.

“Always remain elegant, refined, and above all, ladylike,” Lady Davenport chirped.

Coach encouraged her to think of fluffy white clouds when her muscles tensed. While picturing a blue sky filled with slow moving puff balls, Josie’s jaw eventually relaxed. Then, her shoulders. Soon, she felt as if she was floating across the room as gracefully as any lady she’d ever seen.

“Bravo, Josie,” Davenport called enthusiastically.

Feeling quite proud, she smiled. Luckily, she could both smile and glide. Easy as mince pie. She’d mastered her first lesson, earning accolades from a viscount.

If only Meddlesome might also say something positive, such as “Well done, Josephine.” Or “I am sorry I ever doubted you. You will pass for a lady in no time.”

She halted and shook her body from head to toe. Why in the devil was she craving a compliment from Meddlesome when she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him?

“Are you tired, Josephine?” Davenport asked.

She could fight for hours and run forever. Surely, she could walk across a room a few dozen times. “I’m fine.” She’d never admit to anyone that some handsome, starchy son of an aristocrat addled her.

Meddlesome stood and sauntered to her, the book still in his hand. They stood nose to nose, his citrus scent intoxicating.

What in the blazes was he doing this close to her? She should step back, but her legs refused to move.

“Mother made Bridget practice with a book on her head,” he said.

“Who is Bridget?” Josie asked, a bit too breathy for her liking.

“My sister. Now, hold still.” His arm brushed against her shoulder, branding her with a scorching heat that burned the entire time he placed the book on her head and fiddled with it.

“There,” he said, his voice encouraging and gentle. “Now, walk, and don’t let the book fall.” He smiled, and those adorable dimples sandwiched his perfect lips.

Walk? But she couldn’t even breathe with him invading her space.

“Could you back up, Meddlesome?” she asked.

Both his smile and the dimples faded. “Of course.” He stepped away.

Why was she such a rude chit? He’d simply been trying to help.