Page 37 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

She removed a folded piece of foolscap from her pocket and handed it to Josie. “This was nailed to the door of the gymnasium. Similar announcements were posted all over town. They won’t disclose the location until the last minute so that authorities don’t get involved.” Franny’s jaw clenched. “No one would think to stop the mill if it were between gentlemen, but since many aim to keep women from competition…”

Josie unfolded the paper and regarded a sketch of two females, fists raised, one of the fighters the size of a giant. Behind the woman stood a ducal pair of men sprinkling blunt over the women’s heads. The text below read,

The Duke of Paulsgrove and the Duke of Griffendale present the fight of theseason

The Duke’s and Dame’s Mill

Lady P. versus Ruth the Jewel

On the fourteenth day of June

Location to be announced

Josie crumpled the announcement. “But Ruth cheats. She is a mediocre fighter at best. How in the devil does the duke think she will win against Lady Paulsgrove?”

Franny shrugged. “She can’t win.”

“So, what is he thinking?” Josie asked, knowing full well why he’dsuccumbed to Ruth’s charms.

Franny wrinkled her freckled nose. “The man has a reputation for being a hopeless rake and is often caught with opera singers and courtesans. Apparently, he has a weakness for women willing to lift their skirts.”

Then, in Josie’s humble opinion, Griffendale deserved to have his fighter lose. Unlessshewas his fighter because, of course, she should win. Certainly, she would win if given the chance.

“You and that lordling seem quite close,” Franny said.

Josie shoved cake into her mouth so that she wouldn’t have to respond.

As usual, Franny was relentless. “You were practically kissing when I walked in.”

Josie swallowed her mouthful and huffed. “We did not kiss! We have never kissed.”

Franny raised a brow. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

To the devil with their stupid Shakespeare lessons.

Franny grabbed Josie’s hand and squeezed affectionately. “’Tis nothing wrong with being attracted to him. He is quite handsome.” Franny’s hand fluttered in front of her face as if it were a fan cooling heated cheeks. “Oh, those dimples and those blue eyes.”

And his muscular chest with that trail of course hair leading down, down, down…

“But he is to be an earl, and I am…” Josie sighed. “Well, I am not a suitable match for an aristocrat.”

“Who knows? Paulsgrove married a female pugilist, making it quite fashionable for these titled blokes to fall in love with one of us. And they say the Duke of Astleyshire spars with his wife every single day. Besides—” Franny shrugged—“Nicolas Wentworth fought off an entire crowd trying to save you. Not to mention, he looks like a man in love.”

Josie snorted. “What do you know of love?”

“Nothing,” Franny lifted her chin. “But I have at least kissed a man.”

“You have not,” Josie said.

“You do not know everything about me, Josephine Martin,” Franny declared as she gave Josie one indignant poke to the chest.

“Who did you kiss?” Josie asked.

Franny grinned. “Harry. ’Twas’ five years ago on a summer’s eve. I do not favor him as more than a friend. But I was curious to know what it felt like to kiss.”

But hadn’t Harry been a gangly adolescent at that time? Of course, now he was a man, and one of Coach’s most promising students. But Coach would rip his grown man bollocks from his body if he found out Harry had kissed his daughter. And so much for their girlhood pact to remain independent. Franny kissing Harry. Josie almost kissing Nicolas. What was this world coming to?

Franny waved her hand in front of Josie’s face to get her attention. “Whenever he looks at you, the lordling’s eyes glaze over like he is intoxicated.”