Page 43 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“Is there anything about the Duke’s and Dame’s Mill in the paper?” Josie asked.

From behind his paper, Jonathon mumbled something indecipherable.

“I doubt it,” Nicolas said, quickly covering for Jonathon. By God, he’d take his best chum’s secret to the grave. “Journalists rarely cover women’s sports.”

“That’s utter shite,” Josie said and then cringed. “Sorry.”

Nicolas wholeheartedly agreed with Josie, finding the view on female athletes to be utter hog shite. Men could wager on female athletes, and bed them, but they could not marry them, address their needs in parliament, or write legitimate newspaper articles about them. However, men like Paulsgrove, Astleyshire, and even Griffendale in his own rakish way might be changing this.

“’Tis deplorable,” Agatha said and then demanded in her school mistress tone, “Jonathon, put downThe Chronicleand converse with our guests.”

Davenport peered over his paper and raised a brow. “Mother, I can dictate your guest list and menu from memory.”

The look the dowager sent the viscount would quiet the most obstinate jackanape. Sighing, Davenport folded the paper in half and pushed it to the side.

Looking quite satisfied, Agatha prattled on. “Josephine, I made an appointment with Madame Auberte tomorrow so that you can choose a dress for the ball. If she believes there is enough time, mayhap we can even have one made.”

Frowning, Josie put down her fork. “Again with this talk about a new gown? I explained before, I can’t afford one.” He could understand how she felt. Today’s borrowed gown was a bright shade of pink that suited her and the neckline was indecently low, displaying thecreamy line of skin above her prodigious bosom. She looked lovely. But, he supposed, it was a gown made for day wear, not evening. The cut, the color—it would not do in a well-heeled ballroom.

Nicolas internally sighed. If only he could purchase one for her.

“My dear,” Agatha said, “You can’t wear one of the handed-down dresses in the wardrobe. Your gown must be utterly spectacular and compliment both your coloring and figure.”

“I will cover the expense,” Davenport said.

Nicolas’s internal temperature rose, and his jaw clenched as he glared at Davenport.

“Do you have a problem with my purchasing the garment, old chap?” Davenport asked.

Of course, Nicolas had a bloody problem with it, but if he admitted he was a jealous fool, he’d look like an absolute arse.

“Thank you, Cousin Jonathon.” Josie smiled at her benefactor. “I will pay you back when I win the fight.”

Davenport dismissed his good deed with the flick of his wrist. “No trouble at all. Consider it a gift from your favorite cousin.” The blasted fool had the audacity to wink at Josie.

“I insist on paying you back,” Josie said. “But I have to pay for my share of the building before we lose it to another buyer. If the wagers at the upcoming mill are as high as last year, there should be plenty to do both.”

“I will purchase your gown,” Nicolas declared before he could think better of his offer. “My actions dragged you into this.”

“No.” Josie shook her head so vehemently that tendrils flew loose from her coiffure. “Absolutely not, Nicolas.”

Was her response because she hated him again after last night? Or did she know there was no blunt behind his offer? One thing was for certain; Nicolas was irritated. How dare she allow Davenport to pay while disregarding his offer?

Davenport leaned back in his chair. He did not utter a word, buthis brow furrowed, and his lips twisted. Nicolas held his breath, waiting for the bloke to point out his lack of blunt.

Eventually, Davenport shrugged. “Suit yourself, Wentworth. Josephine, you can pay Nicolas back.”

Josephine’s face turned scarlet.

“Lovely.” Agatha clasped her hands together. “However, it is most indecent for a man to purchase a dress for a lady so we will need to keep another secret. In fact, Nicolas, you can give me the money and I will pay for it. And keep in mind, Josephine will also need slippers, gloves, and a reticule.”

“Purchase it all,” Nicolas declared like the daft imbecile he’d become in the pretty pugilist’s presence. Coming up with the blunt to outfit a ball-attending female would be bloody impossible when he’d barely had enough coin to purchase Bridget’s book.

Nicolas’s mind wanderedas he strolled to the drawing room. Why in God’s name had the Davenport’s left him alone with Josie? Did they think her reputation was not worth protecting? If they thought Nicolas was a trustworthy gentleman, they were dead wrong. Today he waslustumpy.

Fabulous, now he was making up words. But there didn’t seem to be one in existence that captured precisely how lustful and grumpy he felt.

“But I need more lessons on kissing,” Josie had said with those kiss-swollen lips.