Page 56 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist
He gulped his brandy, and his esophagus burned. The sting was oddly comforting, like a warm caress to his miserable heart.
“You sold your watch, didn’t you?” she asked.
“I did,” he said.
“Oh, Nicolas,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”
Staring into his eyes, Josie stood and walked to him. She took his drink from him, tipped a prodigious amount into her mouth, and set the glass on the side table.
“You wonderful pudding-headed fool,” she said. “But we have worked hard, and I plan to see this through. I shall be his fighter and win the money to purchase my gymnasium and pay for the dress. I don’t think I will be able to win back your estate, but I plan to bloody well try.”
He desired to kiss away the firm line of her lips until she smiled, but his flirtation with Josie was over.
“Lydia knows that you are not Agatha’s cousin,” he said. “She will humiliate you.” And Agatha while she was at it.
Josie chuckled. “How can she humiliate me when I don’t give two figs about theton?”
She was so close. So beautiful and regarding him with emotion-filled eyes. Would she still harbor affection after his next admission?
“The Smalls tricked me,” he said. “Somehow, I found myself wandering along talking to Lydia, and our chaperone disappeared. Her arms were around my neck when her parents came upon us.”
Josie swallowed. “Her arms were around your neck?”
“I assure you, her touch was unwelcome. It makes me shudder indisgust.”
Josie exhaled. “I believe you, Nicolas. I believe she can be quite ruthless, and she has decided she wants you.”
“But why?” Nicolas said. “She seems to think I have come into some sort of good fortune?”
“Mayhap she wants you because…” Josie swallowed. “Because you are wonderful, Nicolas.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
He savored the taste of his brandy on her lips. Warm, sweet lips that he’d never get enough of. His heart heavy, he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers.
“Her father is insisting I do the right thing and marry her.”
“But ye didn’t compromise her. She tricked ye, she did,” Josie said, her voice soft but her accent making an appearance as it often did whenever her emotion overrode her training.
His voice barely above a whisper, Nicolas confessed, “But Ididcompromise her on our travels.” A couple of times. “And she admitted as much tonight when we were discovered together. Bloody ironic, isn’t it? She doesn’t care for me. She is simply jealous that I favor another woman, so she trapped herself a future destitute earl about to lose everything.”
Josie stepped back and stared down at him, her mouth and eyes wide. “None of this means you have to marry her.”
Not in Josie’s world. But in his, he had no choice. “I am sorry,” he whispered.
Josie blinked. “Don’t ye dare go to Griffendale tomorrow. I can do this, I can.” Then she turned and stomped away, leaving Nicolas completely and utterly alone except for a nearly empty glass of brandy. At least there was an almost full decanter across the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
’Twas a raresunny afternoon in London. Consequently, the carriage house was sweltering. Sweat pooled in Josie’s cleavage, coated her hands beneath her training mufflers, and dripped from her forehead as she circled Franny.
“He never showed up at breakfast,” Josie said between breathy pants. “Probably avoiding me. And yesterday, he sold his timepiece. Can you believe it? He sold a valuable family heirloom to pay for my bloody gown.”
Franny dropped her hands and straightened. “No, he did not!”
“He did. And I can’t punch if you aren’t protecting yourself,” Josie reminded Franny for the third time this session. Perhaps they should stop chattering like a couple of gossiping misses and fight like the logical women they were.
Franny resumed her stance. “What color is the gown?”
“Emerald. It will be beautiful,” Josie said, almost dropping her own fists to dreamily think about the gorgeous fabric. But then, disgusted for allowing herself to be distracted by a frock, Josie landed an uppercut worthy of a masculine brute.
