Page 84 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Nicolas lost track of Davenport when they arrived, but now theviscount stood in the center of a group of men, his gaze darting about the room as if he were a recalcitrant child looking for trouble. Interestingly, Nicolas had not seen a woman anywhere near Davenport.

Bridget and Isabelle sat along a wall with a group of older women. At least the two of them seemed to be keeping themselves out of trouble. However, who knew what controversial, scandalous topics the seemingly innocent-looking group of women discussed?

Avoiding Lydia and her parents proved exhausting. They’d been circling Nicolas as if he were carrion, and they were starving sharks.

But soon this would all be over because it was time for him to head to the study.

He gave the Smalls a wide berth as he navigated the crush of guests. He was almost to the exit when Bridget’s angry voice carried over the hum of the party.

He halted in his tracks and cast his gaze to the place where he’d last seen his sister. She was gone. Panicking, he followed the sound of her voice.

Even in the crowded perimeter, he spotted her yellow gown. She was about twelve feet away, resembled a bumble bee, and was reprimanding a man standing beside the refreshment table.

As if her finger were a stinger, Bridget jammed the digit into the young chap’s chest. Her other hand held an empty glass. At least there weren’t any red splotches of ratafia—or blood—on the man’s clothing.

Nicolas’s gaze slid back and forth between the exit and his sister. If he didn’t seek out Josie, she’d have to deal with Griffendale on her own. But, if he didn’t rescue the man currently experiencing his sister’s wrath, there might be a dramatic scene worthy of the scandal sheets. If only he could split in half and be two places at once.

Since Josie could take care of herself, and Bridget would definitely cause a ruckus, he approached his sister.

The poor sap she scowled at rocked back and forth on his heels, hisface as red as a ripe tomato.

“Is there a problem here?” Nicolas asked.

“I simply asked the lady to dance,” the man said. “I had no intention of offending her, but it seems I have.”

“Because I told him I didn’t want to dance,” Bridget said. “Thereupon, he informed me that I should have fun instead of sitting along the wall with a bunch of matrons in their middling years. Who is he to tell me I wasn’t having fun?”

Indeed. “She made her feelings clear, mate. Move along,” Nicolas said.

Still red-faced and staring at his feet, the man shuffled away.

“Bridget, would it hurt you to dance with one or two gentlemen?” Nicolas asked.

“I am in the middle of an important conversation,” she said.

He looked at either side of her. “With whom?”

She lifted her chin. “With the ladies over there.” She pointed at the woman along the wall. “We are discussing books.A Vindication of the Rights of Woman,to be precise, and how women deserve the same fundamental rights as men. I simply wanted a drink, and he ambushed me. He’s been staring at me since we arrived.”

Poor bloke. He’d simply wanted to dance with a pretty woman. How could he have known he’d approach a female hellbent on being an unmarried bluestocking?

“Refresh your drink while I stand sentry,” Nicolas said. “I will make sure no other man approaches and tells you how to enjoy yourself.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Nicolas. You are the best big brother in the world.”

Hopefully, she still thought him wonderful after living with him for the rest of her life.

Once Bridget was safe amongst her new friends, he turned toward the exit. Someone grasped his forearm.

Bloody hell!While he’d been distracted, he’d been ambushed.

“Sweet Dimps, my darling, are you avoiding me?”

Like he’d avoid a rat carrying the bubonic plague. “Please excuse me, Lydia.” He tried to push past her.

Her fingers dug into his flesh. “I saw Griffendale leave with Josephine. I’m sure he has already compromised her.”

Anger simmering, Nicolas refused to meet her gaze. “I caution you to be careful of the rumors you spread. Griffendale will not take too kindly to them.” And neither did he. Nicolas wriggled free from her grasp. “Good evening, Lydia.”