Page 85 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“That is no way to talk to yourfiancée,” she said.

He gritted his teeth. “I will not say this again.” Of course, how many times had he already declared the sentiment? And here he was, repeating himself. “You are no longer myfiancée.”

She leaned close to whisper, “But you compromised me, Nicolas.”

Was she referencing that he’d been tricked a few days ago or that he had bedded her on their travels? Dread, regret, and guilt fused, creating a tornado that whirled up his spine, strangled his heart, and clouded his brain.

Gripping tighter, she pulled him alongside her.

Josie needs you,his mind screamed. He fought her tug, forcing them to a standstill.

Lowering his voice so that only she could hear, he spoke clearly so there would be no misunderstandings. “I do not want to cause a scene, but I will if you leave me no choice. You abandoned me in my time of need, proving you do not love me. I will marry for love because I have nothing else to offer a woman.” He needed her to take him seriously, so he lowered his gaze and stared into her soul. “Lydia, my family has lost everything, including Blue Cliff Manor. I am now working class. I even have a job. That is not what you want.”

She looked at him as if he’d sprouted an extra head. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m telling you the truth. I assure you that your source of information is mistaken. I have not come into a fortune.”

She stomped her foot. “Papa would never lie, which means that you are.”

“You wish to marry me, and yet you think I am a liar?” He sighed. “Lydia, I know not what you and your father are playing at but leave me out of it.”

“Let us go talk to Papa right now.” She pointed at her father, who stood with a group of men who were intently watching them.

This time, Nicolas knew he wasn’t being paranoid. Firstly, he was not in the clutches of drink. Secondly, the men did not even try to hide their gawking.

Davenport stood amongst the group, his fists balled by his side. His frown was so big Nicolas could see it from where he stood.

Nicolas did not have time for this foolishness. He had to get to Josie. This time, when Lydia reached for him, he was prepared. He pulled his arm back and strolled away from her and out of the ballroom.

Unfortunately, Lydia’s slippers slapped the floor behind him. “Leave me be, Lydia,” he called over his shoulder as he continued his trek.

Clap. Clap. Clap. Her footfall echoed in the long hallway.Clap. Clap. Clomp clomp!“Ouch!”

What in the devil was Lydia up to this time? Huffing, he slowly faced her.

She stood on one foot. “My ankle. I hurt it. I don’t think I can walk.”

“You’re fine,” he growled.

“I slipped,” she said.

Unfortunately, he’d heard the change in her gait. Besides, Lydia had never been a convincing thespian. Come to think of it, once upon a time, shehadconvinced him that she cared.

She pushed into the ball of her foot and whimpered. “Nicolas, I truly did hurt it.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she dropped to the ground in a heap of puce satin.

He crouched beside her and took her ankle in hand. Even his gentle touch elicited cries.

Glancing down the hallway, he sought his destination. He was so damn close, but he couldn’t leave an injured woman in the hallway. Could he?

No, you can’t, you arse!

At least Josie and Griffendale were in the study, so Lydia couldn’t trap him into being alone with her again.

Grumbling, he scooped her into his arms and transported her. She clung to his neck as if she loved him. Which she’d proven time and time again, she did not. He kicked on the heavy door, nudged it the rest of the way with his shoulder, and carried her into the room.

Unfortunately, Josie and Griffendale were not there. Damn the bloke who’d asked his sister to dance. Damn Bridget and her eccentricities. And damn Lydia and her injured ankle.

He carted Lydia to the settee and lowered her onto it. “I will fetch help,” he said.