Page 88 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Nicolas closed his eyes on an inhale. When he opened them, he whispered, “Be careful.”

Putting his trust in her, the overwrought Nicolas Wentworth had read her mind and given her the go-ahead. He was allowing her to rescue him this time, and she loved him all the more for it.

Time seemed to stand still as Griffendale whispered, “One. Two…” At the same time, he said, “Three,” Josie lunged for the pistol.

Time sped up.

Lydia screamed as Griffendale knocked the baron’s feet out from under him. In one swift move, Nicolas and Griffendale wrestled the baron onto his stomach in front of their gawking audience.

“Small, you frigging imbecile.” Davenport took the pistol from Josie, cocked it, and shoved it into his waistband. Wearing his cocksure expression, he thrust his chest out as if he were the one who’d saved the day. “Wentworth, don’t you have something to ask Josephine?”

Without hesitation, Nicolas assumed the position. His knee dug into the baron’s back as he asked, “Josephine Martin, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Josie dropped down so that they were eye to eye. “Yes, Nicolas Wentworth, if you will be my husband?”

Leaning forward, Nicolas captured Josie’s lips in a gentle kiss.

From beneath them, the baron moaned into the carpeting.

Jonathon raised his hands to the ceiling. “Thank you. Oh, thank you. Hallelujah. It’s about bloody time. Thank you,” he sang out.

Josie stood, and Griffendale and Nicolas hauled Small onto his feet. The duke grasped the baron by his tailcoat and dragged him from the study.

Still teary-eyed, Lydia limped alongside her father. “Papa, I don’t understand. What just happened?”

Josie couldn’t help but feel sorry for the woman. Although to be crystal clear, she was not so sorry that she’d try to comfort her or give up the man she loved.

Mumbling obscenities, the other men left the room. Apparently, none of them had won a “blasted thing.” Their words, not Josie’s.

“Meet me in the ballroom,” Griffendale called over his shoulder to Josie and Nicolas. “I’m announcing your engagement in ten minutes.”

“Davenport?” Nicolas asked in his stern, about-to-nag voice. “Please tell me you didn’t make some wager about who I was going to propose to and when I was going to do it.”

“Fine. Then I also won’t tell you that you just won Blue Cliff Manor back. Or that you have a beautifulfiancée. And I definitely won’t tell you that the Shiredale family curse has been lifted.”

Nicolas gaped.

Josie would have gasped too, except she’d had an idea of what was going on, thanks to Griffendale’s confessions. “How much money was this wager worth?” Josie asked. “It has to be a king’s ransom for the baron to threaten Nicolas at gunpoint.”

Davenport grinned. “The Widow of Whitehall backed the wager, and it was considerable. It seems she favors the both of you and decided you were a love match.” He shrugged. “The woman may be a pain in my arse from time to time, but she makes hellishly good matches.”

Nicolas clapped Jonathon’s back. “You had better start at the beginning.”

“Of course,” Davenport said. “But first, you need to get out there so that Griffendale can announce your engagement. And then I need to get tupped. Playing nursemaid to the two of you has been exhausting and has left me no time for my own needs, which at this moment includes getting the Widow Milton alone in the gardens. Did you see her gown?” Jonathon whistled. “Bloody hell. I do appreciate a woman in a tight gown.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

The evening afterthe ball, Davenport sat at the head of the table, enthusiastically highlighting the most memorable moments of the night—except for his rendezvous with the widow, of course—for his guests.

“Griffendale was rather brilliant,” Davenport said. “He dropped onto his knee and asked Josephine to marry him, providing the perfect distraction and ensuring Nicolas won his estate back. Of course, Josephine didn’t have to turn him down so he wasn’t humiliated. By God, he was a hero for saving day. After all of that madness, you should have heard the applause when he announced their engagement. Not a single person gave Josephine’s attendance a second thought. Or if they did, they didn’t have the bollocks to say something in front of Griffendale or Lady Siddons. They were much too busy celebrating exactly what the duke told them to celebrate.”

Just this once, Nicolas would rejoice in the fact that people of his class could be brainless sheep.

“See, I told you my reputation wasn’t in danger,” Agatha said. “And please watch your language in front of the ladies.”

The females seated at the table sniggered.

Davenport stood and dramatically imitated the duke’s booming voice. “‘May my mate live happily ever after with Josephine Martin, his pretty pugilist standing by his side, instead of planting a facer to his nose.’” The viscount chuckled so hard his shoulders shook. Once he tempered his laughter, he launched back into his retelling. “Thereupon, Griffendale lifted his glass, and everyone yelled, ‘Hear. Hear.’”