Page 90 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Coach stared at his plate. “Or, my lady, you can visit us at The Silk Knuckles Saloon. I know my girls. They will want you there all of the time.” His cheeks scarlet, he lifted his gaze to meet the dowager viscountess’s kind eyes.

Clearing his throat, Davenport shot Coach with eye daggers sharp enough to pierce the bravest man’s resolve. “Shall we retire to the drawing room?” A bit protective of his mother, perchance? Nicolas held back a chuckle.

The party was preparing to change chambers when Peters entered the dining parlor, strolled to Davenport, and dutifully waited to be addressed.

“What is it, Peters?” Davenport asked.

“Sir, we have a visitor. She is wearing her black veil and is accompanied by two large men. Should I tell her you are entertaining and ask her to return tomorrow?”

“That is a poor idea,” Davenport said. “You do not want to upsetthatwoman. Not unless you want to spend the next month of your life forced to do her bidding, which might include playing matchmaker to some unlikely couple. I, for one, have had my fill. ’Tis much too exhausting to ever do again.” Davenport smiled at Josie and then Nicolas.

“Bessie is a dear friend,” Agatha said. “So please show her to the drawing room.”

“Dear friend?” Josie and Nicolas asked at the same time. How in the devil had Nicolas not known the two women had a history?

“Mother, I didn’t know you socialized with the Widow of Whitehall,” Davenport said.

“Why do you think she sent Josephine to me?” Agatha raised her hand and waited until she had everyone’s attention before speaking. “Ladies, listen up. Gentlemen, cover your ears if you are easily offended by strong females.”

Everyone leaned forward, anxiously awaiting Lady Davenport’swise words.

“All women, no matter their station at birth, color, religion, or personal beliefs, must stick together because changes are coming,” the dowager viscountess conspiratorially whispered. “Yes, indeed. Changes are coming.”

Bessie Dove-Lyon, thewoman sitting on the settee with her hands crossed on her lap painted a foreboding picture, as her black veil hid her expression and two large men stood guard behind her. Nicolas reminded himself that she was not his enemy. She’d already indicated that her plan was to ensure that he, not his father, owned Blue Cliff Manor.

“I heard rumors about your brother’s tragic death, so when your father used your family seat as collateral, I looked into your reputation,” Bessie said. “I do not approve of men destroying their families to pay for their sins. And then I remembered that years ago, Agatha mentioned her fondness for you. I invited you to the Lyon’s Den with every intention of deeding the estate to you while also using you to make a suitable match for one of my clients. Two birds with one stone, you see. But the moment I saw you and Josephine together, I knew she was your match. Imagine my luck when she foolishly asked me to make a match between her and the duke. Jealous men are quite malleable.” The widow chuckled. “Of course, the duke will require more than the greatest matchmaker in London to tame him, but that is for another time. Back to the point, Josephine’s impulsive request was perfect because it provided me a way to force you to spend time together.”

Looking as if there were a renegade bee in her skirt, Josie shifteduncomfortably.

“I knew that Josephine could rekindle the joy that your miserable father and ex-fiancéehad siphoned from you. And, Josephine, you, my dear, are everything I admire in a female, but you need to temper your attitude and learn to relate better to others if you are to have a successful business. I knew Nicolas was the man to calm your wild side without stripping your spirit.”

Davenport ran a hand across his brow to wipe away invisible sweat. “They are both so bloody stubborn.”

“Precisely,” the widow declared. “Which was why they could not know what we were up to. Had either of them discovered our plan, they would have refused to participate. They’d have fought their attraction to each other even more vehemently.”

“You do not need to talk about us as if we aren’t in the room,” Josie said in what he’d come to privately call her “snarly” voice.

Damnations, Nicolas loved how fierce Josie was and her stubborn nature made him want to kiss her until she was molten compliance.

“Nicolas, please come around to The Lyon’s Den tomorrow. My solicitor has drawn up the papers for Blue Cliff Manor.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dove-Lyon,” Nicolas said. “I understand your motivation for everything, and I appreciate it more than I will ever be able to articulate.”

“I shall look forward to reading your column,” she said. “For now, I suppose my work here is done. Unless…” Her veil did not hide the way that she gazed at each person in the room.

When her head shifted in Davenport’s direction, he shielded his heart with his palms. “Hell, no. And in case you didn’t hear me, let me say it again. Hell, no!”

The widow slid her gaze to Franny and halted there for a very long time before ominously saying, “Frances Valentine?”

“Oh, no,” Franny said. “I am happy Josie found true love, but I do not intend to ever marry.”

“We shall see about that.” Chuckling, the widow strolled from the room, her Wolf Pack behind her. Her final exclamation, “we shall see,” echoed long after her departure.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Clad in hersleeping gown, Josie sat at her new dressing table, in her new bed chamber, in her new townhouse, brushing her hair and reminiscing about her wedding day.

She’d felt lovely in her cream-colored gown embellished with delicate, embroidered red roses. Although she would have worn a borrowed dress to the ceremony, it was delightful to have something special designed just for her. Madame had even made her a matching bonnet and gloves that Josie had paid for with her own money. Imagine that. Jabbing Josie had enough blunt to purchase a lacy bonnet and silk gloves.