Page 96 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“That is an understatement,” said Josie’s just-as-stubborn best friend.

The second the bell rang, an invisible knife pierced Nicolas’s chest, and he prayed like hell that she wouldn’t be seriously injured. One thing was for certain—the woman he loved would be inconsolable when she lost.

But she hasn’t lost yet, you bloody idiot.

She was a champion. A queen. Resilient as hell. And the shortbreak had infused her with renewed vigor. Shockingly, she was doing exactly as Nicolas had advised. She was light on her feet, floating and dancing around the ring, keeping the duchess at a distance.

Eventually, the larger woman’s cheeks reddened, and she began to pant. Josie had done it. She’d tired the duchess out.

“Get in there, Jojo,” Coach yelled.

“The corner,” Nicolas called.

Josie’s gaze briefly flicked to Nicolas.

“A corner,” he repeated.

Her feet fast, Josie wove around the duchess, luring her into a corner.

“Quick,” Nicolas yelled.Please let these one-word cues remind her of my proposed plan of attack.

As if she were a comet streaking across the sky, Josie moved forward and caged the duchess against the ropes.

“Settle and punch,” Nicolas yelled.

Josie’s knees bent as she hammered on Lady P.’s midsection.Jab. Jab. Cross. Jab, cross. Cross. Jab, jab. Jab, cross, hook, hook. Cross.Josie’s brilliant onslaught held no deducible pattern, making her unpredictable and potentially lethal. The duchess attempted to punch back, but Josie was so close that her opponent couldn’t put power behind her fist. Lady P.’s taps were akin to pesky flies buzzing about Josie.

“Jabbing Josie,” the crowd screamed.

From beside Nicolas, Franny leaped about, calling directives and coaching alongside her father. From behind him came Griffendale and Davenport’s booming cheers. Meanwhile, Lady P. appeared to be shrinking as Josie seemed to be growing larger than life. Could it be that Josie was going to win this?

And then, for some inexplicable reason, Josie stepped back, giving the duchess time to straighten and catch her breath.

“What the bloody hell?” Coach said.

“No,” Nicolas yelled.

Lady P.’s fist shot out, cracking Josie’s cheek. Seeming undaunted, Josie lunged, and while the duchess’s chin was unprotected, she landed a right uppercut that sent her opponent tumbling against the rope. In quick succession, Josie landed a left-right-left uppercut combination.

Holy bollocks!Nicolas’s brilliant wife had only feigned the retreat.

Lady P. slid down the ropes, and her arse hit the ground.

Raucous cheers erupted.

Nicolas held his breath.

“One. Two. Three…” the umpire counted. When he reached ten, Lady P. still sat with her back against the ropes.

Josie helped Lady P. onto her feet. The women clung to each other as the umpire lifted Josie’s hand into the air. Josie’s gaze instantly found Nicolas’s, and she grinned. He beamed back.

“She won,” Franny screamed as she leaped about. “Josie won.”

Brilliantly, heroically, and against the odds. Wanting nothing more than to congratulate her, Nicolas crawled through the ropes and dashed to his wife at the same time that Lord Paulsgrove rushed to his duchess.

Josie’s legs gave out beneath her as she collapsed against Nicolas. “Can I have an orange and some water, and then can we go home?”

Nicolas chuckled. “Yes, darling.”