Page 20 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Trying not to stare at Josie, Nicolas took his seat across from her. But it was no use; happy yellow flowers dotted her dress, and her dark hair was tied back in a yellow ribbon. The poor woman was sitting so straight it was evident she still wore the backboard.

She scowled at him. Sighing, he smiled at her. She broke eye contact to stare at her almost-empty plate.

Within seconds, a full plate of eggs, tomatoes, and sausage and a steaming cup of coffee were placed in front of him.

“We were discussing our busy afternoon,” Lady Davenport said.

“Please continue.” Nicolas bit into his sausage like the starving man he was.

“I was just explaining to Josephine that a well-bred lady must always be polite but never too familiar or over-friendly. Breaching these boundaries calls into question a lady’s manners and character. And one must always behave with courteous dignity.”

“And I was just explaining to Cousin Agatha that I don’t have any idea what all that nonsense means. And Meddle—Nicolas, don’t ye dare define the wordsbreaching,boundaries,ordignityto me, or I swear to God, I’ll punch ye so hard, it’ll eliminate that damnable dimple of yers. I know what the words mean. I just don’t know what behaviors are too familiar or overly friendly to toffs.”

Most women favored his dimples, and she wanted to make them disappear? At least she’d called him by his given name. He’d take solace in that for now.

Nicolas chewed and swallowed. “For starters, you probably don’t want to threaten to punch people at the table.”

“Agreed,” Lady Davenport said. “Or anywhere outside of a boxing mill, for that matter.”

Josie scraped the last bit of food from her plate. Her tongue darted out, she nibbled from her fork, and then she licked the tines clean. Frowning, her gaze slid from her empty plate to Nicolas’s overflowing plate, and she sighed.

Why must a lady temper her food intake? Truth be told, Nicolas found Josie’s appetite quite appealing. He couldn’t help but think that her passion and zest for food and exercise might carry over to bed sport.

Lydia barely ate, and he’d feared breaking her in two the couple of times they’d made love. But a man could slam his hips against Josie’s strong body. A quiver shot from his bollocks to his neck.

“For example,” Lady Davenport said, interrupting his licentiouswoolgathering. “Ladies should never stand and talk on the street. If you see a friend or acquaintance, you are expected to walk as you converse.”

“Indeed,” Josie said, bringing her hand to her heart. “Ladies talking in the street signifies the end of civilization as we know it. Pure evil, it is. Ladies just standing around—” She cupped a hand to her mouth and conspiratorially whispered, “talking.”

“Sarcasm is also unladylike,” Lady Davenport said.

“I, for one, appreciate a sarcastic chit,” Davenport declared.

Sarcastic or serious, intelligent, or as vapid as decaying moss, it didn’t matter because Davenport, the quintessential rake, appreciated anything with a warm cunny and full breasts.

Lady Davenport glared at her son. “You are not helping, Jonathon.” She steadied her voice and returned to her lecture. “You must never be alone with a man without a chaperone. And you never want to be thought of as flirtatious.”

Josie chortled so loudly that the sound echoed off the high ceiling. “No worries. I ain’t never flirted with no man. Not unless you count giving them a bloody nose flirting.”

Davenport shrugged. “I’ve had plenty of slaps that were quite effective flirtations.”

Josie giggled until she snorted. Her eyes widened, and she slammed her palm over her mouth. Once she’d tempered her laughter, she dropped her hand. “Sorry, but I can picture the viscount saying something unseemly to some proper lady, earning himself a firm slap right before the lady faints dead away.”

“I do have a way with the ladies.” Davenport winked as he tipped his cup to Josie.

Lady Davenport pursed her lips. Seeming to think better of reprimanding anyone, she continued. “Feminine humor is acceptable, but it should be witty banter. Loud outbursts of laughter or outward displays of emotion are considered poor manners.”

Josie’s bottom lip stuck out. What a lovely lip. Pinkish red, plump, and deliciously pouty. “No laughing. No eating. Men in charge of me. Being a lady ain’t no fun at all.”

“’Tisn’t so terrible,” Lady Davenport said. “Although you should not laugh loudly or call attention to yourself, you can engage in conversations on a large range of topics.”

“Bloody spectacular,” Josie said, sarcasm oozing. “I might be starving and miserable, but at least I can converse. But only if I ain’t standing in the middle of the street or fluttering me lashes at a man.”

Lady Davenport’s continence remained unperturbed. The patient woman deserved to be canonized. “Whatever you do, don’t express your opinions,” she said.

“Bloody friggin’ hell,” Josie said. “But I got lots of opinions.”

And for some inexplicable reason, Nicolas wanted to know every one of them.