Page 24 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“Told her what?” both Josie and Nicolas asked at the same time.

“On to the curtsy,” Agatha declared with what Josie swore was a mischievous grin.

Chapter Ten

Nicolas lay downon his bed, folded his hands behind his head, and stared at the partially illuminated ceiling. How pleasant not to have to fret over waste and let a candle burn as he settled in for the evening. Even so, relaxation did not come easy as he relived every moment of his befuddling day. He couldn’t say it had been unpleasant. In fact, there had been many enjoyable moments. Breakfast had been entertaining, and the afternoon meal had been delightful. Lady Davenport’s lessons on appropriate conversations were not nearly as mundane as he’d anticipated. Maybe because he could listen to Josie talk about snowstorms and sunshine forever. And watching her dance had filled him with joy.

When she waltzed, she exhibited the grace she’d benefit from in the boxing ring. He’d point this out to her, but she’d probably threaten to punch him. Although, he might not mind her hitting him because at least it was physical contact, and he craved her touch.

But then the afternoon had deteriorated when Davenport had placed his hand on Josie’s back and, in the guise of a dance lesson, flirted with her. Nicolas had been so angry he’d wanted to call his best mate out for everything. For being a rake of the worst sort. For havingto do Davenport’s school work to keep him from being booted from Cambridge since he had not known abfrom ador aqfrom ag.And truthfully, sometimes it was bloody infuriating that the wealthy bloke never took anything seriously.

“Hell and damnation,” Nicolas growled to the ceiling.

What was wrong with him? He’d never do anything to embarrass or hurt Davenport. He adored the bloke, and he couldn’t ask for a better mate.

He needed to face the truth. He was jealous. Jealous that Josie seemed to favor Davenport. Jealous that Davenport had been the one waltzing with her. Jealous that the viscount was so at ease with her.

And the real kick in his arse? His attraction to the pugilist did not matter one iota. Even an impoverished, disgraced heir to an earldom couldn’t court an orphaned boxer from the East End.

Loathsome self-pity be damned. Even though there was no way he could win this wager, he would not feel sorry for himself. He would find something to take his mind off his woes. But what could he do in the middle of the night? He wasn’t in the mood to journal or read, he didn’t imbibe, and he did not favor cheroots.

Sometimes though, when he couldn’t sleep, he drank a cup of warm milk. Afterwards, upon returning to his chamber, his head hit the pillow, and he was instantly sound asleep.

He grabbed a candle from his nightstand and checked his timepiece. Although it felt as if he’d tossed and turned for hours, it was barely past midnight.

He’d forgotten to pack his banyan, so he slid into his trousers and shirt. Leaving his shirt untucked, he strolled to the kitchen. He opened the door and barged head-first into a figure wearing a white dressing gown. Items crashed to the floor, and cold liquid pooled around his bare feet. He pulled the candle back so he didn’t catch the night walker on fire.

“Bloody friggin’ hell, Meddlesome.”

His candle illuminated a fuming Josie. He peered down to find they stood in a puddle of milk. A hunk of cheese, slices of ham, a roll, and biscuits littered the floor around them.

“Do ye follow me around trying to ruin me life?” she asked, resorting to her East End accent.

“Bollocks,” he said as he stared at the mess.

She put her hands on her shapely hips. “I didn’t know Lord Sour Puss said such unseemly things.”

As ifMeddlesomewasn’t enough of an insult, now she was calling himLord Sour Puss.She might be beautiful, but he was tired of her cuts.

“You seem to have a preconceived notion of me, Josephine. Which, if I am being truthful, is chipping away at my patience. When I practically knock a woman over in the middle of the night and almost catch her hair on fire with my candle, it tends to rattle me. I am unsure why you believe I am an insufferable bluenose. I am simply a man trying to save my family. Will you punish me forever for trying to protect you from an unruly mob? Fine, I made a mistake. But what if you had needed my help, and I’d stood there like a clueless fool, watching the scene, too jaded by life to get involved? Would you like me more if I was just some aristocrat who was too selfish to lend a helping hand to his fellow humans?”

She opened her mouth, probably preparing to lambaste him for walking and breathing, but instead clamped her lips together. It seemed he’d rendered the loquacious Jabbing Josie speechless.

Together, they stared at the disaster on the floor, giving him time to admire her delicate toes and decide he would give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was irritable because she was starving to death. He could be a right arse when he was hungry. And he must not forget that her dream had been wrenched from her grasp.

“Still, I feel dashed terrible about the entire thing,” he confessed. “Especially since I’m convinced Ruth the Jewel’s opponent was paid totake a dive.”

Josie stomped her pretty little foot, and milk splashed, coating his ankle.

“I knew it.” She clenched her fists. “I justknewthat no-good rat cheated.”

“You are the superior pugilist,” he said.

She dropped her hands to her sides. Her voice became as soft as an unconfident child’s as she asked, “You think so?”

“I know so. I boxed at Bedford and Cambridge. I was actually quite good. Now, make yourself comfortable and dry your feet. I will clean up the mess and fix you something to eat.”

“I… I…” She blinked.