Page 28 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“I heard someone in here and thought it was the coachman or a groom,” he said.

Feeling self-conscious about her disheveled state, she wiped the sweat from her brow. “I haven’t seen anyone. Mayhap they are not awake yet.”

“You move well.” He slid his watch back into his waistcoat pocket.

“Thank you.” She often received this exact compliment, so why were her cheeks on fire?

He sauntered to her. “I do have advice, though. Would you like to hear it?”

She stiffened. Of course, he had advice. It mattered not that she was a professional prizefighter, and he had only boxed for fun at some fancy university because he was a big, strong man, and she was just ateeny, tiny, weak woman. After all, everyone knows men are the superior, more knowledgeable sex.Pfft!

“You want to float around your opponent,” he said.

But she hadn’t said she wanted his advice. She glared at him.

“Yesterday, when you waltzed, you were light on your feet. You could use some of that in the ring.”

She scoffed. “Sure. If I want to get knocked on me arse.”

“Not at all. You can still be grounded,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.Meddlesomeneeded to be knocked on his arse.

So much for enjoying his company. He was insufferable and arrogant. Like every other aristocrat. Like every other male. And at least it was better this way—disliking him instead of desiring him.

“Shall I show you?” he asked.

She extended her hand. “Be my guest.”

Apparently, her sarcasm was lost on him because he settled into his stance. “Shift your weight more smoothly. You are coming down heavy on the back of your heel.” He threw a few jabs as he showed off his fast footwork. “Do you see where I am landing? Now, watch. If I land farther back like you do, I am slower.”

She was much too vexed to watch his feet, so she stared through him.

Oblivious to her annoyance, he kept right on blathering. “Also, you are too low. ’Tis as if you are stuck in a post hole.”

I’d like to stick you in a post hole.

“Your feet are too wide. I think you are more concerned with seeming aggressive than moving quickly. If you bring your legs closer together and get up on the balls of your feet, you will be more agile, fluid, and graceful.”

“Is there anything I do correctly?” she asked.

He halted his demonstration. “I was simply—”

“I know, Meddlesome. You were ‘simply trying to help’. You arealwaysjustsimply trying to help.”

“I thought last night we…” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “Bollocks.”

Was he about to sayConnected?Because, yes, they had. And a moment ago, they’d dis-connected.

“I’ll tell ye what,” Josie said, even though she knew she was letting her pride get the better of her. “Why don’t we spar? I’ll do me, and you do you. And we will see who the superior pugilist is.”

He winced. “Me? Hit a woman? Never.”

“Then how about you let me hit you?” What in the bloody hell was wrong with her?

He held up his hands in surrender. “Stone for stone, you are the superior fighter, Josie. I would never claim otherwise.”

“So, since you weigh more, you think you can beat me?” she asked.