Page 36 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

He hummed as he spun her. His low, throaty sounds skimmed across her neck, into her ear, and then traveled down her belly to vibrate her core. A core that spun and skipped and flipped with every step.

His citrusy scent and his thumb gently pressing into her shoulder blade were dizzying. Their bodies molded together as if a higher power had formed them from the same clay. Gliding and breathing as one, they traversed their make-shift ballroom.

He ceased humming, and their waltz turned into a stationary, gentle sway. Who would have guessed that she adored being caged against a warm, strong body? She rested her head on his shoulder and gave into the natural rhythm of the mesmerizing movement.

Two individuals separated by status and title, a free spirit and an overstrung caregiver, shouldn’t fit together like puzzle pieces, and yet, for this sublime moment in time, they did. Thankfully, neither of them broke the magical spell with words or a cautionary message.

If only Josie could dance with him forever. However, she had to be content with the here and now, pressed tight up against Nicolas while swaying in his protective arms.

He dropped her hand to caress her jaw. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his hand, rather like a kitten begging for scratches. She might even have purred. If only he’d finish what he’d started in the carriage house and kiss her. She had no idea how to kiss a man, but surely it couldn’t be too difficult. Lips only did so many things. Correct?

She lifted her chin and met his gaze.

“Josie,” he whispered as he leaned closer.

Her heart turned a complete somersault. “Nicolas,” she whispered back. And then she waited for him to teach her how to kiss.

He hovered.

She ached.

Was he taunting her? Was he having second thoughts? Should she grab him by the neck and pull his face to hers?

As she prepared to do just that, footsteps and the rustle of skirts distracted her.

Nicolas hurriedly stepped back.

“I am sorry, my lord,” a man said. “Miss Valentine insisted on surprising Miss Martin.”

Josie shook herself from her dither. Peters stood before them, his brow furrowed. Wild red hair was visible over the butler’s shoulder.

“Surprise!” Franny dashed past Peters, flew toward Josie, and wrapped her in her arms. “We received your missive. Papa and I miss you so much. Oh, my, this house is beautiful.” Franny withdrew from the embrace to take Josie in. “Bloody friggin’ hell. You look like a proper lady.”

Josie and Frannysat in the richly appointed drawing room, behaving almost as if they were aristocratic ladies instead of women who traded punches for a living. A tray of tiny, iced cakes and tea sat in front of them. Since Josie could be herself in front of Franny, she had popped at least six of the sweets into her mouth as she told her about the insane situation she found herself in.

After Franny processed the story, she kicked off her slippers andtucked her feet beneath her. “Oh, Josie, you are so lucky. You must love it here.”

Did she love it, or did she hate it? Josie sighed. “They make me talk all proper, and I am not permitted to eat until I am full, which is silly because there is so much food. They even made me wear a backboard for a while. Let me tell you, those are akin to implements of torture.”

“I think you sound just like a proper lady now. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see them tying a piece of wood to your spine.” Franny guffawed as she slapped her thighs. “Did they have to knock you out first?”

“Practically.” Josie chuckled, recalling Mrs. Love and the maids regarding her with pursed lips and hands on hips. Oh, how Coach and Franny would have laughed if they had witnessed the scene. If only Josie could share every minute of this adventure with them.

“How is Coach?” Josie asked.

“Papa is well. He misses you and does not believe for a moment that you are here of your own accord. He has been to The Widow of Whitehall twice to demand your release. He wanted to come today, but I insisted he stay home. I was afraid he might punch a viscount or an earl or some such nonsense. You know his temper.”

“Indeed, I do.” They might not be related by blood, but it seemed Josie took after Coach. Need she remind Franny that she was also quite fiery? Three hot heads in one house made for lively dinner discourse.

“Then, you understand why I want him to stay away from Greenpark House for the time being,” Franny said. “If Papa punches a peer of the realm and ends up locked away, he will never be able to purchase the building, and the seller is growing impatient. He says he has another buyer willing to pay immediately. He is only giving us this time extension out of respect for Papa.”

It might be forever before Josie had her share of the blunt. First, she had to survive the weeks of edification and then arrive at the balland passably play a lady. Second, she had to approach the duke. Third, she had to convince him to dump Ruth. Fourth, she had to beat her opponent. And none of that took into account that she must convince the duke to marry her if she meant to help Nicolas.

Josie sighed. “I hope to have my share of the blunt soon. By the by, have you heard any gossip about The Duke’s and Dame’s Mill?”

Franny’s face contorted until she looked more like a gargoyle than a beautiful woman.

“Tell me, Franny,” Josie demanded.