Page 38 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Was this true? Lord, Josie hoped it was true. “The man never imbibes.” Why in the devil had she said that?

Panic combined with Josie’s desperate need to unburden herself, so unfortunately, her feelings poured forth.

“Franny, I was so wrong about Nicolas. At first, I thought he was an arrogant aristocrat, but he is a kind, decent man. He has given up his own dreams to care for his family. I simply cannot allow him to lose his estate. I must win this bet for him, so I am doing everything I can to talk and act properly. And yet, how can I possibly marry a duke? The widow is toying with us all.” Josie waved her hands frantically. “And ’tis my fault because my pride got the better of me. Do you know what I foolishly said to the Widow of Whitehall?”

“Yes,” Franny said. “You told me earlier.”

“‘I want ye to make a love match between me and the duke’. Can you believe it? Why would I say such applesauce? Why do I always let my pride interfere with my common sense?”

“Hmm,” Franny murmured. “You call him Nicolas?”

That was all Franny had to say after listening to her pour out her heart?

Josie narrowed her eyes. “He insists I call him Nicolas in private. But only because he was tired of me calling him…”

“Calling him what?” Franny asked.

“Never mind,” Josie said.

Franny rested her index finger on her cheek as if she might be having a profound thought. “What a conundrum. How can you marry the duke when you are in love with the future earl?”

“Pfft.” If Josie didn’t adore Franny, she would flatten her adorable nose. “I am not in love with him.” She simply wanted to kiss him. Spend time with him. Dance with him. Meet his sister. Help save his family from complete disgrace.

“I need to be on my way if I intend to reach home before dark,” Franny said.

But Josie didn’t want her to leave. “Will you visit again? Mayhap bring our mufflers and hand wraps and we can spar? I could use a good training session.” One that didn’t involve a half-naked Adonis.

“Of course.” Franny stood and slid her feet back into her slippers.

As Josie escorted Franny out of the room, she had a thought. “Mayhap you can come to the tea Lady Davenport is having for me.”

“Ooh la la.” Franny held up her pinky. “Who would have guessed that Jabbing Josie Martin would someday have a fancy tea thrown in her honor?”

Josie playfully punched Franny’s shoulder.

Franny nudged her back. “Except, I don’t think we can spar and attend a tea at the same time.”

“Bollocks,” Josie mumbled.

Franny laughed. “And I don’t think ladies say the wordbollocks.”

“They also don’t saybloody hell,shite,arse, orfriggin’ and they do not express themselves. Ladies do absolutely nothing fun.” Josie bussed Franny’s cheek and waved goodbye.

They did nothing fun except sneak to the kitchen to fill their bellies with delicacies while everyone else was asleep. And wear lovely dresses. And have a lady’s maid perform miracles on their hair. And bathe in warm water someone else carried up flights of stairs for them. And scrub themselves with exotic soaps and rub decadent lotions into their skin. Oh, and swirl around the drawing room in a handsome man’s arms.

On second thought, maybe being a lady wasn’t so bad.

Chapter Sixteen

Unable to focushis racing thoughts or write a coherent sentence, Nicolas placed his journal and pencil on the nightstand and checked his watch. It was almost two hours past midnight. His insomnia was getting worse by the night.

One would think that holding Josie in his arms and dancing would have settled some of his inner turmoil. But no, the intimacy of their waltz had done him in. He was half-obsessed and completely crazed. An aggressive masculine energy pumped in his blood. If he did not soon kiss her, he’d have to blow something up. Or challenge someone to a duel. Or, God forbid, butt heads with a bull.

Those plump lips. Those soulful eyes. That perfect figure, built for both fisticuffs and bed sport. He grabbed the pillow beside him and howled into it like a grieving wolf.

Now that he’d let out some of his bellicosity, he should think about something other than what Josie looked like beneath her chemise.

Damn his randy beast to hell. He had serious issues to consider. Like where his family would live at the end of the month? And what profession he might be suited for. He had to earn enough blunt to takecare of his family, after all. And what was to be done about poor Bridget making a suitable match? It would be no easy task finding a bloke willing to put up with Bridget’s modern thinking.