Page 40 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Hell’s bells, he never teased. “I don’t.” And he did not favor her calling him “my lord”, even though he knew—he had always known—that is precisely what she should call him.

Her eyes sparkled. “And yet, you just taunted me?”

And he’d thoroughly enjoyed it. He grinned.

Was he imagining things, or did she make a sensual little sound? Good Lord, were her eyes clouding over with lust?

She placed her sandwich on her plate. The tip of her tongue popped out of her mouth, and she licked away a crumb. Good thing she’d taken care of it because he was just about to swipe at her lips with his thumb.

“Tomorrow evening is to be my lesson on correct titles,” she said.

Lady Davenport had announced the plan at dinner, adding, “Jonathon and I are attending dinner at Lady Allen’s, so Nicolas, you oversee her studies while we are gone. I will quiz Josephine the day after.”

“I suppose I had better do a good job, or Lady Davenport will have my head.”

Josie giggled.

He could spend the rest of his life listening to that happy little sound.

Grinning, she sliced her index finger beneath her chin, seeming to take great pleasure in mimicking his beheading. “Mayhap, after your taunting, I should botch my quiz and get you into trouble.”

He brought a hand to his heart, feigning indignation. “You wouldn’t.”

Her head bobbed up and down. “Oh, I would.”

He shrugged. “Then I shall end up headless, and you shall end up in interminable lessons with Agatha.” He leaned over the table to conspiratorially whisper, “With no time for midnight snacks or dancing.”

Throwing her head back, Josie let loose a string of unladylike chortles.

Good God, he wanted to kiss her exposed, creamy white neck. He, in fact, needed to kiss her. Now!

So that he did not come off as too aggressive, for he was feeling exceedingly goatish, he would start with those injured knuckles before moving onto that delectable neck. Once she was pliant, he would nibble on her plump bottom lip. And then, finally, there were the wondrous, filthy things he would do to the rest of her body.

Slow down, bloke.

Acting on his desires might be going a bit far. However, right here, right now, he would kiss her hand, and hopefully, she wouldn’t punch him in the nose. Although considering his lecherous thoughts, he deserved a good pommeling if she was so inclined. He might even enjoy it.

Chapter Seventeen

Nicolas hadn’t botheredto fully button his shirt, and his cuffs were rolled up, exposing thick veins cording muscular forearms. His hair was mussed, and scruff overtook his cheeks. This ruffled, half-dressed man regarding Josie as if he were a ravenous wolf about to pounce was as titillating as the shirtless man with whom she’d sparred.

If only he would pounce. She wouldn’t mind in the least. She’d almost kissed him, after all. Twice. And truth be told, she wanted to kiss him now. More than she wanted to finish her sandwich, which was saying a lot, because she was famished and her sandwich was quite delicious.

“Mayhap,” he said, his deep baritone rumbling its way to the cleft between her thighs, “since we are both wide awake, we should start our lessons now.”

With those heavy-lidded eyes, he might not be talking about etiquette and peerage lessons. Hopefully, Nicolas Wentworth, the most handsome, desirable man in the world and heir to an earldom—a broke, disgraced earldom, but an earldom all the same—was about to give her lessons on desire.

Please. Oh, pretty please.

Nicolas stood. The tail of his shirt hung to his thighs, reminding her of how much she enjoyed watching his leg muscles flex beneath his trousers. If only his clothing didn’t hide his form because she wished to see him naked from head to toe so that she could study his physique like one might regard a statue.

Currently, Nicolas appeared stunningly confident. Her feminine desires roared to life. How had she ever seen him as anything but powerful and commanding?

“Remember, you must wait to be introduced to someone you have not met before. When you first meet a gentleman or a lady older than you, or a person of higher rank, you must bow ever-so-slightly with a gentle dip at the shoulder. And a gentleman greets a lady with a modest bow from the waist.”

Josie already knew this, but with his gaze heating her secret female places, he had her full attention.

“He should not exaggerate his bow. It should be quite subtle. Like this.” Nicolas leaned forward. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Martin.”