Page 51 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Wagner ran his finger over the picture on the consular case. A hunting dog, a rifle, and a horse had been crafted out of three shades of gold. Every detail had been painstakingly created, and twenty tiny diamonds circled the miniature work of art.

“One of a kind,” Mr. Wagner said. “Crafted in Paris by Daniel Vauchez. What exquisite detail. Such meticulous artistry.” He held it close to his eyes and opened the case. “Oh, yes. ’Tis as magnificent as I remember. I would be insulted indeed if you’d offered it to Henderson.”

Nicolas stared one last time at the decorative dial, marked withboth Roman and Arabic numerals. “Make your offer,” he said as his heart dropped to his feet.

His pocket fullof blunt, Nicolas took his time strolling to the modiste. He stopped to enjoy a cup of chocolate at a cozy tea house. He would have loved to order a pastry or two, but the money in his pockets was for Josie’s gown. Instead, he read the paper and sipped his drink until it was time to meet the rest of his party.

He strolled into Madame’s shop feeling light-hearted. Gifting Josie a gown and the proper accessories meant the world to him. It couldn’t be easy for her to leave her friends and work behind. He could hear her voice in his head, calling them abunch of fancy toffs.He chuckled. They probably didn’t tell her enough what a fabulous job she was doing.

Even with the hustle and bustle of ladies moving about, he immediately spotted Josie. Today she wore a borrowed powder blue dress that fit her as if she were a queen, but her bonnet was clutched in her gloved fingers. He did a double take because she was twisting the bonnet as if she meant to tear it in two.

His gaze slid to her lovely but furious face. He blinked and took in the larger scene.

Bridget, nostrils flaring, stood beside her, poking the woman in front of her in the chest. Agatha’s chin was lifted indignantly. Even their lady’s maid’s brow was furrowed. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think his ladies were about to battle with the three women who had their backs to him.

Meddlingman that he was, he could not help himself; he hurried toward them, his walking stick clicking against the floor in time withhis heavy footfall.

Josie was the first to see him. While dodging ladies, racks, and shelves, he caught her gaze and walked faster.

Bridget’s eyes widened. “Nicolas,” she said as he approached.

And then the woman who Bridget had been poking faced him.

Blond hair. Pale blue eyes. High, chiseled cheekbones. A pink dress and matching accessories that were the height of fashion.

No!It couldn’t be. His heart stuttered. This wasn’t real. He had to be dreaming. Except, this dream was a nightmare.

“Oh, Nicolas,” Lydia cried as she flung herself into his arms. “I have missed you so.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Another woman hadher arms around Nicolas’s neck—and in a public place!—after he’d spent the previous night whispering deliciously naughty things in Josie’s ear and making her feel sensations she hadn’t even known existed.

“I cannot believe my good fortune running into you today,” Lydia said to Nicolas.

His gaze locked on his sister. His body stiffened, but his arms limply hung by his side. Then, his arms rounded, and he slowly lifted his elbows.

Bloody friggin’ hell! He was going to hug Lydia.

Josie couldn’t watch. But what was she to do? Should she run? Punch? Scream? A combination of all three, not necessarily in that order?

Since she was stunned, in the end, she simply gawked.

Nicolas gave Lydia three firm back pats, almost as if he was burping a baby. Then he quickly pulled away. “When did you return from Italy?” he asked, his voice icy.

“Two weeks ago,” Lydia said. “I wrote to tell you I was returning. Did you not receive my letter?”

Bridget hissed from between her clenched teeth.

“I did not,” Nicolas said. “I have been in London.”

“Nicolas and Bridget are currently my guests,” Agatha said. “They are helping me entertain my cousin, Josephine.”

Despite Agatha’s strict adherence to etiquette, she did not introduce anyone. Neither did Bridget or Nicolas. Josie still had no idea who Lydia’s pastel-clad toadeaters were. A pair of brainless debutantes was her best guess.

Lydia peered over her shoulder to glare at Josie, and her nose wrinkled. Apparently in horror. Josie couldn’t tell. But this was their introduction and from what Josie could surmise, Lydia was not impressed. So be it, because the one thing Josie knew for sure was that she detested Lydia more than she disliked Ruth the Jewel, and she did not favor the cheater in the least.

Lydia faced Nicolas. “I told Momma and Papa I simply had to return to England. I missed you too much.”