Page 54 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

She harrumphed.

Anger obliterated his reason. “Think on this. If George were still alive, then I would not be the future earl.”

“True,” she said with a shrug as she guided him onto a side street.

Apparently, she was too daft and self-centered to understand sarcasm. Despite having the intellectual advantage, Nicolas had no desire to continue this conversation. He halted, then turned her in the direction they’d come.

She fought his gentle nudge, digging her heels into the cobbles.

Nicolas cast his gaze in the direction he wanted her to travel, which was pointless because she didn’t budge. Realizing they were alone, his heart skipped erratically as he scanned the area. When in the blazes had their chaperone disappeared? He was certain she’d beenright behind them.

“If you think to court Lady Davenport’s cousin, you should know, she is not who she says she is,” Lydia said.

How could she possibly know of his feelings? No one but Josie knew. Did they? Hell and damnation. Was he wearing his affection on his sleeve?

“Lady Davenport lied,” Lydia declared with that smugness he’d never favored.

Did Lydia know of their wager? He’d given up hope of saving his family, but he did not want Lady Davenport or Josie humiliated at the upcoming ball.

Lydia lifted her nose and delicately sniffed in that telltale way she showed superiority. “Charity’s mother is friends with Lady Davenport and she has never heard of this Josephine.”

Nicolas had not given it much thought, and Agatha had not mentioned it, but yesterday Miss Charity Monroe had been at the modiste’s with Lydia.

“There is something quite suspicious about Josephine,” Lydia said. “I know she is not a lady. I heard your sister ask her to teach her to punch. Ladies do not punch. I will find out who she is and expose her.”

Blasted Bridget and her obsession with learning to fight. And since when did Lydia use clues to solve a dilemma?

Nicolas glared at Lydia, not that she knew that in the dark. “Leave Josephine out of this.” At least, his tone attested to his anger.

Lydia scoffed. “So, you do have feelings for her?”

What in the blazes was he to say to that?

“You are my fiancée, Nicolas Wentworth. I am to be the Countess of Shiredale, and I will not be humiliated or thrown to the side like an old boot. I will find out who she is. To protect you, of course. Because I love you, and I am certain she is after your title and wealth.” Before he could back away, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

Instead of bellowing,Yes, I have feelings for Josephine Martin. She makes me feel alive.Or growling out,Love me. Pfft!he confessed the humiliating truth. “My family is no longer wealthy, Lydia, and soon the world will know. Is that what you want? To be an indigent countess?”

“No longer wealthy?” she asked. “’Tis not what Papa says. He said you’ve had a stroke of good fortune.”

So, this was why her arms were wrapped around him, and she was insisting they marry.

“No,” he said. “Quite the opposite.” Once she knew the truth, she would unhand him and run back to Thorn House so quickly that he’d struggle to keep pace with her.Good riddance.

He snorted. “Your Papa is mistaken. Now, let us return to Thorn House.”

“Papa is never wrong,” Lydia said. “You’ve simply fallen under that…that imposter’s spell. I saw the way you looked at her.”

He’d been convinced that Lydia didn’t love him. Now, he knew with certainty she was jealous that he favored someone else. She’d also misunderstood whatever her father had said about his wealth. Lydia was not as intelligent as… Well, Josie, for one, an ostrich, for another.

“Unhand my daughter,” someone hollered as an oil lamp bobbed around the corner and hurtled toward them.

Lydia grasped his collar and held on as the baron and baroness rushed toward them. A few individuals followed them. Perhaps, their servants? It was hard to tell in the dark.

“He’s compromised her,” the baroness cried.

Nicolas peeled Lydia’s fingers from his lapel and stepped back. He held his hands high. “We were just talking. We have a chaperone.” Who had conveniently disappeared. The same chaperone who had failed to keep him from bedding Lydia on their travels.

“I see no chaperone,” the baron said.