Page 61 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Since Nicolas’s brain was processing slowly, it took him a moment to realize that the “business” Davenport had referenced probably had something to do with the infamous betting book housed at White’s. He’d been paranoid for no reason. A spark of pride poked through his doldrums. At least he had nothing to do with any wager other than the unfortunate one the widow had forced him to take part in.

He experienced a moment of affinity for his old chum since Davenport took pity on him and picked a small table tucked into a quiet, dark, corner.

Nicolas removed his tailcoat and gloves and sunk into the leather chair. “See here,” he whispered. “Be careful with that damnable book.If you need me to read you the details, I will.”

Davenport’s eyes widened, probably because he feared someone might overhear Nicolas’s offer to read to him.

“I think not.” Davenport deposited his hat, gloves, and tailcoat on his chair and excused himself, leaving Nicolas to stew in last night’s expensive brandy and today’s misery.

Since there were no women around, Nicolas could act like an ill-bred churl. He closed his eyes and folded over, resting his forehead on the table.

Sometime later, someone tapped him on the shoulder, jolting him from his brief slumber.

“Are you alive?” Davenport asked.

Nicolas wiped the saliva from his cheek and sat up. “Barely.”

Davenport handed him a cup of coffee and sat across from him.

As Nicolas sipped at the life-affirming drink, the throbbing in his head eased. Not completely, but enough for Nicolas to remember that Josie had a gambit of her own to overcome.

“Do you think Josephine will withstand the scrutiny today?” he asked.

Davenport tapped the rim of his coffee cup as he regarded Nicolas with a serious expression. “I think Josephine is one hell of a gal, Nick, old chap.”

Nicolas wholeheartedly agreed. Holding his warm cup to his temple, he nodded.

“Do you want to tell me what has you so rattled that you are in akatzenjammertoday?” Davenport asked. “Because as much as I enjoy watching my mates stumble about after a night of drowning themselves in devil’s water, I’m not enjoying your pathetic arse as much as I should be.”

Then he should stop taunting Nicolas with the over-loud voice and the smart-arse looks.

Nicolas perused the room to ensure no one was paying attentionto them. Either coffee had cured his paranoia, or no one was interested in two blokes talking in the corner.

He leaned across the table to whisper, “Last night, Lydia and her parents tricked me. Despite my better judgment, I went for a walk with her. We had a chaperone one minute, but she was gone the next. Lydia grabbed me, and I was in her arms when her parents and a group of onlookers appeared out of nowhere. Now, Small is claiming I must marry her.”

Davenport’s brow furrowed. “What the bloody hell?”

“I know.” Nicolas placed his empty cup on the table. “And Small seems to be under some misguided notion that I’ve come into a considerable fortune. What would make him think that?”

Davenport’s jaw clenched.

“And meanwhile, I’ve developed feelings for…” Nicolas rubbed his temple and moaned. “Hell, what does it matter?”

Davenport glared at something over Nicolas’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil.”

Hell no. It couldn’t be. Nicolas slowly turned. His glance confirmed his fear. His future father-in-law glowered at Nicolas before his gaze slid to Davenport. His curling finger beckoned.

“Bloody hell,” Nicolas said. “I have no desire to speak with him. Did he follow us here?”

Frowning, Davenport placed his cup on the table. He grabbed folded foolscap and a pencil that appeared to be covered with teeth marks from his tailcoat pocket and then stood. “I believe he wants to speak to me.”

Grateful that the baron didn’t want to talk to him, Nicolas let out a chuckle filled with disgust and void of humor. “While you are at it, can you get me out of this muddle of a marriage?” The truth was there was nothing Davenport could do to help him. Nicolas was completely and utterly fucked, and they both knew it.

Davenport approached the baron. Small clapped him on the backas if they were old friends. Davenport stiffened. Then, the two men exited the room.

Nicolas rested his head back on the table and closed his eyes.

Since they’d spentthe morning at White’s, Nicolas assumed he’d been spared from the original plan of visiting The Lyon’s Den. No such luck because instead of pulling up in front of Greenpark House, the carriage drove down Cleveland Row and halted a few buildings away from the blue house of doom. Although not nearly as grand as White’s, the double-bow windows and iron balcony on the second floor added a touch of charm to the five-story building.