Page 69 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

After over-imbibing the night before, spending the afternoon asleep in a hot as Hades carriage, and the best tup of his life, he was quite exhausted. And yet, some things needed to be discussed immediately.

“So, you love me?” he asked, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

She sat up, leaned over him, and jammed her finger into his shoulder. “You said you loved me first.”

“I did.” He failed at silencing his chuckle. “First? Does that mean I won this round?”

Giggling, she walloped him.

“Omph.” He crossed his arms over his chest to protect himself from the barrage coming from two fiery fists from hell.

“No one wins until the other opponent is unconscious,” she said.

“Oh, really?” he asked. “Are going to keep going until someone passes out?”

“Round three,” she hollered.

Good Lord, not only could the Davenports probably hear everything going on in his chamber, but he was about to be the first to pass out in a tupping contest.

But what a way to go.

Sitting up quickly, he threw her onto her back, grabbed her wrists, and pinned her hands above her head. “Let the mill begin.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Agentle humrippled from Josie’s sleeping prince. To kiss him or let the exhausted man sleep? What a conundrum. Her heart and mind battled as she fought the urge to run her fingers through his stubble. Did she want him to shave or not since the alluring hair overtaking his jaw might soon hide his dimples? So many decisions.

She chuckled.

He stirred, but his eyes remained closed as he snuggled into the mattress.

Hopefully, he was dreaming about last night. She’d had sweet dreams about their lovemaking, and the delicious ache between her thighs would remind her all day long of what they’d done.

Would she even be able to walk? Tupped to immobility. She pressed her palm to her mouth to stifle her chuckle.

Nicolas stirred again.

She should be quiet and let the poor man sleep since he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and rarely relaxed enough to get a proper night’s rest. Currently, he looked as comfortable as a swaddled infant.

Make that a handsome grown man in infant swaddling.

She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

She must conjure discipline and return to her chamber before they were discovered together. She doubted the viscount gave a farthing about his houseguest’s lascivious escapades. He’d probably clap Nicolas on the back and call out congratulatory messages as he sent Josie a half-dozen smart-arse winks.

She could hear the viscount now.

“Well done, Wentworth, you sly devil.”

“Hey, mate. It’s about time you stuck your rod in something besides that cold fish of a baron’s daughter.”

“Is what they say about tupping a pugilist true? Do they really pretend like they are in the ring, and you rut until one of you is unconscious?”

Actually, she had no idea if anyone said that. But she’d wager Jonathon was thinking it. But his poor mother. After the embarrassment Josie had caused Agatha yesterday, she shouldn’t add fuel to the fire. Although, truthfully, it wasn’t her fault. Damn the cow to hell.

Josie sat up and placed her feet on the floor.

An arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her back to bed.