Page 70 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“Where do you think you are going?” Nicolas asked.

Now that he was awake, there seemed no point in being quiet or running off. She rolled over and faced him. “Did you sleep peacefully?”

“Mmm.The best night of sleep in months. Mayhap years.”

Happiness filled her heart and soul. Who would have guessed she’d come to care this much about someone who wasn’t Franny or Coach? A man to boot and an aristocrat to be precise. And the best part was, he loved her back.

“I’m not marrying Lydia,” he said.

“I am glad of that, since you love me.” Josie’s smile was short-lived. Everyone knew aristocrats did not marry for love. Still, he had to know the truth of Lydia’s behavior. “I do not favor her.” Josie stuck out her tongue and hacked.

“My sentiments exactly,” Nicolas said. “I do not know why I ever thought I did.”

Perhaps Lydia was an evil witch who had cast a spell over him. Unless this was another aristocratic thing Josie didn’t understand.

“But you were not engaged because you loved her, were you?” Please let him say no. “Did your parents not arrange it?”

“Our parents had a hand in our introduction. But I am not the first son. My parents were not as concerned about my choice of a bride as they were my brother’s. You’ve not met my parents.” He winced. “My mother has a weak constitution, and my father is rarely sober. As I am sure you are aware, Bridget and Lydia never favored each other.” Nicolas swallowed. “George was to wed Miss Chelsea Brentwater. A lovely young woman.”

Josie rested her head on his shoulder and traced letters in his chest hair. AnL, anO,aV,and anE,to be exact. “I’m so very sorry. I can tell you adored him.”

He sighed. “I miss him. He did not have an easy life, being the heir to a cursed earldom. Our parents are impossible, and I suppose I wasn’t much help.”

And now the burden was Nicolas’s to bear. If only she could help him carry it. Silence settled over them as she listened to the steady beat of his heart.

As much as she didn’t want to relay the troublesome news, it was time. “I must tell you what happened yesterday before you hear it from someone else.”

“Oh?” he asked. “Did it not go well?”

She cringed. “I suspect tea on the carpeting and an icing-covered debutante is most improper.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

She bit her lip and then blew out a sigh. “I swear I did not start it. And no matter what she says, I did not punch her.”

Nicolas’s eyes widened. “Punch who?”

“Lydia.”

Nicolas’s cheeks puffed up until he resembled a chipmunk storingnuts and berries.

“Please breathe, Nicolas.”

He exhaled a gust so strong it could send a sail across the ocean. “Start at the beginning.”

“Well, you see…” Stalling, she cracked her knuckles.

He rolled his fingers, encouraging her to continue.

She’d changed her mind. She did not need to tell him. Perhaps they could kiss instead. She puckered up and leaned toward him. He thwarted her with a finger between their lips.

Since she’d been foiled, she might as well get this over with.

“Agatha had no idea Lydia was coming to the tea,” Josie said. “She invited Lady Monroe and her daughter. Her daughter is friends with Lydia, one of her unsmiling toadeaters from the modistes.”

“Yes, Charity and Lydia are friends,” Nicolas said. “I suppose Lydia invited herself since she knows I am staying here.”

“That is what Agatha said. I was doing my best to avoid Lydia. Truly, I was. I was minding my own business, helping myself to another cake. I know I shouldn’t have since I’d already eaten three, but they were quite delicious. And they had little pink flowers on them, all made out of icing. And, well, I ain’t never been to a party with pretty cakes.”