Page 73 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Would her idea work? Would Griffendale play along? He was one of Nicolas’s mates, was he not? And he defied society all of the time. Surely, a handsome man with so much wealth and power would allow one little jab to his ego to save his mate from ruin.

Nicolas rearranged himself so that he sat beside her. Resting his back against the headboard, he placed his hand on her forearm. “What is it, Josie?”

“The widow said you and the viscount couldn’t tell the duke of the plan,” Josie said. “She did not say I can’t tell him. Once we are introduced, and he asks me to be his fighter, I can tell him about our dilemma and the spot the widow has put us in. I could suggest he propose to me privately, except for a witness or two. Mayhap Agatha and Bridget. I could turn him down but agree to be his fighter.Josephine, the Davenport’s cousin, simply returns home and is forgotten, and Jabbing Josie goes on to win a championship. Who would even connect the two women?”

Nicolas’s eyes lit up. “Why, you devious little minx.”

“Would the duke play along?” she asked.

“Griffendale?” Nicolas chortled. “I believe he will. It gives him fodder for that scandalous reputation he goes out of his way to maintain to keep the title-seeking mothers away.”

Josie beamed. “If we fool Bessie Dove-Lyon, I get The Silk Knuckles Saloon, and you get Blue Cliff Manor.”

Frowning, Nicolas rubbed his brow. “I am not sure we can beat her at her own game. That woman knows everything. ’Tis like she is sitting in the clouds watching us.”

Josie had been so certain that Nicolas would approve of her plan. Her elation from a moment ago whooshed out of her.

But then, Nicolas grinned, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “I had the oddest sensation that the widow wants us to outsmart her and win.”

Josie pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Me too. Lately, I’ve felt as if everyone is in on some secret except for you and me.”

“Paranoid. Yes. Exactly,” Nicolas said.

“The cursed heir to an earldom and a female pugilist against the world.”

“Sometimes it feels like that, doesn’t it?” Nicolas lifted her chin and tenderly kissed her. “I would not want anyone else in the entire world to be my partner in this crazy farce.”

“So, we shall try my plan?” she asked.

Nicolas shrugged. “What do we have to lose?”

Josie grabbed his hand. “I must confess, I quite like the idea of you spending time in London and writing. Mayhap you can even cover female pugilists since that rat of a journalist, Pierce Egan, pretends thatwe do not exist. Two hundred years from now, no one will know what an important part women played in athletics. We shall be written out of historical records.”

“Not if I have anything to do with it, my pretty pugilist,” Nicolas said. “Now, let us get you back to your chamber without incident.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Nicolas strutted fromthe office ofThe Daily Dispatch of London. His interview with the owner, Donald Gladstone, had gone well, and he was no longer at anyone’s mercy. He was now a working journalist with his own column,Musings from a Gentleman.Wait until he told Josie. He had no doubts she would be excited. His parents might die from humiliation, but Bridget would be exceedingly proud of him. The truth was, he was thrilled to have a purpose and something to distract him from his family’s misfortunes.

He would live in London, in a small flat near The Silk Knuckles Saloon. He’d write about politics and culture. Unlike the other journalists, he would not ignore women’s sports. He would discuss women’s pugilism, archery, swimming, and riding. Bridget could live with him until she married. If she ever married. Maybe he would even write about Bridget’s quest for female equality. Since he’d been given free rein with only an editor and Gladstone to answer to, he could explore endless topics.

His parents might have to live with them at first. The thought brought him no pleasure, but he would not allow them to live on the streets. Other than his parents, what a perfect life it would be. Andmaybe someday, when Josie was done prize fighting, they could have a few children.

His step light, he skipped up the steps of Greenpark House and then took the stairs to the second floor two at a time.

Upon strolling into the drawing room, he found himself in the middle of a lively quadrille. The furniture had been pushed to the side. Franny, Bridget, Isabelle, Josie, and Diana were pink-cheeked and smiling. Davenport grinned from ear to ear as his mother called out directives. Even poor Mrs. Love had been dragged into the fray and was frowning at her feet.

Peters and two footmen stood at the side of the room, dutifully humming.

“Don’t just stand there gawking, Wentworth. Help a bloke out,” Davenport declared. “These ladies are giving me a deuce of a time.”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “’Tis more like it takes seven women to make him behave.”

Davenport grinned. “And even then, they are failing.”

“Jonathon and Bridget, pay attention,” Agatha scolded. “Mrs. Love, you are going in the wrong direction again.”

Chuckling, Nicolas took Mrs. Love’s place. Her frown morphed into a smile as she moved to the sidelines to stand beside Peters.