Page 79 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

“They should be down any moment.” Mrs. Love patted her eyes with a wadded-up handkerchief. “They both look so lovely. Lady Davenport looks as fresh as a blooming lilac, and Miss Josephine…” She blew her nose. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful.”

The maids murmured their agreement.

Diana approached Davenport. “May I speak frankly, my lord?” she asked.

Staff asking to speak honestly rarely meant good news. Had Josie decided she couldn’t do this? The past few days, she’d seemed so sure of herself, but this was a nerve-twisting undertaking.Nicolas wouldn’t blame her if she had second thoughts.

“I believe Miss Josephine is a bit nervous,” Diana told Davenport.

As Nicolas suspected, his concern was valid. If only he could dash up the stairs to comfort her.

Davenport’s brow furrowed. “Nervous? No.” He shook his head. “She is the least nervous chit I know. As brave as a soldier, that girl, with the exterior of a turtle. Chain mail even.”

But beneath that hard exterior Josie showed the world, she was vulnerable and sensitive. Soft and loving. Sweet and warm. Not that Nicolas would share her coveted secrets with the world.

“I doubt this is Josephine’s fault,” Davenport said. “My mother is probably giving last-minute lessons. The dashed woman never stops with the lecturing. Diana, please go upstairs and tell my mother I’m ready.”

Since when did Davenport care about arriving at a ball on time? Unless he had a rendezvous with some woman planned.

Bloody hell! As if they didn’t have enough to worry about, Davenport was behaving like an impatient bull because of some carnal liaison. Nicolas rubbed at the sour ball climbing up his esophagus.

“Yes, my lord.” Diana bobbed. She headed to the stairwell, peered up, and stepped to the side. “They are coming, sir.”

First, Nicolas saw four slippers. Next, the hem of two gowns. And then his breath caught in his lungs.

Everything about Josie that didn’t glitter or sparkle glowed. Too beautiful to be real, she was a diaphanous emerald dream that might disappear if he blinked or moved quickly. The low neckline of her gown exposed creamy skin and showcased her well-formed bosom. Her pink cheeks, sparkling eyes, silky hair, and toned arms screamed health and vitality.

She was a mermaid caught in a moonbeam. A fairytale queen from a magical land. A goddess come to life.

His gaze caught hers. He couldn’t be certain, but her breath mighthave hitched. Hopefully, he cut such a fine figure in his blue cravat and best waistcoat that he’d knocked the wind from her lungs.

Nicolas stepped forward and smiled.

She smiled back.

“You look beautiful, Josephine,” Davenport said.

What a banal way to describe her. By God, she was radiant. Ravishing. Dazzling. Heavenly.

“Mother, you look comely.” Walking stick in one hand, Davenport came around beside his mother and cradled her elbow.

Nicolas shook himself from his rude stupor. “Agatha, that shade of purple suits you.”

“And the two of you look exceedingly handsome,” Lady Davenport said. “Shall we be on our way?”

Nicolas clasped Josephine’s elbow, and together, they followed their hosts.

“Have a delightful time.” Mrs. Love waved her handkerchief in the air as the staff echoed her sentiment.

Seeming oblivious tothe heated glares Josie and Nicolas sent each other, the Davenports chatted away. Josie nodded, murmuring “Yes” and “Oh, my” to whatever discussion was happening in the carriage. Nicolas doubted Josie knew what she agreed to. Not with the hunger in her eyes scorching him to his soul. Meanwhile, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to spin around the dance floor with her in his arms, steal a carriage and run away with her, or haul her off to some corner and tup her until neither of them could move.

Perhaps he would do all three. Now, to decide in what order.

Inwardly, he preened. He did not begrudge selling his watch.Josie’s gown was a work of art worthy of theMusée du Louvre.

Their vehicle halted, and the door opened. Piles of giggling pink and yellow satin piled into the carriage. When everyone jostled positions to make room for Bridget and Isabelle, Nicolas ended up with his hip pressed against Josie’s. Her scent accosted his senses, carrying him to a flower garden on a breezy summer day.

He tried to concentrate on the lively conversation, to no avail. He was too aware of every breath Josie took. As close as they were, he needed to be closer. He pressed his thigh against hers.