Page 9 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Josie whirled on him and jammed her finger in his chest.

He held up his hands in submission. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But ye are thinking loud enough to wake the dead.” Her nostrils flaring, she leaned so close that her breath blew across his cheek. “Do not test me patience, guv. I’ve had a miserable evening. I just lost the blunt for me new boxing gymnasium. And not that it’s any of yer bloody business, but I don’t want to court the man. I wanted to win the purse in the mill he sponsors. And since you’ve ruined that, I want to meet with him and persuade him to change his mind.”

“Ah,” Nicolas murmured. Although unlikely, a woman wanting to open a gymnasium wasn’t delusional. In fact, he’d gift her the money himself if he had any to give.

“Truly admirable, Miss Martin. For a moment, I thought you meant to marry the duke.” Nicolas chuckled.

She stiffened. Her eyes widened and then narrowed to slits. “What are ye saying?”

Mrs. Dove-Lyon crooked her finger, calling the guard to her. She whispered something in his ear. He nodded and left the room.

Meanwhile, Nicolas reviewed their conversation. He’d given Josie a compliment, so perhaps she’d misunderstood.

He met her gaze, willing away the anger in her emotion-filled brown eyes. Brown eyes bespeckled with hints of emerald and gold. “Admirable means praiseworthy. Laudable. That I respect—”

Josie snarled. “You bloody arrogant arse. I know what ‘admirable’ means. What’s wrong with me? Why wouldn’t the duke marry me? Do ye think I’m a dolt? Or are you toffs intimidated by a woman who speaks her mind?”

Nicolas simply stared at her. Did she want him to lie? It seemed unkind to pretend she could marry one of the wealthiest men in England.

Josie turned her back to him. “I’ve changed me mind, Mrs. Dove-Lyon. I want ye to make a love match between me and the duke.”

Nicolas choked, trying to keep his opinion—no, not an opinion, but the God’s honest truth—from coming out of his mouth.

“I see,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said. “Do you realize my fee is more than your winnings tonight? And if you are trying to come up with the blunt to invest in your gymnasium, perhaps you are better served to use your money for that.”

Since Nicolas couldn’t seem to say the right thing around Josie, he bit back his,I wholeheartedly agree.

“’Tisn’t even close to enough blunt,” Josie said, her voice sounding defeated for the first time since they’d met.

“It seems the two of you have the same problem.” The widow pointed at Josie, then at Nicolas. “Cash.”

“But he’s a bloody prince or earl or viscount or something,” Josie said. “He’s as rich as the crazy king himself.”

Not at all. He was the second son of a mad, destitute earl. Nicolas squirmed in his seat.

The door opened, and the bouncer shoved Jonathon Davenport into the room. The viscount stumbled and then righted himself. He looked at Nicolas and smiled. His gaze traveled to Josie and grew slightly lecherous. Then it slid to the widow, and he winced.

“Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” Davenport bowed as if she were the queen instead of some infamous match-making gaming hell owner. “I assure you all of my wagers were sanctioned by you tonight.”

Jonathon was known to make crazy and often dangerous proclamations. Once, he’d bet an arrogant buffoon that he couldn’t eat an entire raw pig in one night. Not only couldn’t the bloke eat every bite of hog, but he’d gotten some sort of intestinal infection and had spent weeks in the school infirmary.

Another time, Davenport had bet a chap that he couldn’t shoot an arrow into an apple on top of his drunk mate’s head. Nicolas hadhalted that one before anyone died. Left unchecked, his best mate’s propensity for insane bets made him a menace.

“What about your wager tonight with Baron Hardstone?” the widow asked.

“Hell’s teeth.” Davenport rubbed his jaw.

How in the devil had his best chum gotten himself in this much trouble when the fight had only ended an hour ago?

“What bet was that?” Josie asked.

Despite more serious issues requiring attention, Nicolas wondered the same thing.

“’Cause if you made some wager about me, I’ll knock those pretty teeth of yers down your throat,” Josie groused.

“You think I have pretty teeth?” Davenport grinned at her. “I like your honesty, Miss Josephine. ’Tis refreshing in a woman.”