Page 94 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

Trying to steady her nerves, Josie inhaled the fresh country air. She’d been delusionally confident these last few weeks, and now that she faced Lady Paulsgrove, a million doubts settled in.

What if she wasn’t as fit a fighter as she had once been because the infamous wager had waylaid her training and nutrition? What if Lady Paulsgrove knocked her out with her first punch? What if she made such a pudding-headed fool of herself that people scoffed and refused to attend her new gymnasium? What if she disappointed Coach and Franny?

Even worse, what if she disappointed her husband, who made time to spar with her every day after he got home from work?

Her dark hair pulled back in a tight plait, Lady Paulsgrove approached Josie. The breeze fluttered the duchesses’ silk pantaloons and kimono-like tunic as she extended her hand in companionable sportsmanship. The genteel lady was a refreshing change from fighters like Ruth the Jewel, who shamelessly pandered to the crowd.

Earlier, when the duke and duchess had first greeted Josie, Lady Paulsgrove had offered her a similar outfit. “My modiste designs them for me, specifically for ease of movement. I have an extra if you wish to borrow it today?” her opponent had said.

Since Josie had not trained in the finery, she declined. She’d also feared anything designed for the duchess would be entirely too large for her since the woman outweighed her by almost two stone and was as tall as an oak tree; her shoulders were as broad as a brawny man’s. Therefore, Josie stood before the crowd in a gray round dress, her chemise exposed, and her sleeves tied around her waist while the beloved duchess wore a peacock-colored outfit fit for a queen.

“Don’t be nervous, Josephine,” Lady Paulsgrove whispered to her. “’Tis all in fun.”

Easy for Lady Paulsgrove to say since she was both the reigning champion and an Amazonian queen. “I ain’t nervous,” Josie lied, her nerves overriding her voice training.

Lady Paulsgrove squeezed Josie’s wrapped hand. “Good luck.”

If only all opponents were this courteous. Josie tempered her attitude. “Good luck to ye, me lady.”

“Remember the rules agreed upon by Lord Griffendale and Lord Paulsgrove,” the referee said. “Irish fighting style. No kicking, biting, weapons, or hair pulling. No direct hits to the mouth. The round ends when someone goes down. You have ten seconds to get back on your feet. Thirty seconds between rounds. I will call the mill if I think either fighter’s life is in jeopardy. Do you agree to these terms?”

They both nodded.

“The fight will begin in a few moments. Are you both ready?”

Again, they nodded.

Josie returned to her corner and plopped onto her husband’s knee. “Nicolas, what if I lose?”

“Where did that come from?” His brow furrowed. “Because I have no doubts. You will win.”

“But what if I don’t?” she asked.

“Then you don’t.” Dimples resplendent, he gave her a reassuring smile. “But you will have given it your very best, and I will be proud of you all the same.”

Coach squatted next to her and double-checked her hand wraps. “I’d heard the rumors, but I honestly thought they were just that. She is a right proper boulder. Jojo, stay close to her. Jam her reach.”

Franny leaned in through the ropes and handed Josie a cup of water. “Drink.”

Josie sipped the warm liquid as two referees climbed up the side posts and waved to the bell master. The crowd went wild.

Josie’s heart slammed against her ribcage and then pumped wildly. It was time.

“Lady P.,” some people chanted.

“Jabbing Josie,” others yelled.

An umpire motioned for the fighters to come forward. Josie again met Lady Paulsgrove in the center of the ring, where they tapped wrapped knuckles.

Josie placed her toe on the line, lifted her fists, and listened to her bloodwhooshin her ears as Nicolas’s words echoed in her mind. “I have not a single doubt. You will win.”

“Round one,” the bell master called.

Josie’s back crashedinto the ropes as a barrage of punches knocked the wind from her lungs. Attempting to protect herself from the punishing blows, she covered her torso with her forearms, but it was no use. The duchess was strong, and her arms and legs were almost twice as long as Josie’s. The woman had landed the very first blow and, ever since then, had dominated the ring. Every attempt Josie made to get inside the duchess’s reach was met with a lead-like jab that forced her backward.

“Jojo, get off the ropes,” Coach yelled.

No shite!