Page 95 of The Lyon's Pretty Pugilist

But it was no use. Josie’s resolve had fled after about the thirtieth brutal blow, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t conjure her energy. She was going to lose her first fight, and she was about to disappoint everyone, including both her husband and herself.

“Josie,” Franny shouted. “Uppercut.”

But there was no breath left in Josie’s lungs. The second she stopped protecting her abdominals, Lady P. would strike hard and fast, and Josie would go down hard.

“I have not a single doubt. You will win.”

Josie had to pull herself together. She couldn’t give up. Nicolas believed in her, so she had to fight back.

Leaving her midsection unprotected, Josie’s knees bent, then straightened as she extended her arm up and all the way through. Her fist made contact with Lady P.’s chin. The second the duchess’s head flew back, Josie ducked and came out on the other side of her. She dropped into her stance and slid back and away.

“Jabbing Josie,” the crowd chanted.

“You’ve got this, Jojo,” Coach yelled.

Lady P. pivoted and charged toward Josie with so much force that she couldn’t evade the human cannonball. A powerful fist caught Josie’s nose. Blood spattered as she stumbled backward and landed on her arse.

“Jabbing Josie is down,” yelled a referee from his post as the crowd erupted into a thunderous roar.

“Lady P. Lady P.,” echoed off the surrounding hills.

Nicolas only hadthirty seconds to care for his panting wife, which would not be nearly enough time. He guided her onto his knee and tenderly wiped the blood from her flushed face.

Franny shoved a protein beer under Josie’s nose. “Drink,” she demanded.

Josie pushed the cup away, which would not do. If she didn’t hydrate, she wouldn’t last another five minutes.

“Drink,” Franny demanded again.

“Darling, drink,” Nicolas encouraged.

With unfocused pupils and the blood stains growing on her chemise, Josie sipped.

Despite his rising panic, Nicolas had to remain a voice of reason. He tilted her head back and stared into her eyes. Thankfully, she focused on him. She was simply exhausted, not seriously injured.

Couch squatted so that he was at eye level with Josie. “She is twice your size. I’m gonna call the fight.”

Perhaps it was her coach’s words, or maybe it was the protein beer, but a spark lit in Josie’s eyes. “Don’t you dare, Coach.”

“Jojo, I’m doing what I think is best for you,” Coach said.

Josie grabbed Nicolas’s hand. “Don’t let him call it, Nicolas. Please.Even if I lose, I want to finish.”

Watching his wife suffer a beating was the toughest thing Nicolas had ever done. He’d cheered her on enthusiastically, but every hit she took was a knife in his gut. Blood caked her face, and purple bruises were already appearing on her creamy skin. What kind of husband watched another person beat on their wife?

He, for one, couldn’t watch a second longer. “Josie, there is no shame. You have given this fight your best.”

“Don’t let anyone call the fight.Whatever you need, my darling. Forever and ever,” Josie said, using his own words against him.

He exhaled long and slow. “Don’t call the fight, Coach.” At least not yet, although if things continued on their current path, Coach would eventually have to.

Nicolas lifted Josie’s chin, stared into her eyes, and spoke so quickly that his words ran together. “She is bigger and stronger than you, so you have to be faster than her. I keep telling you that you are too heavy on your feet. Dance on air. Tire her out. Corner her. Quickly move in. That is when you ground yourself and punch like hell.”

“You and your bloody air dancing,” she repeated as she lumbered to the scratch line.

“I love you, Josie,” he called to her back.

“I adore our girl, but she is stubborn as hell,” Coach said as he held up the rope for Nicolas to slide under. “Tell her to do something, and she does the opposite. Bloody impossible woman.”