Chapter Fifteen
Nicolas bent at the waist, performing a bow as gentlemanly as a fairy tale prince. Palm up, he held out his hand. “May I have this dance, my lady?”
Josie didn’t want to overthink his offer. After days of doing everything in her power to avoid being alone with Nicolas, she simply wanted to spend time with him.
She laid her hand on top of his. “I would be delighted, my lord.” She barely recognized her sweet, cultured voice.
The second he entwined his fingers with hers, the last of her resistance melted.
Wait, that wasn’t quite correct. Her self-preservation had abandoned her days ago when he’d devoted himself to aiding her. She’d been an unholy arse, and he’d still pledged to help her even though he’d given up hope of retrieving everything dear to him.
Unfortunately, these warm, mushy feelings overtaking her had to be more than her self-preservation instincts.
He rested his palm on her shoulder blade. Tingles fluttered to her toes. She placed her hand on his shoulder and permitted herself a glimpse into eyes that were such an intense shade of blue that they burned her pupils. Or was it that her heart was on fire?
His exhale blew across her cheek as soft as the wind whispering over a flower.
Wind? Flowers? Hearts? Scorching eyes? Good Lord, she was besotted. She’d fight these missish poetic notions later. For now, she assumed her waltz position, looked over her left shoulder, and permitted him to take the lead.
He hummed as he spun her. His low, throaty sounds skimmed across her neck, into her ear, and then traveled down her belly to vibrate her core. A core that spun and skipped and flipped with every step.
His citrusy scent and his thumb gently pressing into her shoulder blade were dizzying. Their bodies molded together as if a higher power had formed them from the same clay. Gliding and breathing as one, they traversed their make-shift ballroom.
He ceased humming, and their waltz turned into a stationary, gentle sway. Who would have guessed that she adored being caged against a warm, strong body? She rested her head on his shoulder and gave into the natural rhythm of the mesmerizing movement.
Two individuals separated by status and title, a free spirit and an overstrung caregiver, shouldn’t fit together like puzzle pieces, and yet, for this sublime moment in time, they did. Thankfully, neither of them broke the magical spell with words or a cautionary message.
If only Josie could dance with him forever. However, she had to be content with the here and now, pressed tight up against Nicolas while swaying in his protective arms.
He dropped her hand to caress her jaw. She closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek against his hand, rather like a kitten begging for scratches.
She might even have purred. If only he’d finish what he’d started in the carriage house and kiss her.
She had no idea how to kiss a man, but surely it couldn’t be too difficult. Lips only did so many things. Correct?
She lifted her chin and met his gaze.
“Josie,” he whispered as he leaned closer.
Her heart turned a complete somersault. “Nicolas,” she whispered back. And then she waited for him to teach her how to kiss.
He hovered.
She ached.
Was he taunting her? Was he having second thoughts? Should she grab him by the neck and pull his face to hers?
As she prepared to do just that, footsteps and the rustle of skirts distracted her.
Nicolas hurriedly stepped back.
“I am sorry, my lord,” a man said. “Miss Valentine insisted on surprising Miss Martin.”
Josie shook herself from her dither. Peters stood before them, his brow furrowed. Wild red hair was visible over the butler’s shoulder.
“Surprise!” Franny dashed past Peters, flew toward Josie, and wrapped her in her arms. “We received your missive. Papa and I miss you so much. Oh, my, this house is beautiful.” Franny withdrew from the embrace to take Josie in. “Bloody friggin’ hell. You look like a proper lady.”
Josie and Franny sat in the richly appointed drawing room, behaving almost as if they were aristocratic ladies instead of women who traded punches for a living.
A tray of tiny, iced cakes and tea sat in front of them.
Since Josie could be herself in front of Franny, she had popped at least six of the sweets into her mouth as she told her about the insane situation she found herself in.
After Franny processed the story, she kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet beneath her. “Oh, Josie, you are so lucky. You must love it here.”
Did she love it, or did she hate it? Josie sighed. “They make me talk all proper, and I am not permitted to eat until I am full, which is silly because there is so much food. They even made me wear a backboard for a while. Let me tell you, those are akin to implements of torture.”
“I think you sound just like a proper lady now. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to see them tying a piece of wood to your spine.” Franny guffawed as she slapped her thighs. “Did they have to knock you out first?”
“Practically.” Josie chuckled, recalling Mrs. Love and the maids regarding her with pursed lips and hands on hips. Oh, how Coach and Franny would have laughed if they had witnessed the scene. If only Josie could share every minute of this adventure with them.
“How is Coach?” Josie asked.
“Papa is well. He misses you and does not believe for a moment that you are here of your own accord. He has been to The Widow of Whitehall twice to demand your release. He wanted to come today, but I insisted he stay home. I was afraid he might punch a viscount or an earl or some such nonsense. You know his temper.”
“Indeed, I do.” They might not be related by blood, but it seemed Josie took after Coach. Need she remind Franny that she was also quite fiery? Three hot heads in one house made for lively dinner discourse.
“Then, you understand why I want him to stay away from Greenpark House for the time being,” Franny said.
“If Papa punches a peer of the realm and ends up locked away, he will never be able to purchase the building, and the seller is growing impatient. He says he has another buyer willing to pay immediately. He is only giving us this time extension out of respect for Papa.”
It might be forever before Josie had her share of the blunt.
First, she had to survive the weeks of edification and then arrive at the ball and passably play a lady.
Second, she had to approach the duke. Third, she had to convince him to dump Ruth.
Fourth, she had to beat her opponent. And none of that took into account that she must convince the duke to marry her if she meant to help Nicolas.
Josie sighed. “I hope to have my share of the blunt soon. By the by, have you heard any gossip about The Duke’s and Dame’s Mill?”
Franny’s face contorted until she looked more like a gargoyle than a beautiful woman.
“Tell me, Franny,” Josie demanded.
She removed a folded piece of foolscap from her pocket and handed it to Josie.
“This was nailed to the door of the gymnasium. Similar announcements were posted all over town. They won’t disclose the location until the last minute so that authorities don’t get involved.
” Franny’s jaw clenched. “No one would think to stop the mill if it were between gentlemen, but since many aim to keep women from competition…”
Josie unfolded the paper and regarded a sketch of two females, fists raised, one of the fighters the size of a giant. Behind the woman stood a ducal pair of men sprinkling blunt over the women’s heads. The text below read,
The Duke of Paulsgrove and the Duke of Griffendale present the fight of the season
The Duke’s and Dame’s Mill
Lady P. versus Ruth the Jewel
On the fourteenth day of June
Location to be announced
Josie crumpled the announcement. “But Ruth cheats. She is a mediocre fighter at best. How in the devil does the duke think she will win against Lady Paulsgrove?”
Franny shrugged. “She can’t win.”
“So, what is he thinking?” Josie asked, knowing full well why he’d succumbed to Ruth’s charms.
Franny wrinkled her freckled nose. “The man has a reputation for being a hopeless rake and is often caught with opera singers and courtesans. Apparently, he has a weakness for women willing to lift their skirts.”
Then, in Josie’s humble opinion, Griffendale deserved to have his fighter lose. Unless she was his fighter because, of course, she should win. Certainly, she would win if given the chance.
“You and that lordling seem quite close,” Franny said.
Josie shoved cake into her mouth so that she wouldn’t have to respond.
As usual, Franny was relentless. “You were practically kissing when I walked in.”
Josie swallowed her mouthful and huffed. “We did not kiss! We have never kissed.”
Franny raised a brow. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
To the devil with their stupid Shakespeare lessons.
Franny grabbed Josie’s hand and squeezed affectionately. “’Tis nothing wrong with being attracted to him. He is quite handsome.” Franny’s hand fluttered in front of her face as if it were a fan cooling heated cheeks. “Oh, those dimples and those blue eyes.”
And his muscular chest with that trail of course hair leading down, down, down…
“But he is to be an earl, and I am…” Josie sighed. “Well, I am not a suitable match for an aristocrat.”
“Who knows? Paulsgrove married a female pugilist, making it quite fashionable for these titled blokes to fall in love with one of us. And they say the Duke of Astleyshire spars with his wife every single day. Besides—” Franny shrugged—“Nicolas Wentworth fought off an entire crowd trying to save you. Not to mention, he looks like a man in love.”
Josie snorted. “What do you know of love?”
“Nothing,” Franny lifted her chin. “But I have at least kissed a man.”
“You have not,” Josie said.
“You do not know everything about me, Josephine Martin,” Franny declared as she gave Josie one indignant poke to the chest.
“Who did you kiss?” Josie asked.
Franny grinned. “Harry. ’Twas’ five years ago on a summer’s eve. I do not favor him as more than a friend. But I was curious to know what it felt like to kiss.”
But hadn’t Harry been a gangly adolescent at that time?
Of course, now he was a man, and one of Coach’s most promising students.
But Coach would rip his grown man bollocks from his body if he found out Harry had kissed his daughter.
And so much for their girlhood pact to remain independent.
Franny kissing Harry. Josie almost kissing Nicolas. What was this world coming to?
Franny waved her hand in front of Josie’s face to get her attention. “Whenever he looks at you, the lordling’s eyes glaze over like he is intoxicated.”
Was this true? Lord, Josie hoped it was true. “The man never imbibes.” Why in the devil had she said that?
Panic combined with Josie’s desperate need to unburden herself, so unfortunately, her feelings poured forth.
“Franny, I was so wrong about Nicolas. At first, I thought he was an arrogant aristocrat, but he is a kind, decent man. He has given up his own dreams to care for his family. I simply cannot allow him to lose his estate. I must win this bet for him, so I am doing everything I can to talk and act properly. And yet, how can I possibly marry a duke? The widow is toying with us all.” Josie waved her hands frantically.
“And ’tis my fault because my pride got the better of me.
Do you know what I foolishly said to the Widow of Whitehall? ”
“Yes,” Franny said. “You told me earlier.”
“‘I want ye to make a love match between me and the duke’. Can you believe it? Why would I say such applesauce? Why do I always let my pride interfere with my common sense?”
“Hmm,” Franny murmured. “You call him Nicolas?”
That was all Franny had to say after listening to her pour out her heart?
Josie narrowed her eyes. “He insists I call him Nicolas in private. But only because he was tired of me calling him…”
“Calling him what?” Franny asked.
“Never mind,” Josie said.
Franny rested her index finger on her cheek as if she might be having a profound thought. “What a conundrum. How can you marry the duke when you are in love with the future earl?”
“Pfft.” If Josie didn’t adore Franny, she would flatten her adorable nose. “I am not in love with him.” She simply wanted to kiss him. Spend time with him. Dance with him. Meet his sister. Help save his family from complete disgrace.
“I need to be on my way if I intend to reach home before dark,” Franny said.
But Josie didn’t want her to leave. “Will you visit again? Mayhap bring our mufflers and hand wraps and we can spar? I could use a good training session.” One that didn’t involve a half-naked Adonis.
“Of course.” Franny stood and slid her feet back into her slippers.
As Josie escorted Franny out of the room, she had a thought. “Mayhap you can come to the tea Lady Davenport is having for me.”
“Ooh la la.” Franny held up her pinky. “Who would have guessed that Jabbing Josie Martin would someday have a fancy tea thrown in her honor?”
Josie playfully punched Franny’s shoulder.
Franny nudged her back. “Except, I don’t think we can spar and attend a tea at the same time.”
“Bollocks,” Josie mumbled.
Franny laughed. “And I don’t think ladies say the word bollocks.”
“They also don’t say bloody hell, shite, arse, or friggin’ and they do not express themselves. Ladies do absolutely nothing fun.” Josie bussed Franny’s cheek and waved goodbye.
They did nothing fun except sneak to the kitchen to fill their bellies with delicacies while everyone else was asleep.
And wear lovely dresses. And have a lady’s maid perform miracles on their hair.
And bathe in warm water someone else carried up flights of stairs for them.
And scrub themselves with exotic soaps and rub decadent lotions into their skin.
Oh, and swirl around the drawing room in a handsome man’s arms.
On second thought, maybe being a lady wasn’t so bad.