Chapter Twenty-Seven
A gentle hum rippled from Josie’s sleeping prince.
To kiss him or let the exhausted man sleep?
What a conundrum. Her heart and mind battled as she fought the urge to run her fingers through his stubble.
Did she want him to shave or not since the alluring hair overtaking his jaw might soon hide his dimples? So many decisions.
She chuckled.
He stirred, but his eyes remained closed as he snuggled into the mattress.
Hopefully, he was dreaming about last night. She’d had sweet dreams about their lovemaking, and the delicious ache between her thighs would remind her all day long of what they’d done.
Would she even be able to walk? Tupped to immobility. She pressed her palm to her mouth to stifle her chuckle.
Nicolas stirred again.
She should be quiet and let the poor man sleep since he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and rarely relaxed enough to get a proper night’s rest. Currently, he looked as comfortable as a swaddled infant.
Make that a handsome grown man in infant swaddling.
She bit her lip to keep from giggling.
She must conjure discipline and return to her chamber before they were discovered together.
She doubted the viscount gave a farthing about his houseguest’s lascivious escapades.
He’d probably clap Nicolas on the back and call out congratulatory messages as he sent Josie a half-dozen smart-arse winks.
She could hear the viscount now.
“Well done, Wentworth, you sly devil.”
“Hey, mate. It’s about time you stuck your rod in something besides that cold fish of a baron’s daughter.”
“Is what they say about tupping a pugilist true? Do they really pretend like they are in the ring, and you rut until one of you is unconscious?”
Actually, she had no idea if anyone said that. But she’d wager Jonathon was thinking it. But his poor mother. After the embarrassment Josie had caused Agatha yesterday, she shouldn’t add fuel to the fire. Although, truthfully, it wasn’t her fault. Damn the cow to hell.
Josie sat up and placed her feet on the floor.
An arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her back to bed.
“Where do you think you are going?” Nicolas asked.
Now that he was awake, there seemed no point in being quiet or running off. She rolled over and faced him. “Did you sleep peacefully?”
“Mmm. The best night of sleep in months. Mayhap years.”
Happiness filled her heart and soul. Who would have guessed she’d come to care this much about someone who wasn’t Franny or Coach? A man to boot and an aristocrat to be precise. And the best part was, he loved her back.
“I’m not marrying Lydia,” he said.
“I am glad of that, since you love me.” Josie’s smile was short-lived. Everyone knew aristocrats did not marry for love. Still, he had to know the truth of Lydia’s behavior. “I do not favor her.” Josie stuck out her tongue and hacked.
“My sentiments exactly,” Nicolas said. “I do not know why I ever thought I did.”
Perhaps Lydia was an evil witch who had cast a spell over him. Unless this was another aristocratic thing Josie didn’t understand.
“But you were not engaged because you loved her, were you?” Please let him say no. “Did your parents not arrange it?”
“Our parents had a hand in our introduction. But I am not the first son. My parents were not as concerned about my choice of a bride as they were my brother’s.
You’ve not met my parents.” He winced. “My mother has a weak constitution, and my father is rarely sober. As I am sure you are aware, Bridget and Lydia never favored each other.” Nicolas swallowed.
“George was to wed Miss Chelsea Brentwater. A lovely young woman.”
Josie rested her head on his shoulder and traced letters in his chest hair. An L, an O, a V, and an E, to be exact. “I’m so very sorry. I can tell you adored him.”
He sighed. “I miss him. He did not have an easy life, being the heir to a cursed earldom. Our parents are impossible, and I suppose I wasn’t much help.”
And now the burden was Nicolas’s to bear. If only she could help him carry it. Silence settled over them as she listened to the steady beat of his heart.
As much as she didn’t want to relay the troublesome news, it was time. “I must tell you what happened yesterday before you hear it from someone else.”
“Oh?” he asked. “Did it not go well?”
She cringed. “I suspect tea on the carpeting and an icing-covered debutante is most improper.”
“Oh, no. What happened?”
She bit her lip and then blew out a sigh. “I swear I did not start it. And no matter what she says, I did not punch her.”
Nicolas’s eyes widened. “Punch who?”
“Lydia.”
Nicolas’s cheeks puffed up until he resembled a chipmunk storing nuts and berries.
“Please breathe, Nicolas.”
He exhaled a gust so strong it could send a sail across the ocean. “Start at the beginning.”
“Well, you see…” Stalling, she cracked her knuckles.
He rolled his fingers, encouraging her to continue.
She’d changed her mind. She did not need to tell him. Perhaps they could kiss instead. She puckered up and leaned toward him. He thwarted her with a finger between their lips.
Since she’d been foiled, she might as well get this over with.
“Agatha had no idea Lydia was coming to the tea,” Josie said. “She invited Lady Monroe and her daughter. Her daughter is friends with Lydia, one of her unsmiling toadeaters from the modistes.”
“Yes, Charity and Lydia are friends,” Nicolas said. “I suppose Lydia invited herself since she knows I am staying here.”
“That is what Agatha said. I was doing my best to avoid Lydia. Truly, I was. I was minding my own business, helping myself to another cake. I know I shouldn’t have since I’d already eaten three, but they were quite delicious.
And they had little pink flowers on them, all made out of icing.
And, well, I ain’t never been to a party with pretty cakes. ”
Stop rambling and get to the point, she berated herself.
“Lydia ambushed me,” she spat out quickly. “I’d just taken a bite of cake when she said, ‘I know you are not who you say you are. God is my witness, I will find out who you really are.’
“Since I had cake in my mouth, I couldn’t tell her to bugger off. So, I just kept chewing, and then she said, ‘I know you fancy Nicolas. I saw it in your eyes. But he is mine. We are to marry.’”
“I am not going to marry her,” Nicolas said. “I won’t be blackmailed and bullied into this union, especially under false pretenses. She is only interested because of some absurd rumor I’ve come into wealth. When the exact opposite is true.”
Hopefully, Nicolas would not change his opinion after he heard the rest of the story.
“So, this time, I swallowed my cake and said, ‘Bugger off.’ I almost said bugger off, cow. But since I was trying to be proper, I left off the cow part. And you won’t believe what she did.”
Nicolas rubbed his temple. “You had better tell me.”
“She tried to slap me, she did.”
Nicolas moaned. “How severe are her injuries?”
“You think I punched her? I wanted to, but I did not,” Josie said indignantly.
“Because you were trying to be proper,” he said.
“Exactly. But I wasn’t going to let her slap me, so I knocked her hand away.”
“Understandable. I suppose that isn’t so terrible. I wouldn’t worry over much.”
Apparently, Nicolas had forgotten icing and tea were involved—unless he was simply in denial.
“I’m not done with the story,” Josie said. “I glared at Lydia and told her, ‘You abandoned Nicolas when he needed you. You are quite cruel.’”
“Thank you for standing up for me,” Nicolas said.
“She doesn’t deserve you.” Josie meant this with her entire heart. “Lydia continued to escalate the situation. ‘How dare you,’ she said. Then she wound up like she meant to punch me. Except, she doesn’t know how to punch properly, so she hurt herself.”
Nicolas stared at her with owlishly wide eyes.
“I caught her fist before it hit my shoulder. She screamed in pain because she has a wrist like a dead eel. Also, she didn’t have a strong base, so she crashed into the table.
Well, you can imagine what happened next.
She screamed, and then there was a loud crash.
Tea and broken china were everywhere. There was icing in her hair and on her dress, and a squished pink flower in the center of her nose.
” Josie’s lip vibrated with her exasperated sigh. “What a waste of delicious cakes.”
To her surprise, Nicolas chortled. Since he seemed undaunted, she continued with her tale.
“Then Lydia screeched like a banshee, ‘Did you see what Josephine just did? She punched me.’ Friggin’ lying cow.”
Nicolas’s shoulders shook with his mirth.
“And then, Lady Hillcaster collapsed onto the settee and put her forearm over her face. She kept saying, ‘Oh, my heavens, what is the world coming to?’ Poor Agatha had to hold the vinaigrette under the marchioness’s nose, which was not easy to do with all of the marchioness’s hand fluttering and wailing. ”
Nicolas began laughing so hard that tears dripped from his eyes.
“I heard what Lydia mumbled under her breath. She said, and I quote, ‘No man is worth this humiliation, especially not him.’”
Seeming unperturbed by Lydia’s comment, Nicolas continued chuckling.
“The him must be you,” Josie explained in case Nicolas had not heard her over his deep chortles.
“I am certain she was referencing me,” Nicolas said. “Because she does not love me. She never has.”
Any woman who didn’t love Nicolas was a fool.
“Luckily, Lady Simmons saw the entire thing. She told Lady Hillcaster to stop being a dramatic goose. Then, she walked right over to us and said, ‘Miss Small, first you tried to slap Miss Martin, and then you tried to punch her. She simply defended herself. Now, go clean yourself up. You are a mess.’”
Nicolas smacked his thighs with delight.
“‘And this is why women should learn proper fighting technique,’ Bridget declared so everyone could hear her. ‘I, for one, am going to find a female pugilist and take lessons.’”