Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“Leave it to Bridget,” Nicolas said through his chortles.
Josie squished up her nose. “Lydia isn’t a fine lady or a good fighter.”
Nicolas clamped his lips closed, and still, his smile consumed his face.
“So, you are not angry with me? I honestly didn’t do anything except keep her from hitting me. And I only told her to bugger off once.” Josie winced. “I did say bloody friggin’ hell when I first saw her. Lady Hillcaster was not amused.”
“Lady Hillcaster is never amused, Lydia deserved to humiliate herself, and it sounds like Lady Siddons was not upset with you. I’m sure Agatha realizes you are not to blame.”
Josie cringed. “Lady Simmons told me I move well and should take boxing lessons since ’tis now fashionable for titled men to fancy aristocratic pugilists.”
“I dare say, she did not?”
“She did,” Josie said. “And she thinks her nephew, ‘the duke with a fascination with pugilists,’ will fancy me. Me being an ‘aristocratic lady who can knock an opponent over without touching her.’”
“That is one deuce of a story,” Nicolas said.
Oh, how Nicolas had changed. Just a few short weeks ago, Meddlesome would have assumed she was to blame and given her a stern lecture.
Nicolas planted one of his endearing kisses on her head and changed the subject. “The ball is only a few days away.”
Did she detect that same bittersweet sadness in his voice that she felt? Because right now, things between them were perfect, and she didn’t want her time with Nicolas and the Davenports to end.
“I can’t believe I am saying this, but I am looking forward to wearing my gown,” she said. “I can’t wait to return to the modiste’s tomorrow for my fitting.”
“You will be spectacularly lovely in it.”
Lord, she hoped so since he’d sacrificed his watch to pay for it.
“Will you dance with me?” she asked, although she knew a lady did not request such things. But as the last twenty-four hours had proved without a doubt, she was no lady.
“Just try to stop me from putting my name on your dance card. Twice.”
“But Griffendale,” she croaked out. “What will he think of you dancing with me two times if I am trying to…” She buried her face in his chest and whimpered.
Nicolas lifted her chin and stared into her eyes.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to worry about anything other than convincing Griffendale to take you on as his fighter? Do not believe for a moment that I think you are unworthy of him. I am sure you can capture his heart the way you have mine. But bear in mind, I do not want to share you with any man.”
Josie didn’t want any other man. “But your estate?”
“Thanks to my father, our holdings will all be gone. ’Tis not up to you to fix any of that. Just worry about charming Tristan, being his champion, and earning the blunt to pay for your gymnasium.”
“We shall call it The Silk Knuckles Saloon,” she said. “Upstairs, ladies drink and socialize. Downstairs, they train. Of course, men can train there, too. But the focus will be on women, and we shall not allow men upstairs.”
“How utterly scandalous,” Nicolas said. “I love it.”
“Do you really? Do you think it will be a success?” At this moment, his opinion was the most important thing in the world to her.
“I do. I think Bridget will tell all her free-thinking friends that they must attend the most fashionable saloon in London. And I dare say Lady Davenport is already putting her reputation on the line to help us because she believes women should hold more power in the world. I think many women like Bridget and Lady Davenport would love nothing more than to thumb their nose at society and patronize The Silk Knuckles Saloon.”
“I suspect Lady Siddons might enjoy having a drink at a women’s saloon,” Josie said. “That is if she does not scorn me once she realizes I am not an aristocrat.”
“It sounds like she already adores you.” Nicolas’s expression grew somber, and he exhaled long and slow.
“I shall see if one of the London papers will take me on as a writer. Hopefully, it will pay enough for me to purchase a small flat and move my family to London. I am afraid I have not figured out how to keep the few servants we have left.”
Her heart dropped. If only she could save his home.
If only the widow had not added the stipulation that he and Jonathon couldn’t tell Griffendale their plan.
Because it was to be a “love match.” What balderdash and it was all Josie’s fault.
The widow was playing with them. And although Agatha insisted her reputation was above ruin, what if she came out of this ostracized?
And then a notion hit Josie with the force of a deadly uppercut. The men had been told they could not talk to Griffendale. Sitting up suddenly, she bonked her head on the headboard. She rubbed out the sting as she schemed.
Would her idea work? Would Griffendale play along? He was one of Nicolas’s mates, was he not? And he defied society all of the time. Surely, a handsome man with so much wealth and power would allow one little jab to his ego to save his mate from ruin.
Nicolas rearranged himself so that he sat beside her. Resting his back against the headboard, he placed his hand on her forearm. “What is it, Josie?”
“The widow said you and the viscount couldn’t tell the duke of the plan,” Josie said.
“She did not say I can’t tell him. Once we are introduced, and he asks me to be his fighter, I can tell him about our dilemma and the spot the widow has put us in.
I could suggest he propose to me privately, except for a witness or two.
Mayhap Agatha and Bridget. I could turn him down but agree to be his fighter.
Josephine, the Davenport’s cousin, simply returns home and is forgotten, and Jabbing Josie goes on to win a championship. Who would even connect the two women?”
Nicolas’s eyes lit up. “Why, you devious little minx.”
“Would the duke play along?” she asked.
“Griffendale?” Nicolas chortled. “I believe he will. It gives him fodder for that scandalous reputation he goes out of his way to maintain to keep the title-seeking mothers away.”
Josie beamed. “If we fool Bessie Dove-Lyon, I get The Silk Knuckles Saloon, and you get Blue Cliff Manor.”
Frowning, Nicolas rubbed his brow. “I am not sure we can beat her at her own game. That woman knows everything. ’Tis like she is sitting in the clouds watching us.”
Josie had been so certain that Nicolas would approve of her plan. Her elation from a moment ago whooshed out of her.
But then, Nicolas grinned, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “I had the oddest sensation that the widow wants us to outsmart her and win.”
Josie pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “Me too. Lately, I’ve felt as if everyone is in on some secret except for you and me.”
“Paranoid. Yes. Exactly,” Nicolas said.
“The cursed heir to an earldom and a female pugilist against the world.”
“Sometimes it feels like that, doesn’t it?” Nicolas lifted her chin and tenderly kissed her. “I would not want anyone else in the entire world to be my partner in this crazy farce.”
“So, we shall try my plan?” she asked.
Nicolas shrugged. “What do we have to lose?”
Josie grabbed his hand. “I must confess, I quite like the idea of you spending time in London and writing. Mayhap you can even cover female pugilists since that rat of a journalist, Pierce Egan, pretends that we do not exist. Two hundred years from now, no one will know what an important part women played in athletics. We shall be written out of historical records.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it, my pretty pugilist,” Nicolas said. “Now, let us get you back to your chamber without incident.”