Page 10 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

“If not money, how about land? Power in government? Connections?”

This was laughable. “Nay, nay, and nay.”

She swallowed. “Me?”

In his surprise, his hand knocked against the bottle and it toppled. He was quick, aye, but he didn’t manage to snatch it up before some of the rich amber liquid spilled onto the desk. Cursing, he swiped at it with his tartan. “What?” he growled, glad for the distraction.

“I-I am prepared to meet any terms you dictate.”

“Let me be certain I understand.” Glad for the dampness at the corner of his kilt—anything to focus on besides the way his cock ached beneath it—Demon swung back to her. “Ye’re willing to whore for yer father?”

She swallowed, her fingers fluttered against the hollow on her throat. . “I—My father told me to dissolve this debt, by any means necessary, and I—I want to please him.”

His harsh bark of laughter wasn’t kind.

“So ye’re going to trade yer virginity for yer father’s debt? For yer sister’s marriage?”

Her chin went up and her hand dropped. Not far, just enough to spread her fingers against the bosom of her gown. “I am no virgin, my lord. I am a widow—”

“A widow? Ye lie; ye still have yer father’s name.”

A flush. “He—after my husband—my father demanded I return to my birth name.”

As though this marriage of hers never happened. Interesting.

She still had that defiant look, the chit. “I am a widow, my lord, and understand the marriage bed.”

Did she? Demon’s brow rose. “What ye’re proposing is no’ marriage.”

“No, but…” Her pulse fluttered, her breathing shallow. She wasn’t comfortable with this. “My first marriage was scandalous. It almost resulted in my father disowning me. I will not make another match…so I can take a lover, as long as I am discreet.”

God damn his traitorous cock. Demon struggled to maintain his own reaction to the words bed and lover from this woman’s lips.

“What ye’re proposing isnae a lover, either, lady,” he growled, angry at himself once more. “Ye’re talking about trading yer body to a monster.”

“You are no monster,” she said quietly. “You are a man.”

Holy.

Fooking.

Christ.

It was the way she looked at him as she said those words. You are a man. Was he? Did she honestly understand what she was asking?

“Ye’re an absolute turnip if that’s what ye think.”

Her brows shot up to her forehead. “A turnip?”

“I was being kind. I could’ve said an ignorant twatwaffle.”

When her lips twitched, Demon knew he was in trouble.

“I think I will accept turnip, if you do not mind. But you are incorrect. I do know what I’m doing, and judging from the lump in your kilt, you are not completely averse to the idea.”

A gentleman might’ve tried to conceal his erection.

Demon hadn’t been a gentleman in a long while.

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