Page 112 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

I, Lady Georgia Stoughton, agree to be fooked by Demon Hayle, whenever and however he wants it. When he snaps his fingers, I’ll bend over and lift my skirts and be grateful for the opportunity to service him. In exchange, when he’s done with me, he will erase my father’s debt.

It was signed with her name and date. The words still had the ability to make her stomach clench in anticipation.

She met his eyes. “I remember it. It was what brought us together.”

“Nay,” Demon rasped. “It was what gave me the excuse I needed to touch ye.” He stepped closer, his nostrils flaring. “Yer father’s debt brought ye to my home. This heat between us, that brought us together. This?” He waved the paper. “It was merely a means to an end.”

“And that end was…” She swallowed, unable to finish her sentence.

“Ye. In my bed. In my life.” Suddenly, his expression screwed into disgust and he shook his head once, sharply. “Christ, I’m making a mess of this, Georgia. I brought this for a reason.” He folded the paper in half once, each movement precise as he held her gaze. “I was going to give this to ye, to prove it doesnae matter any longer, but I’m only just realizing ye dinnae have pockets.”

Her smile wobbled, because she still wasn’t sure where this was going. Wasn’t sure if she was just making polite conversation. “Damn the patriarchy.”

“Aye, well, ballgowns should have pockets—fook it.” In one sudden moment, he tore the folded contract down the middle. Then he slapped the two pieces together and did it again. “There. It’s destroyed.”

“And my father’s debt?”

Demon studied her for a long moment. “That’s why ye did all this, aye?” Without giving her a chance to answer, he jerked his chin. “His debt is cancelled as well. But I didnae hold it because I wanted yer father’s money. I bought up his vowels because I needed access to his brother, and that’s why I refused to accept his payment.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered their first conversation. “I offered you all sorts of repayment options, and you dismissed them all. You really did not want his money?” Why Uncle William?

“Georgia…” The torn pieces of paper fluttered from his fingers. “Until I saw ye, I thought I kenned what I wanted from yer father. I shouldnae have suggested the bargain—”

“Excuse me, I suggested it.” Time for the truth. “I—something about you…” She swallowed and tried again. “From the moment I saw you destroying that poor rose, I knew I wanted to feel your hands on my skin.”

She’d shocked him speechless.

Demon opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then twice more.

Finally, a croak emerged.

“What?” Georgia lifted a brow in challenge. “You are not the only one who felt lust.”

He shook his head again, as if disbelieving. “My—fookmuffins, Georgia, ye cannot say shite like that and expect me to keep a single thought in my head.”

Her other brow joined the first, and his lips twitched reluctantly.

“Fine. A single thought besides wanting to bend ye over that sofa and fook ye breathless.”

Well. She was already quite breathless, wasn’t she? And it had nothing to do with the fragrances of so many blooms crowding the room.

“My point is…” Demon took her hands in his. Even through her gloves, she could feel his pulsing heat. “I used ye, and I’m sorry. So fooking sorry, Georgia. I bought yer father’s debt for a verra specific reason, and I shouldnae have allowed myself to be distracted by yer offer…but I cannae regret it.”

That was very sweet and all, but… Her lips tugged into a frown. “You wanted access to my Uncle William, you said. That is why you collected Father’s debt, and why you refused repayment. But why, Demon?”

He held her gaze. “Why would I be searching for a man, a man who fled England over the summer—quickly and quietly?”

And it clicked together in her mind.

“He is your supervisor,” Georgia breathed, remembering all the times her father refused to discuss Uncle William’s work. “The man who convinced you and Thorne and the others that you were working for Her Majesty, when in fact…”

She shook her head, hardly able to comprehend.

He nodded in response.

“We know him as William Blackrose, although we’ve only recently learned he was born William Stoughton, the second son of the last Earl of Bonkinbone. He was the man who recruited me, the man who taught me how to kill with my bare hands, the man who took the information I collected and…and used it to destroy loyal Englishmen. The blood on my hands is on his as well.” He squeezed her hands. “I’m sorry, Georgia, but for all the good men he’s hurt, I have to find him, bring him to justice. I owe it to Rourke and Thorne. And Calderbank and Hulesman and all the lives he’s destroyed.”

And you owe it to yourself.

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