Page 117 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Ah, the garden off the kitchens of Endymion was a riot of colors, each bloom more beautiful than the one before.

Then there was the most beautiful bloom of all: Georgia.

Demon swung out of the saddle, careful not to make a sound as he tied the animal’s reins to a post. If the mare got too close to the ivy, Georgia would never forgive him. But he had no interest in taking the time to return the horse to the stable, not when that view awaited him.

Each step was deliberately placed as he crept on booted feet along the gravel path, the small sounds he made indistinguishable under his wife’s tuneless humming.

The humming was new, only in the last month—he suspected he knew the cause—and he had to admit she couldn’t carry a tune with a wheelbarrow. But she didn’t need to, because she made his heart sing.

Malodorous dick-spunk, ye’re getting romantically maudlin!

Aye, but she was worth it.

The humming deteriorated into muttering, as she struggled with a weed or something, but Demon’s attention was locked on his target: her lush arse, encased in pink silk, wriggling temptingly as she bent over her flower beds.

Who the fook gardened in silk? The Duchess of Lickwick, that’s who. He’d told her to stay inside and rest today, but he’d been a fool to think she’d miss the opportunity to sneak out and tend to her prize roses…

With a triumphant growl, he clasped her hips and thrust his pelvis against her arse.

She, of course, shrieked and tried to twist and attack him with a—what was that? A fork? A garden fork?

“Are ye trying to murder me, wife?”

She’d ceased her struggles when she saw who held her, straightening and trying to frown wryly over her shoulder. “I am trying to defend myself. You nearly scared me out of my wits.”

“Och, really?” He ground his stiffening cock against the sweet cleft he could feel under the layers of her gown. “The thought of being surprised, taken from behind by a faceless stranger? That holds nae appeal?”

“Oh, are we playing that one?” Georgia dropped the strange garden implement and pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Oh, lawks! Whatever shall I do? I, a mere milkmaid, to be ravished by a burly highwayman! Oh, please, kind sir!”

“Please, what?” Christ, she was fun.

“Please…” Her voice lost the playful tone, lowering a few octaves as she pressed her arse back against him. “Please fook me.”

Just like that, all pretense of play dropped straight to his cock, and he was hard and aching for her.

“Georgia,” Demon groaned and, knowing she still teased him, loosened his hold on her hips. “Anyone might hear ye, out here.”

In the months since they’d been married, she’d turned his life upside down in the most delightful way. As promised, Mary had stayed in London when they’d retired to Endymion, and from the letters she was sending her aunt, the once-shy lass was settling nicely into her new responsibilities as housekeeper. Demon had a standing order for a box of chocolates to be sent to her on the first of each month, to thank her for her help wooing Georgia.

At Endymion, Mrs. Kettel still ruled the house and Angus still ruled the stables, but his wife had overseen the hiring of about a billion more staff. Most came from Banchot and every single one of them had stared, wide-eyed at him, when they’d been hired.

But, he had to admit, they’d quickly overcome their gawking curiosity and settled into a routine. They had upstairs and downstairs maids, two footmen besides Bruno, and miscellaneous young women whose names only Georgia could remember.

And gardeners. Two gardeners, a father and son who seemed to speak the same language as Georgia when it came to pruning and planting and potting and —and whatever else gardeners talked about.

The new staff was necessary, she’d explained, now he was taking a more active role in the investigation into her uncle’s disappearance. Why, it seemed as if Rourke or Thorne were visiting weekly now, as they made plans and set traps. And Georgia and Sophia and the children had become close friends; even Felicity and her son had visited at the end of February!

Mrs. Kettel refused to hire a cook, however, insisting on continuing her role in the household. She’d hired assistants, and when they had no company, Demon was pleased their dinners continued to be informal, accompanied by books more often than not.

Between the maids, footmen, cook’s assistants, gardeners, groomsmen serving under Angus, and his new secretary, it was sometimes difficult to remember a time Endymion was considered cursed.

And any one of the new staff could wander by at any minute and hear their Duchess saying such naughty things to their Duke.

And she didn’t seem to mind…

Grinning wickedly, she caught his wrist and twisted toward him. “It’s more exciting when someone might hear.”

Groaning in submission, Demon pulled her flush against him so she could feel his straining erection.

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