Page 13 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

“And…” How many things can a person say about the cat, to distract from the whenever and however, grateful for servicing him bargain? “If you had not opened the door for him? I assume Rajah would have—”

“The boorish pissnozzle would’ve stood there with his forehead pressed against the wood, looking fooking pitiful until someone let him in.”

Georgia blinked, realizing she was making conversation about a cat. And her host had a very colorful array of vocabulary words. “He would just…stand there?”

“We’ve learned it’s easier to just leave the door open, except…” As Demon returned to the desk he gestured theatrically to her, likely blaming her for closing the door behind her like a normal person.

Well really, how was she supposed to know a stubborn feline was following her? “Is he blind, Lord Endymion?” That would explain why he’d come so close to her…

“Nay, just set in his ways. Ye’ll get used to his habits and circuits.” Without warning, he pulled the contract from her hand, and settled his hip against the desk to frown down at the paper. “At 6:43 in the evening he comes in here and circles the desk three times for nae reason, then heads back out and down to the conservatory.”

Her chest squeezed at the casual way he’d said you will. He thought she’d be at Endymion in the future. But her heart had started pounding double-time with him standing so close beside her, and now she struggled to find a topic of conversation.

Please, not about the cat.

“You…you have a conservatory, Lord Endymion?”

“Demon, I told ye,” he growled without looking up. “Aye, completely empty.”

“Might I explore it?”

His chin jerked up, his glare slowly turning to speculation. “What for?”

She swallowed and gripped her empty hands before her. “The climbing rose you were mutilating. Assuming you have not done too much damage, it will return in the spring. But I would like to try potting some of the clippings. I am certain I can propagate the variety, to be planted at a later date.”

His expression had gone curiously neutral. “Ye really are planning on staying?”

Ah. “Well…” She struggled to keep her voice from wavering as she nodded to the contract in his hands. “You have the power to help my father, and if this is what it takes…”

“Ye’re more stubborn than Rajah,” he muttered, his fingers curling into a fist and wrinkling the paper. “Nae lady would sign this.”

“No, not as it is,” she agreed. “But perhaps with a time limit…”

His gaze swung back to hers, and she was certain she saw something in those pale green eyes before he masked it once more.

Desire?

“A time limit?” he growled.

His surly tone didn’t hide the strange note in his tone. Was it…hope? She didn’t know him well enough to identify it, but imagined she would learn his tones soon enough if she signed this ridiculous bargain.

Maybe not so ridiculous.

Beneath the growling and coarse language, his Scottish brogue really was lovely. It reminded her of her friend Felicity’s manner of speaking when she became flustered. But Felicity’s faint brogue didn’t affect Georgia the way Demon’s did.

Demon’s voice sent shivers up and down her spine. It demanded, it promised, it offered.

Dear Lord in Heaven, but she longed to experience passion once more.

This time, she didn’t ask him for the pencil, but instead reached behind him and picked up the implement he’d used. She could imagine it still warm from his touch, but dismissed such a silly idea.

Delicately, she pulled the paper from his hand and penned an addendum. Then she straightened and read aloud. “I, Lady Georgia Stoughton, agree to be f—” She stumbled over the word, then rallied. “Agree to be fooked by Demon Hayle, whenever and however he wants it.”

Beside her, he made a little noise, like a grunt of approval. Oh God, the only way she was going to get through this was if she didn’t look at him.

“When he snaps his fingers, I will bend over—” How could she possibly be considering this? “And lift my skirts and be grateful for the-the opportunity to service him.” The last was said in a rush, the words tripping over one another, not in joy, but apprehension. The images evoked made her warm and frightened and excited all at once.

He’d moved closer. She could feel him standing over her shoulder, feel his heat, feel his gaze. Which was silly; she shouldn’t be able to feel a gaze…but when it landed on her, she knew it.

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