Page 18 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Until a brash, demanding, incredibly alluring beauty forced her way into his life.

Och, and forced ye to finger her arse, did she?

With a growl, Demon turned away from the window. He should’ve fooked her when he had the opportunity. Now he was hot, sweaty, and had a cockstand he could use to chop wood.

Actually…He considered. Nay. Nay, likely would be best to continue using the ax to prune that rose. Of course, Georgia had likely thought he was murdering them. But they’d grown out of control, and after his morning ride, he’d still been too agitated to sit down with the report from his accountant so he’d decided to do something useful.

Perhaps taking an ax to a rose was less productive than he’d hoped.

So…now what?

He wasn’t about to head out to the garden again, not when there was a chance she might see him in this embarrassingly aroused state. Not that she hadn’t already noticed. But he couldn’t sit here and stare at numbers either.

With a growl, he stomped toward the desk and began to shuffle papers. Damnation, where was that report he needed to sign off—

His hand closed around the contract. The contract he’d written to scare Georgia away. The contract she’d signed in big loopy, proud letters.

He didn’t know if he should have the thing framed, or burned.

Or wrap it around his cock and frig himself stupid with it.

Now that would be idiotic. Why would ye jerk off when ye have a willing cunny upstairs? One who cannae—willnae—say nay?

Across the room, Rajah farted.

It seemed appropriate.

“Corpulent twatmuffin,” Demon growled, and the animal stretched in response. “Och, nay, dinnae trouble yerself, ye clackdish. I ken ye have a routine.”

The cat ceased stirring, settling back into his nap. Rolling his eyes, Demon accepted that he couldn’t sit here in the bloody study; not with a flatulent cat. It was either head upstairs and fook Lady Georgia Stoughton—possibly with his housekeeper looking on—or go find some way to rid himself of all this excess energy.

Another hard ride.

Just not the kind he wanted.

Leaving the door to the study open so Rajah could continue his routine rounds, Demon stalked toward the front of the house. There’d been a time when he could move silently through the structure, disturbing not even the motes of dust floating in the air. But that was when he had need of such skills. Now he was master of this rundown heap of stones and four half-mad servants. He could go where he wanted, as loudly as he dared.

It was no surprise Bruno wasn’t at his post in the foyer. Likely off napping somewhere. Demon had argued there was no need for Castle Endymion to even have a footman, what with them not allowing visitors and all, but Mrs. Kettel had become agitated at the thought of Bruno being let go, so Endymion had an absolutely useless footman.

Who was rarely seen.

To be fair, he doesnae demand anything in the way of pay either, so we’re even.

The stable was one of the places—besides the library—Demon still felt at home. Angus sat on a bale, rubbing leather oil into one of the saddles, humming tunelessly. Of course he didn’t notice Demon—and likely hadn’t expected to see him until tomorrow morning’s ride—when he stepped inside.

Luckily, his cockstand had managed to subside during the time it had taken to walk through the cold from the house, and Demon was reconsidering the wisdom of walking around half naked in a kilt. It was almost December, for the love of ballocks!

The stables were warmer, and once again, he was grateful for the care Angus took of the horses. Many had been sold after his injury, but the ones that were left were his favorites and his groom treated them like family. Which was why Demon wasn’t going to just saddle one himself and ride out; the other man would have a conniption when he discovered one of the animals missing.

So Demon made certain to stomp loudly as he came into the groom’s periphery and wave. Sure enough, the other man startled when he noticed the movement, then grinned and doffed his imaginary hat.

Demon rolled his eyes at the groom’s mockery. “I’m going out again.” He made certain to keep his mouth visible to the man. “I’m taking Bullet this time.”

When Angus began to stand, Demon waved him back down. “I can saddle him myself.”

The groom looked uncertain, his gaze darting toward the stall with the young gelding, and back again. Not wanting to interrupt, Demon settled his expression into a scowl. “I can do it.”

He was good at scowling.

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