Page 26 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

In the few hours she’d known him, he’d thrown up her skirts twice and touched her intimately. The man likely didn’t even see what she was wearing.

With a rueful smile, Georgia shook her head and reached for the washcloth once more. If she was to dine with her host—her new master—tonight, she would need to make herself clean, at least.

And despite his high-handed commands, she felt her pulse jump at the thought of dining with him. What would they discuss? Would he just expect her there for more of this—this thing they shared? Or would he tell her about his past, or the reason he held Father’s debt?

Excited now, Georgia grinned at her reflection. Whatever this evening held, it couldn’t be odder—or more exciting than the rest of the day.

A day of firsts, indeed!

Chapter 6

He’d been staring at the same paragraph for the last five minutes.

Demon was certain he’d read the words four times, but couldn’t recall a single one. His thoughts kept creeping back to the memory of the way Georgia had wrapped her legs around him while he’d fooked her. And the way she’d held his gaze in the mirror as she’d slid her tight cunny around his cock. And the way—

With a growl, Demon snapped his eyes back up to the top of the paragraph, and stabbed his turnips with his fork.

It had just been a good fook. He’d had them before, and he’d have them again. Georgia wasn’t special. It was just the fact she was the first woman to look at him without wincing in the last two years…that, and the knowledge she was his.

Her signature on that contract had confirmed it.

He didn’t need to get all sentimental or obsess over how good the act had felt. Histrionic turdhawk! Of course it had felt good; it had been the first time he’d had sex since well before his injury.

He chewed the turnip with more vigor than was required. With the book in his left hand, he planted his elbow on the table, stabbed another turnip, and tried to start at the top of the paragraph again.

And this leads me to say a few words on what I call Sexual Selection. This depends, not on a struggle for existence, but on a struggle between the males for possession of the females…

Insidious dick-donkey! How in the shite could Origin of the Species make him think of Georgia? He’d specifically picked it after his bath because it was dull and academic. Concentrating on Darwin’s theories would keep his mind from the woman down the corridor, or so he’d hoped.

Apparently it wasn’t working.

He bit into another turnip and turned the page, ignoring the scrap of paper he used to mark his place.

Generally, the most vigorous males, those which are best fitted for their places in nature, will leave most progeny.

Progeny?

There were more words on the page, but Demon’s eyes had landed on the word “progeny,” and seemed incapable of moving further.

He’d come on her arse, not in her. He hadn’t impregnated Georgia, no matter how vigorous he’d been, no matter what Mr. Darwin had to say about matters. But she’d be here at Endymion until the end of the year, and he had every intention of fooking her again. There was always the possibility she might fall pregnant.

He had no bastards, and wanted to continue that way. And the idea of dishonoring Georgia by forcing her to carry his child…

Demon swallowed and scowled unseeingly at the book in his hand.

Ye’re already forcing her to humiliate herself, degrade herself, accept yer unconscionable terms. But ye draw the line at pregnancy?

Perhaps it would be better to tell her the debt was paid, and send her away. Let him get back to his safe and private life, the one he’d built since Blackrose had blown him apart. He’d find a way to get his revenge without Bonkinbone’s debt. Things would be quieter and easier if Georgia was gone, if he simply tore up that contract and sent her on her way.

Nay. Wait to see how her father responds to yer letter.

He’d written it after leaving her chamber. He couldn’t even lie to himself and claim he hadn’t gone to her rooms to fook her; he’d wanted to use her presence here as a bartering chip, but noxious bungle-biscuit that he was, when he’d walked in and found her presented like that, her arse up and the thin linen of her chemise sticking to her wet skin…

He’d lost the battle with himself, but to be fair, he hadn’t fought very hard either. Who would?

But he’d been honest with Bonkinbone, at least:

I’ve had your daughter once already, my lord. It was her idea, to barter her body in exchange for yer debt, and I am not fool enough to pass up that opportunity. I will continue to take what is offered, until and unless you give me what I want.

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