Page 45 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

His cock nestled against her curls, and he was still dressed. She ought to feel embarrassed, or at the very least chilled…but she did not.

“Roger was…He did not carry a title. He was the younger son of a viscount, one with rather a lot of debt, which I did not realize. He was handsome, and very charming.”

Perhaps there was something in her expression as she spoke, because Demon grunted, “Ye loved him.”

“I did. He would find and corner me at parties—he made me feel special. Father disapproved, of course, since he was planning to marry me to one of his friends. But Roger sought me out and…”

Well, he’d ruined her, hadn’t he? Ruined her for the stodgy old earl her father had chosen for her, ruined her for any marriage without passion.

“We were discovered together at a ball.” His trousers had been around his ankles and she’d been spread across a window seat. “And so we married. It was not until Society snubbed us both that I realized what a fool I had been.”

To her surprise, Demon lifted her hand in one of his, his attention on their twined fingers. “Lust can be foolish.”

“It was worse than that,” she admitted wryly. “Roger was in debt, and Father was so furious with me, he refused to gift us my dowry. And the rumors about us—no, about me—were truly shameful.”

Whore. Slut. Ungrateful wretch.

He straightened her forefinger, his own callused finger drawing it out in a strange caress, his attention focused on his movements. “They laid the blame on yer shoulders.” He’d said it mildly, as if it was of no consequence.

She took a deep breath. “My father is a…hard man.” Any number of descriptions flashed across her mind in that pause. Nothing she would admit aloud. “He blamed me for my weakness in succumbing to a leech, and told me my punishment would be to live with the consequences. He turned his attention to my younger sister, whom you’ll recall has made an excellent match.”

Demon’s hum was nonchalant. “And now yer father fears being called the verra thing he accused yer husband of.”

Georgia had to chuckle, albeit wryly. “Oh, Roger was a leech. He needed my dowry, but was a good enough man not to take it out on me. We lived frugally, and I thought we were content with one another.”

“So, nae Christmas?”

A shrug, glad she didn’t have to meet his eyes as she confessed. “He…he had not stopped gambling, trying to dig himself—us—out of the pit he’d landed us in. Seven months after I married him, Roger was—” Her voice caught in her throat. “He was caught cheating at cards, and was beaten to death. I had not even realized he had gone to a club that night. I thought he was with his brother…”

The memory of that late-night summons, having to identify poor Roger’s body, the shame of the pauper’s funeral, threatened to crawl up her throat and burst free as sobs. Georgia hung her head, hoping her hair hid her expression.

Apparently, it did not.

“Wank-barnacles,” Demon muttered, tossing aside her hand. “I’m a complete hedgehog. Come here.”

He tugged on her upper arms, and when she fell forward, wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head under his chin. “I’m sorry,” he muttered gruffly.

Here in Endymion, miles away from London, it was somehow easier to tell him of her past without threatening to cry. Perhaps it was the warmth he exuded, or the way his large hand rubbed her back.

“I was not able to celebrate Christmas with him, but it would have been doubtful that we could afford it. After his death, when the creditors took our house and the remainder of our possessions, I went back to my father.”

“And he took ye back, from the kindness in his heart?”

Georgia's lips twitched at his dry tone. “He made me beg before he capitulated. His terms for allowing me to reside with him—and my sister—were that I would never again embarrass him, that I would always show dignity and decorum in all circumstances.”

Demon was silent for a long moment. “And ye’ve played by his rules ever since? Always the proper, quiet daughter?”

“Always,” she whispered.

“So…” His hand slid from her back to her bottom, his fingers tugging at the cheek. When he shifted beneath her, she felt his cock growing hard once more. “What would he say if he kenned ye were straddling a monster on a bearskin rug in the middle of bumblefook Aberdeenshire, where anyone might stumble across us at any moment?”

His fingers, the way he was touching her… Georgia swallowed, her pulse speeding in anticipation. “You are no monster, Demon,” she whispered. It needed to be said.

“Close enough,” he growled.

And then he rolled, flipping her over and following, until he was looming above her. Blinking in surprise, Georgia’s lips parted as she saw the desire in his gaze.

“Demon…”

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