Page 49 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

You did demand he leave you to die.

Well, yes, but she hadn’t meant it. Not really.

Another cramp caused her to swallow her groan and try to rub her lower back. Since she wasn’t a contortionist, she wasn’t entirely successful.

Since Demon had left her to die in peace—likely stomping off to do something manly and able-bodied with pockets, damn him—she’d managed to drag herself out of bed. Georgia was currently ensconced in a chair by the fire, the blanket around her shoulders doing little to ward off her shivers. She’d tried to read, but her headache was a dull drumming behind her eyes, and her fingers weren’t steady enough to work on the embroidery project she’d designed as a gift for Demon. No, all she was fit for was sitting here, bemoaning her pitiful state. Dying.

Her cycle wasn’t always this painful, but sometimes…

Poor Demon. He did not deserve to be snapped at.

He was a man, was he not? A man who didn’t have to go through this each month just because he was lucky enough to be born without murder-ovaries. Georgia winced as her own sent little stabby pains down her thighs and across her back.

Stupid ovaries. Stupid men. Stupid Demon.

He left her!

Georgia felt tears gathering behind her lids, which was completely ridiculous. She was angry, but not at Demon; just angry, in general. Her emotions always fluctuated wildly at this time. At Father’s house, the maids and Danielle knew to tiptoe around her at this time of the month, generally abandoning her to her misery. Here, though, she was alone.

A faint knock on the door caused her to peel one eyelid open and glare balefully.

Mary didn’t wait for a summons, but stuck her head in. “S-S-Still alive, m-m-Georgia? Do ye need me to build up the fire?”

The sweet maid had been in to check on her twice already. She hadn’t fussed over Georgia, but poked the embers in the fireplace back to life and fetched the blanket which she was now wrapped in. She’d also brought hot tea with whisky, which Georgia had been sipping.

Georgia managed a weak smile. “No, thank you. I think I will rouse myself enough to climb back into bed.”

“A nap will do ye good,” Mary agreed. “And after I’ll fetch ye a s-s-s-simple luncheon and ye can stay in bed and read all afternoon, aye? Then tonight ye can have a nice bath.”

In truth, that sounded lovely. Georgia hadn’t managed to change out of her nightrail and dressing gown, so lounging about in bed sounded exactly like the level of activity she could manage right now.

“That would be wonderful.” She pushed herself upright, but kept her legs tucked underneath her in the large chair. “Thank you, Mary.”

The shy maid gave a quick bob and backed out of the room, latching the door quietly behind her.

Sighing, Georgia pulled the blanket tighter. It didn’t matter how high the fire roared, or how many blankets she wore; this chill came from within, and was part of the whole stupid process. While she knew that by tomorrow—by this evening, even!—she’d be feeling better, right now she just wanted to sleep.

And be warm.

And not be in pain.

And have a hug.

And get her stupid, stupid emotions under control.

She felt her eyes welling with tears again.

Well, it sounds as if you want rather a lot of things right now.

Most of all, she wanted to stop being a woman.

Being a man sounded ever so much more fun. Or perhaps a giraffe. Did giraffe ladies have to put up with this nonsense?

Your mind is wandering, dear. Get in bed and go to sleep.

Blowing out a raspberry, Georgia struggled to untangle herself from her not-quite-cozy-enough sanctuary. She did need a nap, after all the tossing and turning she’d done last night, and she might as well be miserable in bed as here.

The bath Mary had promised was going to be lovely for her aching muscles. It was kind of the young woman to think of it. Georgia’s tears were coming back, she was so touched by Mary’s sweetness. Obviously the maid had some experience with cramps.

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