Page 56 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Pulling free with a gasp, Demon stared down at her. “Fookwompets, Georgia. When this woman’s thing is done, I need ye—”

“This woman’s thing is done, Demon,” she said almost shyly, although her lips were curled in anticipation.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fooked out of doors. He reached for the buttons of his greatcoat, but a lock of his too-long hair swung in front of his face with the movement. Christ, he was covered in sap and sweating more than she deserved.

“Later,” he growled, making the decision.

And she smiled. “Yes.”

Taking her hand, he all but pulled her through the snow toward Endymion.

I dinnae want her to leave.

Chapter 12

Since yer woman’s thing is done, come to my room.

Demon’s words, murmured as they climbed the front steps of Endymion, still sent a thrill through Georgia. He wanted her—that much was obvious. Had the last five days been hard for him? She hadn’t expected him to forgo the use of her body, but he’d been solicitous.

And they’d still enjoyed one another’s company outside of the bedroom, or at least she assumed so. She certainly had enjoyed his company—dining with him, arguing about books and politics and a dozen other things. And today, out there among the beautiful trees…

Yes, she’d enjoyed his company.

And now her pulse thundered in anticipation as she hurried down the corridor. He hadn’t said a time, so she’d rushed to her room to hang her coat, paced a bit, tried to write another letter to Father, paced some more, decided she’d likely stalled long enough, and all but jogged out of her chamber, a smile on her lips.

The clock on the wall—there were clocks all over Endymion, for just this reason—told her it was 3:17, which meant Rajah should be…ah, yes, there he was.

She stepped aside, begrudging the wasted time as the cat sauntered along the middle of the carpet on his way to the kitchen for his daily saucer of milk. Spoiled thing.

And you have helped spoil him.

Here she was, standing aside for the feline; after only a few weeks at Endymion, she knew the animal’s habits as well as Demon did. The realization made her feel…proud, almost. As if…

As if you belong.

The thought sent a bolt of pure joy through her, mingling with the giddy anticipation of Demon’s order. She fairly flew to his chamber.

But when he pulled open the door in response to her knock, Demon wasn’t smiling. He flicked his gaze over the old gown she’d worn to cut boughs, and one brow rose. “Impatient, eh?”

She didn’t answer him, refused to rise to the bait. She was too busy staring at his head.

“What did you do to yourself?”

One of his hands made a twitching movement toward his left ear. “I cut my hair.”

Georgia shook her head. “You did not. You lost a fight with a moose. That is the only explanation for the mess atop your head.”

Indeed, Demon looked as if he’d “cut” his hair by grabbing hunks of it and sawing it off with a dull blade. Perhaps the ax he’d been using in the rose garden. With his eyes shut.

His scowl told her the barb had hit home.

“There was sap in it,” he offered by way of explanation. “If ye dinnae like it, come in and fix it. My valet was unavailable to help.”

She snorted softly at his quip, knowing there was no man in Scotland less likely to have a valet. He was barefoot again, for goodness’ sake!

As he stepped away from the door, she followed him in. The master chamber of Endymion was much like its owner; masculine, refined, simple…and messy.

“Are those your trousers hanging over the back of that chair?” she couldn’t help pointing out.

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