Page 59 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

In a daze she heard water begin to run. Oh, she could just imagine how heavenly a hot bath would feel, especially after an afternoon in the snow lugging pine boughs. With that pleasure beckoning, she pushed aside the ridiculous thoughts of earlier. Nonsense, that was all it was. Nonsense.

“Well?” came the demand from behind the door to the water closet. “Are ye naked yet?”

Reluctantly, her lips curled. No one could accuse Demon of being patient. Or polite.

But he is certainly passionate.

She reached for her buttons. “Coming, my lord.”

“No’ yet,” he barked. “But ye will be.”

She had to giggle.

The sound of the water urged haste, but she’d only reached as far as her corset when she stepped into the bathing chamber. Suddenly, he was before her, reaching for the hooks.

“Christ, woman, ‘tis a sin to trap such lovely beauties.” When the corset loosened, he scooped her breasts out and cupped them. “They deserve freedom.”

Lowering his mouth to them meant that Georgia could see over his head. “Demon!” she gasped, for more than one reason. “Why is that thing—oooh.”

His teeth had caught her nipple, sending sparks of desire down her arms and up again, through her stomach, to end at her core.

“Yes,” she breathed.

When he huffed a wry chuckle, the air against her wet skin felt sinful. “Ye like that?”

She might’ve said something. Also, a choir of angels might’ve manifested in the bathing chamber and began to sing. It was impossible to tell, because all of her mind, all of her being, was focused on this man.

Her corset fell to the floor and Demon finally straightened, but he continued to roll her nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he smirked.

“Yer water is almost ready, milady.”

She blinked, trying to force her brain to work. “In-in that?”

Surprised, he glanced over his shoulder. “Aye, ‘tis the tub. Where the water goes. For bathing. Surely ye’ve seen a tub before?”

“That is not a tub.” It was easier to think when they were bantering. “That is a pool. Perhaps a small ocean. What’s a small ocean call—oh, a sea. That, my lord, is a sea.”

He didn’t release her breasts, but turned, taking her with him. “That is a bathtub, Lady Georgia. I told ye my father was a philanderer, aye? He wasnae a small man.”

This was an understatement. The vessel before her was a square, five feet to a side, and made of copper. The water was slowly but surely inching toward the lip of the tub, bubbles forming from some sort of oil he’d added.

“That would fit at least four people,” she shot back weakly, imagination running wild.

“I dinnae have time to collect more women, lass. I’ll have to take yer word for it. Get in.”

Brusque, rude, and commanding. So why did her core give a little shiver of anticipation at his words?

Demon helped her divest herself of the rest of her clothing, then carefully held her elbow as she stepped into the tub. It was deep, water washing up her thighs, and she stood there as he turned the water off.

The sudden silence was deafening.

He scowled, examining her standing knee-deep in hot water, her arms wrapped around her middle as if to hide herself from his gaze. When he jerked his chin impatiently, she took the hint and sunk down.

Oh, good Heavens! The water felt divine.

Georgia wasn’t able to stop her sigh of pleasure, luxuriating in the feel of the heat seeping into her muscles. This would have been brilliant last week during her miserable day with cramps. As she scooted backward—the tub really was tremendous—she glanced at him.

Demon had settled himself into a chair which stood before an empty vanity and mirror, watching her.

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