Page 6 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

For a dirty, sweaty, brute of a Scotsman in a kilt.

“Lady?” he prompted.

Oh. Right. He’d asked who she was.

She swallowed, trying to make her mind focus. “Lady Georgia Stoughton. Daughter to the Earl of Bonkinbone.”

The scarring on the left side of his face made it difficult to read his expression, but both eyes widened. “Cankerous fookweasel. That’s ye? Yer father said he was sending a representative”—he released her and stepped back, shaking his head—“and I should’ve kenned he’d ignore my demands to leave me my privacy.” He shook his head again, this time looking almost…disgusted?

Her eyes had widened as his words sunk in, though she swayed without his support. “You are Baron Endymion? The—the man who holds my father’s debt?”

“Pusillanimous cockwomble,” he mumbled, before turning once more for what must be the kitchen door.

Was it better, or worse that she’d caught herself lusting after the very man she’d been sent here to convince?

“Wait!” Georgia called, springing after him. “I am here to pay my father’s debt!”

“Nay,” he growled, yanking open the door.

“You must allow me to pay it. I can authorize the transfer today.”

Without turning, the Baron spat, “Ye dinnae listen. Nay.”

He disappeared into the dim interior.

“Go home, lady.” The command drifted from the darkness.

Georgia stood there on the step, one hand on the wooden door, listening to his footsteps recede into the kitchen. She glanced over her shoulder at the overgrown garden.

Well, here she was at Castle Endymion, and at least she knew who the Baron was. He was rude and curt and used foul language, but when he’d touched her, she hadn’t felt fear. Perhaps he could be reasoned with.

Her chin rose. Father was counting on her, and she owed him for the way her foolish actions had almost ruined Danielle’s chance for a future.

She would find a way to pay that debt.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the cursed darkness of Castle Endymion.

Chapter 2

What the—

She followed him inside? Scowling, Demon slammed down the cup of spring water he’d been drinking from, despite not having yet quenched his thirst or cooled from the exertions in the garden. The roses had become out of control in the past year, and although he knew nothing about gardening, it had seemed easy enough to take out some of his perpetual anger on them.

“Milord,” began Mrs. Kettel, her sleeves rolled up as she kneaded the dough. “I was going to make mutton for tonight, until Mary reminded me everyone kens mutton’s unlucky onna Tuesday.”

His attention on the hesitant steps of the interloper, Demon didn’t reply. Instead, he darted toward the door. Perhaps if he was quick, the woman from the garden wouldn’t know which way he’d gone.

Toad-spotted turdpuffin! What part of Nay ye’re no’ welcome here did she not understand?

He could hear her behind him!

Holding his breath, Demon ducked through an open door, hoping she’d pass him by.

“Lord Endymion, please wait—Oh, good day, Mrs. Kettel.”

“And a good day to ye, miss. I see ye found yer way in anyhow. If ye’re chasing the master, he’s the one hiding in my pantry.”

Demon couldn’t help the growl that rose in his throat.

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