Page 63 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

“Are ye well, Demon?”

“Aye, well enough, lass.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “Yer tits are still dirty. Hand me that soap.”

Well, really. Who was she to argue? He was in command, after all.

Perhaps her breasts were still a bit dirty…

Chapter 13

Mrs. Kettel was singing as Demon stomped in through the door from the back garden, trying to get all the snow off his high boots.

“Sire, he lives a goodly hence, right beside the mountain. Right against the forest dense and—Blast, lass, whose fountain?”

The housekeeper turned from where she was stirring something on the stove and frowned at Mary. The maid didn’t look up from where she rolled out dough.

“S-St. Agnes, aunt. And the peasant lives a good league hence, underneath the m-m-mountain.”

As Demon dragged his hat from his head and ran his gloved hand through his now-shorter hair, Mrs. Kettel shook her head—and her spoon—at her niece.

“Dinnae be silly! Who would live underneath a mountain?” Then she gasped. “Except trolls! Was he a troll? How does the song end?” Her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as she hummed, the spoon bobbing about like a conductor’s baton. “Hmm-hm hmm-hmmmm-flesh and blood! They were feeding it flesh and blood! A troll!”

“They were bringing the puir peasant food, Aunt. It’s a s-s-s-song about the benefits of charity.”

“Did the troll eat them instead? I’ll wager that’s what happened.”

Mary didn’t answer, but Demon saw her lips pressed together as if hiding a laugh. And strangely, he wanted to chuckle in response to his housekeeper’s nonsense. His chest was feeling light and almost bubbly since yesterday., and he knew it was Georgia’s fault.

“Och, milord!” Mrs. Kettel shrieked as she whirled about and noticed him. “Dinnae sneak upon a body like that! I almost attacked ye!”

Demon eyed the wooden spoon she held as if it were a mace, and managed to keep his tone bland as he apologized. “I shall endeavor to refrain from sneaking upon yer body, Mrs. Kettel. My apologies for disturbing ye.”

The housekeeper waved the spoon dismissively and turned back to the stove. “Dinnae fash, milord, we havenae started on dinner yet. I’m trying my hand at caramel, and Mary is working on more cookies.”

Cookies? Caramel? Demon, already halfway through the kitchen and heading for his study, slowed his steps. When had his housekeeper made treats in the middle of the day?

For that matter…he eyed the cluster of pine boughs held together with a cheery ribbon over the ancient hearth. When had he heard Mrs. Kettel singing Christmas hymns?

To his surprise, he rotated on his heel and actually asked. “Are ye planning on celebrating the holidays, Mrs. Kettel?”

The older woman snorted—actually snorted!—without turning. “I told ye we wanted some joy, master, and we’re taking it. Ye allowed Lady Georgia to decorate, so we decorated in here. And I’m already planning a festive menu—nae matter what ye say!”

Bold words, but he noticed she wasn’t glaring defiantly at him as she said them, and her mixing had increased in pace. Thoughtfully, he glanced at Mary, who had straightened from her work and was watching him.

When she caught his eye, she blushed, but didn’t lower her gaze. “We thought it wouldnae be too m-m-much trouble, m-m-milord,” she managed quietly. “Angus and Bruno are looking forward to the Christmas dinner as well.”

As always, he gentled his tone when speaking to this shy maid who’d refused to abandon him or her aunt. “And what are ye thinking of serving at this Christmas dinner?”

Showing no reaction to the fact he’d apparently just given his permission to celebrate Christmas, Mary glanced at her aunt. “Roast duck, m-m-milord. And I’m making the desserts.” Finally, her gaze dropped to the dough in front of her. “Nae chocolates, though,” she finished in a whisper, cheeks ablaze.

Ah. He’d have to remember to pick up another box of chocolates for her the next time he went to Banchot. Her and her aunt both—

What in damnation are ye thinking? Ye want to go back to Banchot?

Well, he hadn’t melted the last time, had he? No one threw tomatoes at him or screamed and fainted. Angus had merely raised a brow and nodded when Demon had explained the destination.

Today’s ride had taken him in that direction, and while he hadn’t ridden through the center of town, he’d paused by the church and cemetery to ensure the new roof had been completed. After the gravedigger’s hut burned—nearly killing Rourke’s family—over the summer, Demon had allocated funds to fix up the whole property.

The priest had noticed him and waved.

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