Page 72 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Not so. Rourke tried to kill him.

Aye, but ye stabbed him and threw him out a train, so ye’re even.

Hard to argue with that.

The summer had been a time of revelations, including the fact that the attack which had left him crippled and half-dead had been the fault of his former supervisor in Her Majesty’s service, Lord Blackrose.

It had also been revealed that the man who’d jumped out of the shadows of his train car that day, brandishing a blade, had been his one-time partner and friend, Rourke Lindsay. He’d been duped as well, but Demon wouldn’t have known the truth—about any of it—if Rourke hadn’t confessed.

Their relationship since then had been…strained.

Aye, Demon had forgiven Rourke for trying to kill him, but it irritated him that Rourke just assumed he’d be forgiven.

Ye’re angry because he didnae grovel?

Malodorous piss-bag, nay! Demon couldn’t think of anything as alarming as watching the Duke of Exingham grovel…especially with his weak leg.

So why does it bother ye that they’re here? They’re yer friends. Whatever friends are.

He glanced sidelong at Georgia, who’d stopped at his side when he’d hesitated in the library doorway. Or perhaps it was because he was holding her hand in a death grip.

It was because he’d only just become used to having her in his space.

“It will be fine, Demon,” Georgia whispered under her breath, a smile plastered on her lips as she surveyed their guests, as if she was pleased to see them. “Just sit and scowl menacingly at everyone, and I will do the talking for you.”

That sounded too good to be true. “Promise?” he demanded.

She glanced at him and squeezed his hand briefly. “Promise.”

And then she abandoned him, breezing into the room and inviting Rourke and Thorne to avail themselves of his whisky. Scowling, Demon stalked over to where the twins and Bull were admiring the tree he’d helped Georgia decorate.

“Dinnae touch that,” he commanded Bull, swiping the glass bauble from the lad’s hand. “It’s worth nothing.”

“Doesnae look worthless.” The cheeky grin was either going to win him hearts, or get his teeth knocked out, Demon was sure. Perhaps both. “Looks like it might be worth quite a lot to ye.”

“Aye,” growled Demon, leaning into the lad’s space. “And ye’ll get nae more than a few pennies for it, so leave it be. In fact, keep yer hands in yer pockets when ye’re in my house, lad, and I’ll refrain from whipping yer arse for theft.”

Rather than frightening the lad, Bull appeared amused. “Right ye are, Uncle Demon.” He made a show of pushing his hands into his pockets.

Demon’s fingers curled around the glass ornament. “Dinnae call me that.” He had no brothers, and even if he did, Bull and Hunter and Gabrielle weren’t related to him—they were Rourke’s family.

No’ mine.

Brushing past the lad, he was stalking toward the fireplace when Mrs. Kettel bustled in, pushing an over-loaded tea cart and bobbing and curtseying to Demon like he was a king. He crossed his arms, realized he was still carrying the ornament, shoved it into his pocket, then recrossed his arms.

And scowled. Menacingly, as ordered. He was good at scowling.

Sophia, on the other hand, took the arrival of the tea cart as some sort of blessing, and ooh’d and ahh’d over the cookies and small sandwiches—how had the housekeeper managed to throw them together so quickly?—and other goodies.

Demon just hoped Rourke’s wife noticed the onion hanging from Mrs. Kettel’s belt.

“Your Grace, may I pour for you?” asked Georgia formally, gesturing Sophia to sit.

But Sophia, being who she was, just waved aside the offer. “It’ll go faster if we both serve. And please do call me Sophia. If Rourke’s still getting used to being a Duke, I’m absolutely not ready to be a Duchess.”

“Aye,” Rourke said in that smooth way of his, as he took the cup of tea his wife had just poured, “so dinnae think to Yer Grace me, either. Rourke is fine.”

Demon leaned his shoulder against the mantel and watched Georgia’s face. He doubted anyone else could tell she was flustered by speaking so informally to a Duke, but he could see the way her smile looked strained, how her eyes flashed more gold than brown. She was nervous about something, and when her gaze darted to him, then away, he wondered if it was him.

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