Page 78 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Grinning, Thorne turned to Demon. “The snow has stopped. Angus says—or rather, pantomimes, I suppose—that we can borrow your sleigh to get back to Exingham. At least I think that’s what the man meant. Mrs. Kettel agreed to feed us early.”

As the children groaned at missing their fun—which really was quite flattering—Demon carefully marked his page with a scrap of paper and placed the book on the table beside him. “I’ll check with Angus,” was all he said. No reference to getting them out of his home as soon as possible, nothing rude at all.

Perhaps he does not mind their company so very much, after all.

“Before we leave, though,” Thorne cautioned as Demon stood, “Rourke’s waiting in yer study. He wants to show ye the—” He bit off his words as he glanced at Georgia, then hesitated. “The way the investi—his studies are progressing.”

Investigation? Had that been what he’d meant to say? Why would the Duke need to involve Demon in an investigation? Perhaps it had to do with whatever firebomb had caused Demon’s injuries?

Was this why Rourke’s family came to Exingham? What was it Thorne had said—something about Demon not coming to them, so they’d have to bring their news to him?

Georgia frowned thoughtfully as Demon followed Thorne from the room, presumably heading toward the study.

“Is the bastard going to grovel again?” she heard him ask his friend.

Thorne chuckled darkly. “The man tried to kill ye. Ye can accept his apology, but he’s still going to apologize again.”

Georgia stared at the door. Beside her, Sophia cleared her throat. “Gabrielle, do you need help tying off that string? I believe it is complete.”

The girl shook her head and began to prove she could tie it off herself. Her aunt took the bowl from her lap.

“Hunter, find a chair and drag it over to the alcove. The pair of you figure out how to hang that strand with the others. You can rearrange ornaments if you’re very careful, and keep all the breakable ones out of the reach of the cat.”

As the pair hopped up and began a good-natured argument about what was more feasible, Georgia asked under her breath, “Is that wise?” meaning of course, I do not think that is wise.

But one side of Sophia’s lips curled into a half-wry, half-sad smile. “It will occupy them for a while and I trust their balance. I thought you might rather have some answers, judging from the look on your face, than keep your ornament arrangement exactly the way it is.”

She’d noticed? Georgia wasted no time in nodding, recognizing their hushed conversation could be interrupted at any point. “Your husband tried to kill Demon?”

Sophia took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “If you don’t know that yet, I can’t give you all the answers. But…yes. Rourke and Demon and Thorne were once—” She hesitated. “Partners. I can’t say more than that, but I will say someone betrayed them, caused them to betray one another.”

“Who?” Georgia breathed, enthralled.

But her new friend shook her head. “It’s not my place, Georgia. I can see the way Demon looks at you. I’ll admit I don’t know him as well as the others do—he’s been reclusive since I’ve met him!—but he looks at you as if he needs you.”

Georgia’s mouth opened to deny the ridiculous claim, but Sophia’s hand closed around hers. “It’s true,” the blonde woman said quietly. “He frowns, yes, but behind those hideous scars, he’s watching you.”

“Of course he watches me,” snapped Georgia. “He is stuck with me until Hogmanay!” And he seems to very much enjoy the use of my body. “We are practically alone here in this castle, who else is he supposed to watch?” She was getting indignant, pulling her hand from the other woman’s. “And I will thank you to refrain from insulting him. He considers you—or at least your husband—his friend.”

Sophia didn’t look apologetic. If anything, she was smirking. “So you defend him?”

Sniffing, Georgia continued to pack away her embroidery. “I suppose I must, if his so-called friends insult him.” To be fair, one of his so-called-friends tried to kill him, and if you will just get over your snit, you might find out a bit more about that.

“I’m not insulting him, Georgia.” When she glanced at Sophia, the other woman was smiling indulgently. “If you think him handsome—”

Her voice rising with indignation, Georgia shook her head. “I do not think him handsome any more than I think him hideous. The scars do not define him, and those who think they do—those who cannot see past them—are the ugly ones!”

To her surprise, Sophia burst into light applause. Georgia peered at her, trying to determine if she was being mocked.

But the woman’s smile was kind. “You love him, don’t you?”

Again, Georgia opened her mouth to deny it, but no sound emerged.

Her friend nodded, satisfied. “And he loves you. Oh, I doubt he’s said anything, men are idiots. But I’m telling you, he looks at you as if he doesn’t know what to do about you.”

Why wasn’t Georgia’s voice working? She tried a few times, swallowed, and on the fourth attempt, what emerged was a sort of croak. “And—and you think that means he loves me?”

Sophia chuckled and nudged her shoulder. “My dear, it’s the very definition. However, I didn’t start this line of questioning to make you uncomfortable.” She sat back again and popped a cranberry into her mouth.

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