Page 80 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

He felt her stiffen, as if remembering something, and when he glanced at her, it was to see her chewing on her bottom lip. “Georgia?”

She hesitated, then blew out a breath which puffed into steam in the cold early evening air. When she turned to him, there was sadness—and worry—in her eyes. “Sophia told me some things, Demon. About—about you and Rourke.”

Now it was his turn to stiffen. He almost pulled his hand from hers, but instead forced himself to breathe, to consider.

“What?” he managed to croak. “What did she tell ye?”

Her expression melted into concern. “Not nearly enough. She said—” Georgia swallowed, but held his gaze. “She said if you trusted me, you might tell me more. All she could tell me was that you and Rourke and Thorne once worked together, and Rourke tried to kill you.”

Demon’s nod was curt. “That was all?”

“Yes, but…” Georgia turned completely to him and took his clasped hands in her free one. “You trusted me with your scars, Demon. Will you trust me enough to tell me what happened?”

Well, why not? She was right; he had opened his life up to her in ways he’d never expected. She didn’t have to know any names.

She used to celebrate Christmases with Blackrose. He’s her family, and she’s loyal to her family. She willnae appreciate learning he’s a traitor.

So he nodded, and when he did, she exhaled again. Through the steam between them, he saw her smile bloom as she squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, Demon.”

But the thought of going back to the library, baring his past… He jerked his chin toward the front drive. “Walk with me for a bit.” They were both dressed for the cold and the sleigh had packed down the snow.

Georgia kept her gloved hand clasped in his as they picked their way through the hoofprints left by the Exingham travelers, walking in silence. They reached the hedge and the gate and he breathed deeply, enjoying the scents of pine and cedar from the recently manicured wood to the right of the road.

“After university, I was approached by a man who worked in Her Majesty’s service.” There. Easier to start there. “He knew I was content to stay here on my estate, but I had a few causes I was passionate about in the House of Lords. He requested help with a few…delicate matters, mainly gaining information about investments and trade. He told me it was related to cases involving money being funneled out of the country, to England’s enemies.”

Their arms were stretched out because she was walking in the opposite rut, but Georgia refused to drop his hand. “And did you give him that help?”

“Aye, it was innocuous enough.” At the time. “And his proof was convincing; I was doing good for my country, with little effort.”

“But?”

“But what?”

She sent him a sad grin. “Demon, one does not become a victim of a firebomb if this story remains innocuous.”

True. He snorted softly and paused to watch an owl—out early—swoop from one of the trees toward something small and distant, which ended in a furry squeak.

As the bird of prey glided back into the darkening sky once more, Demon blew out a breath. “I took on more roles for him—my supervisor. He began to pay me a wage for the missions I performed, both here and abroad. I had partners.”

“Rourke and Thorne,” she quietly guessed.

His nod was brusque and he began walking once more. “I trusted them with my life, more than once. We were well-suited. I prefer to move, to act, while Rourke considers everything carefully. And Thorne is the best damn fighter—and acrobat—ye could imagine. Aye, we were well-suited.”

When he lapsed into silence, Georgia squeezed his hand once more. “What happened?”

“I began to suspect our mentor wasn’t telling us the whole truth. I began to dig. I didnae find evidence, but enough hints and coincidences made me guess he was lying to us about working for the Crown.”

She gasped and pulled him to a stop. When he turned to her, her expression was changing from shock to pity.

He didn’t want her pity.

“Oh, Demon. He was not a spy?”

His nod was curt, his gaze focused over her head. “He was lining his own pockets with the secrets we were ferreting out, selling them to England’s enemies and various investors.” The realization still rankled. “The things—terrible things!—we did for him…”

Georgia stepped out of the rut, stepped into the deep snow in her struggle to be closer to him. He should’ve helped, but instead stood stock still as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his shoulder.

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