Page 83 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Georgia had sobered. “How horrible.”

But he waved. “Dinnae fash…” His eyes were twinkling, and he took a moment to sip at his wine. “She was wearing a wig.”

A wig? Georgia’s expression cleared as he began to chuckle.

“And nae one kenned it—no’ even my mother, who was her best friend!—until the puir woman screeched and pulled the thing from her head and began stomping on it as if she was making wine from grapes!”

As he burst into chuckles and took another drink, Georgia began to laugh as well, overcome with his recounting.

“Was she unharmed?” she asked between giggles, feeling guilty for laughing, but blaming the wine she was still sipping. It was really most delicious.

“She was. Just angry—blamed the footman for no’ trimming the wicks. My mother fired the puir bastard for that, on Christmas! In front of everyone.” His demeanor had changed as he remembered that part.

She sobered as well. “Oh. That is terrible.”

“Aye.” He twisted the glass between his fingers, staring down into the red depths. “I hunted him down the next day to write a letter of reference for him, only to find Mother had rehired him at another of her residences.”

Georgia frowned now as well. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I suppose she kenned it wasnae his fault. Just wanted to appease her friends.”

So she wasn’t heartless, she just put great stock in appearances and reputation?

“How many residences does your mother—wait.” Georgia pushed the wine away. “Are the estates hers?”

He snorted. “Nay, I suppose they’re mine. Always have been. But I’m content here, and she’s content there, managing the London homes.”

”Homes?” How many did the man own?

Demon seemed to understand, and his grin was wry. “I have a townhouse which I rented out for many years, but is currently empty. Mother has a smaller one. She also has a country estate she manages, and I try to stay out of her business. Just send her money when she asks.”

Oh. Idly, Georgia wondered if she’d ever met his mother at one of the Society events she’d attended over the years. Surely the Baroness Endymion traveled in Father’s circles, but Georgia couldn’t recall her.

She was likely one of the women who snubbed you badly after your scandal with Roger was made known.

The memory of those days—excitement for the life she thought she was about to build with Roger, and crushing betrayal at the way her once-friends treated her—pulled her lips into a frown.

Perhaps he noticed, because Demon suddenly spoke.

“Am I mistaken, or is that a wrapped gift ye’ve been trying to hide beside yer plate all evening?”

Flushing, her left hand fell over the small package wrapped in tissue paper. “Mary found me the paper,” she blurted, then winced, hating how awkward she sounded. “I mean, my lord, that I have a small token of my esteem for you.” She swallowed, hating how stupid that had sounded as well.

In fact, his brows had risen. “Indeed? So…is it a frozen lizard? A squashed frog? Some snot, lovingly collected from yer hankie and shaped into an effigy of my puir abused face?”

That was…disgusting. So why was a smile threatening her lips? “You think my esteem so low for you?”

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. “It should be, Georgia. I’m the monster who holds ye here on a weak pretense—”

She didn’t want to get into that now, so she pulled the present from beside her plate and thrust it at him. “Merry Christmas, Demon!”

His hesitation lasted barely a heartbeat before he took it from her hands. Still looking down at it, he addressed her. “I confess I thought of something ye might enjoy. Or rather, something I might enjoy ye having.”

“Oh?” she teased. “Is it a fine silk nightgown? The kind with lots of lace and not very much material?”

His gaze jerked to hers, eyes wide for a moment before his lids lazily lowered. “I like ye naked. But if ye want something like that…?”

She liked to sleep in the nude as well, but only with him. So her cheeks were likely bright pink when she shook her head. “I was only teasing you.”

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