Page 9 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

The sensual movement, so completely innocent, shot straight to his cock.

There were benefits to a kilt, but the fact his body was reacting at all to this nosy, hardheaded woman, made him angry.

“Yer father kens what I want from him.”

It had taken months to trace trails and discover that Lord William Blackrose—who’d been Demon’s superior when he’d worked undercover—was actually the younger brother of the Earl of Bonkinbone. Blackrose, who apparently carried no actual title, had been born William Stoughton, and the sobriquet Blackrose was part of the identity he’d crafted to recruit young men to work as spies, operatives working for the good of England.

Except according to what his ex-partner Rourke Lindsay, the Duke of Exingham, had recently discovered: all that had been a lie.

She’d huffed out an irritated sound at his announcement and now stood straighter—the top of her head would barely reach his chin, if he’d been standing nearer—and placed her hands on her hips. “My lord—”

“Demon,” he interrupted, uncertain why he was giving her permission to call him by his name.

But judging from the way she reared back, confusion visible on her lovely face, she didn’t realize it was his name.

“Demon Hayle,” he grunted. “My name.”

“Your name is Demon Hell?”

The incredulity in her voice surprised a bark of laughter from him, and he covered it with another swig of the whisky, which was likely a mistake.

“Hayle. An auld Scots name, from the clan Hay. My father wasnae a laird, but Endymion was given to his grandfather in the last century.”

She was staring at his mouth again, and the realization caused his wry grin to fade to a scowl once more. Perhaps she understood his reaction because she started, then shook her head. Her hazel eyes flicked toward the hearth, but one hand rose, bare fingers brushing against the soft spot under her jaw.

His hand tightened around the neck of the bottle, his cock beginning to throb. He wanted to caress that skin, to see if it was as delicious as it looked.

“My—Demon,” she began, her tone husky as her gaze flicked back to his face. “My younger sister is in the midst of planning a wedding to a man—a viscount—she loves dearly. My soon-to-be brother-in-law’s family believes her to be a fortune hunter and is determined to stop the marriage.”

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. So why did he hear his own voice say, “Is she?”

“Not remotely.” Her lips curled wryly, and his cock jumped again. “They only think this because of this debt, the only one remaining. My father can pay it off—and with interest—but as long as you hold it, Danielle’s in-laws will believe him to be debt-ridden.”

He lifted the bottle. “No’ my problem, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes slightly, but her fingers dragged along her skin to rest against the hollow at the base of her throat. The sight arrested his hand, and the mouth of the bottle hovered inches from his lips.

“Of course it is, my lord. You are the one who refuses to allow him to pay his debt.”

“He shouldnae have accrued it in the first place.”

But since he had, it allowed Demon access to Blackrose, wherever he might be. As long as Bonkinbone owed him, Blackrose wouldn’t be able to escape again.

Her gaze turned…sultry? “Have you never done something you regret, my lord?”

This surprised another laugh out of him.

Something he regretted? Trusting Blackrose. Believing Rourke. Climbing into that train car that day. Hacking at that rose with an audience…

“Every bloody day, sweetheart.”

Her eyes followed his movements as he overcame temptation and returned the whisky to the desk. Her tongue darted out across her lips once more and he had to shift to keep his erection under control.

Why in damnation did she have to be so lovely? He could’ve handled this interrogation had his cock managed to stay out of it.

“If you will not accept my father’s money, Demon, what do I have to do to convince you to erase his debt?”

He started, swinging back around to scowl at her. “Are ye attempting to bribe me?”

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