Page 92 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

Georgia exchanged a glance with Demon, who looked almost…apologetic? He offered her a wince and a shrug.

The last hours of December.

In a few hours, this would all be over. She could return to her Father’s house, his debt erased, and Danielle could marry her beloved Viscount Cumnock. Georgia could attend their wedding, discreetly of course, then slip back into obscurity.

Is that what you want?

She’d promised to be at Demon’s side if he needed her. But now he was here in London—she’d managed to get him this far, at least—and his mother was obviously a force to be reckoned with. She would launch him into Society, with or without Georgia’s help.

But is that what you want?

No.

No, she wanted to be with Demon. She wanted to be by his side.

If only he wanted that as well.

She swallowed and did the only thing she could imagine to save face. Offering a small curtsey, she didn’t meet his eyes when she said, “Thank you, Your Grace. I will retire to my room. I am certain the butler can show me the way.”

Without meeting his gaze, Georgia fled, certain he was steaming over her deliberate use of his new title.

But it was a reminder they both needed. Their association, their bargain, the contract hastily scribbled on a desk upon which she had been exposed mere minutes later, was done after tonight.

Chapter 20

Demon knew why he was so grouchy this morning, and it had everything to do with the woman at his side.

For the first time since her woman’s thing was done, he hadn’t started his day balls-deep in Lady Georgia Stoughton.

Christ, it sounded so crude to reduce what they shared to that, but he knew she’d enjoyed their time together as much as he did. Or at least, gained as much pleasure out of it as he had.

And now it was over. It was over, and he was escorting her back to her father’s home.

Last night, when he finally made his excuses to his mother and retired to his room, he’d felt a flash of disappointment to realize Georgia wasn’t waiting for him. He poured himself a drink and began to fill the almost offensively small tub, but the memories of what they’d shared had pushed him from his room to stalk down the hall.

But he’d stopped in front of her door, fist raised.

What’s yer plan? he’d asked himself. Ye’re going to barge in there like some perverted First Foot tradition, no’ bearing coal and whisky but anger and a cockstand? Och, ye think she’ll appreciate that?

Besides, this wasn’t Endymion. There were servants everywhere. One little misstep would damage Georgia’s fractured reputation beyond repair.

So he’d lowered his hand and stomped his sorry arse back to his room, where he’d spent Hogmanay Eve getting ridiculously, stupidly, and above all, lonely drunk.

A fook of a way to ring in the new year.

For the last five weeks, he’d been focused on this day; the day when Georgia left him. At first, it had been a mixture of excitement and confusion, but the more time he’d spent with her, the more he dreaded the coming of the new year and her return to her father’s house.

And now that day had arrived.

After today, Bonkinbone’s debt would be erased. Demon would have no leverage, no access to Blackrose…and no Georgia either.

Once, he would’ve said losing the chance to track down Blackrose was the worst outcome he could imagine. Now he knew he’d been an idiot, and Georgia was the best bloody thing to ever happen to him. And he’d lost both.

“Are you certain you would not rather drive?” Georgia asked quietly at his side. “We could return to your mother’s house and borrow her enclosed carriage.”

At first, Demon thought she’d suggested it because she wanted to be home more quickly than the stroll through the park on their way to her father’s house. But the third time she glanced at him with concern in her eyes, he realized why she’d asked.

“It’s early still,” he growled. “No’ many people to see me—see us. Together, I mean.” Wankmuppet, he was making a hash of this. “I thought ye might like to stretch yer legs this morning.”

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