Page 97 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

He wanted to jump in and make the situation better, however he could.

He wanted to break Bonkinbone’s nose.

But right now, the spunk-puffin was Demon himself.

He cleared his throat. “Georgia, I can explain…”

When her lips moved, barely any sound emerged, but he could hear her. “You used me.”

“Nay.”

Aye.

Aye, I used ye. I’m a bastard. At first it was just to get to Blackrose, a threat to make yer father comply. But then…

Eyes stricken, she turned away from him, stumbling toward her friend Felicity who caught her.

“Georgia!” His voice was a mere croak. He didn’t know how to explain to her, because he could barely understand himself.

Felicity gave him a look that was half-anguish, half-confusion, before wrapping her arms around Georgia’s shoulders and turning her toward the row of bilberry bushes.

“Come along, Georgia, dear. I think you need a bracing cup of tea.”

It was the first time Demon had heard the woman’s faint Lowland accent, and he wondered at it for the heartbeat it took to realize Georgia was getting away.

Then he leapt forward. “Georgia, wait! Let me explain.”

Felicity merely shook her head at her, but Bonkinbone went so far as to grab his arm. “That slut—”

Demon’d had enough of being polite. He’d had enough of Society. He’d had enough of being dukely.

It was time to start acting like himself again.

Like a demon.

With a snarl, he whirled about and smashed his fist into the aquiline nose of the Earl of Bonkinbone.

As the arsehole went down amid a shower of blood and snot, Demon pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and calmly wiped his knuckles.

Then he leaned over the mewling man.

“I’m nae gentleman, Bonkinbone, but I’ll tell ye yer debt is paid thanks to yer loyal offspring, who’s wanted nothing more than yer approval her whole bloody life.” He straightened and shook his head. “And if ye’re too blind to see that, then I pity ye, I really do.”

The man didn’t seem to be listening, but rather held his nose and sputtered. “Oo boke my node!”

“Ye bungle-shite, I hope so!” Demon rolled his shoulders, priding himself for the self-control necessary to refrain from stomping Bonkinbone’s ribs in as well. He turned to the Earl’s companion, whose name had never been given. “How much for yer horse, man?”

The idiot blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yer horse!” Demon scowled. “I need a good ride to clear my head before I try to fix the mess yer ignorant, evil friend has created. His animal is finer, but I’ll no’ touch anything belonging to him.”

“My daugh-der…” moaned the bleeding man on the ground.

Demon ignored him, raising a brow to the other man still atop his horse. “How much?”

The man named an outrageous price, easily twice the amount the animal was worth. But Demon was desperate to feel the strength of a good runner between his legs, so he nodded once, curtly. “Done.”

His surprise evident, the other man swung down. Rather than stepping around Bonkinbone, rather than stepping over him, Demon planted one booted foot firmly in the Earl’s midsection. He made sure to rest all of his weight on the arsehole as he stepped toward the horse, and was gratified to hear the Earl’s breath woosh out of him on a moan.

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