Page 20 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

All too soon Demon was returning the gelding to the stables, rubbing him down, sending Angus the signs the man had created over the years.

At the door to the stable, however, Demon reached for the chalkboard hanging there.

A lady will be staying with us. Fetch her luggage from Banchot. The inn?

Angus, reading over his shoulder, nodded as he retrieved the board and turned toward the dog cart. He’d be able to make the journey in under an hour, and Lady Georgia would have her things by this evening.

And when Demon realized he was halfway up the grand staircase and he paused, one hand on the banister, trying to determine his hurry, he told himself that was the news he was going to deliver to her.

He wasn’t going to her because he remembered the way her cunny felt around his fingers, or because she looked at him without wincing. He certainly wasn’t going to her because the only way a woman would lower herself to fook him was if she was contractually obligated to.

The old, familiar anger began to burn in his chest, the dull throb as familiar and painful as healing scars.

That anger took him down the corridor, to the guest room where he’d guessed she’d be. He paused, his hand on the knob.

She doesnae want this. She doesnae want ye. She only agreed to that contract because ye’re a vomitous cockthrobber who willnae let her father loose from his debt.

Besides, once Bonkinbone received word of her stay here at Endymion, the man would surely offer Demon whatever he wanted to keep his daughter safe.

He hesitated, fingers curling around the doorknob.

On the one hand, the honorable thing to do would be not to touch her again until he heard from Bonkinbone.

On the other hand—and also two feet, an arm, and his aching cock—he had a contract with her signature on it. He now had the ability—nay, the right—to snap his fingers and see her expression cloud with passion, and then fook her until she couldn’t walk straight. He had the rest of the year to own her.

Nay, ye dobber. If ye’re going to use this bargain as collateral, ye have to be smart about it.

But if she didn’t belong to him, then she was still his guest, was she not? And as her host, it was up to him to alert her to the fact her luggage would soon be arriving.

Aye, that’s as good an excuse as any.

He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

Chapter 5

Well, this was a day of firsts, wasn’t it?

Georgia’s lips curled ruefully as she filled the basin on the washstand with warm water. Castle Endymion might look cursed, and heaven knew she’d cursed enough today…but at least it had indoor plumbing. She may have to spend the next five weeks a virtual prisoner to an alarmingly tantalizing, reclusive grump…but at least she wouldn’t have to be dirty while doing so.

Georgia took the time to wash her hands and forearms, grimacing at the dirt which sloughed into the water. Yes, a day of firsts, indeed.

Walking across country because no one would take her—an earl’s daughter!—to her destination, only to be turned away.

Meeting a surprisingly alluring woodsman butchering a plant, only to discover he was the very man she’d been sent to meet.

Talking him into making her his—what? Mistress? Sex slave? Bartered property?—for more than a month, and then signing a contract like an eager idiot.

Cleaning a suite of rooms.

Really, that last one had been one of the strangest firsts, due only to the castle’s servants. When Demon had sent her off to find the housekeeper, Georgia had thought it would be merely a case of informing the woman—who was still in the kitchen, elbow deep in dough—that she would be needing a room.

In her mind, the most awkward part of the encounter would be maintaining a dignified air while her core throbbed from her new master’s touch.

Instead, however, Mrs. Kettel had thrown back her head and bellowed for someone named Mary. When a thin, mousy woman a few years younger than Georgia had hurried into the room, the housekeeper had grinned and jerked her head.

“Looks like milady has talked the master into staying a while. She’ll need a room. Take her upstairs to the blue one, aye, and get it fixed up a bit. I’ll pop the bread in the oven, check on my chives and flannel, and be up to help ye in a tick.”

The young maid had curtsied to both Georgia and the housekeeper, then turned to flee. Practically running to keep up, Georgia had attempted conversation. “Chives and flannel? I’ve heard of cress, but…?”

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