Page 105 of The Duke's Bartered Mistress

What was it the brute had said? Something about…

“Ye’re escorting Bull, are ye no’? He’s meeting his mother?”

Thorne’s grin grew. “And who do ye think his mother is?”

Holy shitenuggets. Demon’s eyes widened. “Felicity Montrose?”

At his friend’s cheerful nod, Demon shook his head. “I dinnae care about Bull’s history, nor Calderbank’s return. I want to find Georgia. Does Felicity ken where she’s staying?” Had she taken other lodgings? Had she—God forbid—thought she needed to find another protector?

“I would say she kens where Georgia is. Seeing as how Georgia is staying with her. Right down the hall from Bull. I suspect the lad was pleased to see a familiar face, even if she’s no’ all that familiar—”

Thorne’s ramblings were cut off when Demon grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him upright. “Ye have the address Georgia is staying and ye dinnae tell me?”

“Ye popped a but—two buttons! Damnation, Demon, this waistcoat came from Paris! Bull’s already tried to borrow it twice!”

“I’ll pop more than that…” Demon threatened.

Besides, he could tell Thorne was trying not to smirk, likely at his outrageous display of emotion. But how in the fook was he supposed to react?

Georgia was in his reach once more.

“I’ll take ye to her, friend, if that’s what ye want.” Thorne’s offer was made in a low voice, even as he peeled Demon’s fingers from his clothing. “But only if ye’re trying to find her to make things right.”

“Right? Right?” As if it were that easy! Fook, if Demon hadn’t finished his whisky, he’d have thrown another glass at the cold hearth. “I said I need to apologize!” he roared, whirling away from his friend.

“Aye, and I said ye need to tell her that ye love her.” Thorne’s tone was intense. “That is yer plan, is it no’?”

“Ye festering wankmuppet, of course it’s my bloody plan!” Demon dragged both hands through his hair, curling his fingers into fists and tugging at it as he dropped his elbows to the mantel. It was easier to confess if he didn’t have to look Thorne in the eyes when he did so. “I love the woman so much it makes me ache—och, nay, the thought of no’ waking up each morning by her side makes me ache. I wouldnae have gone through with this stupid bargain if I’d realized how special she is. Shitenuggets! I love her, aye.”

“And ye plan on marrying her?”

Demon squeezed his eyes shut, hard enough that he saw stars. “Aye,” he rasped. “If she’ll have me, aye.”

A big if.

A huge if. A colossal if. A doubtful if.

After what he’d done…

Behind him, he heard the other man blow out a breath. Silence for a few moments, then Thorne hummed. “Well, ye have to do the Grand Gesture.”

“What?”

“The Grand Gesture. The Grovel. Women love that sort of thing.”

Slowly, Demon lifted his head and turned just far enough to glare at his friend, who shrugged.

“Look, I dinnae make the rules. Grand Gesture.” He pretended to check off something on an imaginary page. “Grovel.” Another checkmark. “Other shite that starts with G.” Another checkmark. “Then ye tell her ye love her and cannae live without her.” One last checkmark.

“That doesnae start with G.”

“So figure out something that does.” Thorne shrugged. “It’s the point in the story where this sort of thing needs to happen.”

“What are ye talking about?”

“Look, ye cannae just show up at her front door without flowers or something, and tell her ye love her. Doesnae begin with G, for a start. Ye have to prove it.” Thorne waved lazily. “Climb a mountain or kill a lion with yer hands or some shite like that.”

Flowers.

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