“Too early for gin, don’t you think, yournabs?” the lad asked. “If you’re going to cast up your accounts, I’ll fetch the pot for you.”
Demon dug his fingertips into his throbbing temples with merciless determination. “What did I tell you about calling me yournabs?”
He was being surly as a bear to Davy, and he knew it. But he had spent the time since Mira had sent him that damned letter growing increasingly desolate. He devoted each evening to searching the floor for copper curls and a voluptuous form he’d recognize as far away as from another bloody continent, and every day, he had been disappointed.
Nary a word from her, nor a hint of her, since that godawful morning.
“Apologies, sir,” the lad grumbled. “Only trying to show you respect.”
He continued glaring, which made his head ache worse. “If you respect me, then you will get me the blue ruin.”
He and Gav had also spent every night carousing after Lady Fortune closed for the evening. Drinking himself to oblivion distracted him from thoughts of Mira. Falling into an empty bed without her was not nearly as painful when he promptly passed out. The mornings, however.
Christ, the mornings.
They were getting increasingly rougher. And he was beginning to understand that no amount of time or distraction would change the way he felt about Mira.
He loved her. He loved her, and he did not know her full name.
“I ain’t going to fetch blue ruin for you,” Davy said, crossing his arms over his puny chest. “Won’t do you a bit of good.”
“It will do me a world of bloody good,” he countered through gritted teeth. “Fetch it, and take this cursed chocolate with you.”
“Chocolate is your favorite,” Davy countered. “My father was a toss pot. Swilled ’imself to death, ’e did. Don’t want to see you doing the same. I likes you more than what I liked ’im.”
It was the first time the lad had ever spoken of his sire. Demon had known he was an orphan, of course, but Davy had been quiet about his past thus far. The knowledge melted some of his inner ice, for he cared about the lad, too.Hell, he had begun to consider him a son.
“Forgive me, lad,” he said, gentling his tone. “I ain’t a toss pot. I’m merely…heartbroken.”
And if ever there had been a confession he would not have considered himself capable of making, it was that one. But his stomach and his head were aching, he was bloody desolate, and he no longer had a shred of pride remaining, it would seem.
“You love My Grace, don’t you?”
His addled mind did not comprehend. “Grace? I do not know anyone by that name other than my half sister, lad.”
“Course you do.” The lad rolled his eyes. “Carroty-pated fancy lady? I nabbed ’er ring? Took me to ’er big, fancy ’ouse? You’ve only been moping over ’er since you laid your peepers on ’er...”
“Mira,” he interrupted, hating the way her name sounded, how right it felt on his tongue, even after her defection. “Her name is not Grace, lad. It is Mira.”
“Aye, but ’er fancy title.” Davy shook his head. “My Grace, it was.”
Mother of all saints.
Realization dawned. There was only one title which had Grace in it, and the lad had cocked it up.
Mira was a bloodyduchess.
Another realization dawned. “Lad, do you think you can find your way back to her fancy house again?”
Davy grinned, revealing his missing tooth. “Davy can find ’is way anywhere, sir.”
“Excellent. We’ve a mission later this afternoon.” A plan began to materialize in his mind. “Leave the chocolate with me.”
No sense in drowning himself today.
Chapter 11
Nothing could have prepared Mirabel for the sight of Damian “Demon” Winter standing in the gold salon at Tarlington House. She hovered on the threshold, blinking, certain her eyes were deceiving her.
