Page 22 of Colorado Cold Case

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Page 22 of Colorado Cold Case

“Good evening, Your Grace,” the butler intoned as he opened the door. “Your mother awaits you in the drawing room.”

Georgia would have loved the opportunity to refresh herself, but Demon was already tugging her toward a green-papered room after handing his coat and hat to the butler.

“Come along,” he muttered. “Best get this out of the way.”

Georgia hung back as he entered the room, and when she saw the beautiful woman reclining on the sofa, she was glad she did. The woman’s expression lit up when she saw Demon, and as she pushed to her feet, it was obvious this was his mother. She shared the same sharp jaw and gaze, though her stature was shorter. While her brows were as dark as Demon’s, her hair was covered by an impressive purple turban—accentuated with a pair of outrageously large feathers—which still managed to look elegant on her.

Also, she had a parakeet on her shoulder.

“Demon, darling, you’ve finally made it! How naughty, to make your mother wait on you all day. Say ‘hello, Demon’, Gladstone, there’s a good boy.”

It took a moment to realize she spoke to the bird, since she uttered all of this in one long breath as she strode toward Demon, arms open for an embrace.

Demon allowed himself to be hugged, but held himself stiffly.

The bird said nothing.

“Madam, ye kenned my plans, and have access to the train schedule. There was nae need to expect me any earlier in the day.”

His mother pushed herself up on her toes to kiss his cheek—his scarred cheek, and Georgia thought she was the only one to see him flinch—and flapped her hand dismissively. “Tut. You know I’m prone to exaggeration. Welcome, dear boy. Gladstone, why won’t you do as Mummy asks? Say hello. Come sit down, De—Your Grace. Oh! Will I ever tire of that?”

The bird nibbled at the impressive turban she wore.

Demon had been standing stoically while waiting for the parakeet to make a greeting, but now he shook his head. “Mother, dinnae call me that.”

“Of course I’m going to call you that, dear boy. I’m a mother to a duke, now! This will open all sorts of doors for me. Gladstone, I swear, if you relieve yourself on my shoulder again, the cook will be making parakeet a vin. Now, introduce me to your guest.”

From the way Demon blinked, it appeared to take him a moment to figure out his mother meant Georgia. Taking a moment to glare at the incontinent bird who’d hopped to the sofa’s back, he then held out his hand to Georgia.

When she placed her hand in his, she tried not to appear too desperate.

“Mother, this is Georgia.” He seemed to remember where he was, who they were. “Lady Georgia Stoughton, daughter of the Earl of Bonkinbone.”

His mother’s brows rose. “The one who’s marrying the Viscount Cumnock?”

“No, milady.” Georgia kept her voice low, even, calm, her gaze locked on the spot between the woman’s eyes. “That is my sister, Danielle.”

“Then you’re the scandalous one?” Before Georgia could answer—how was she supposed to answer that?—the woman had flapped her hand dismissively and turned to her son. “Demon, darling, whatever you got up to in the wilds of Scotland, you have to remember, this is London, and you are a Duke. You cannot be parading your indiscretions under everyone’s noses, and you most certainly cannot bring them home to your mother’s home.”

Somewhere in that lecture, Georgia had gone so numb she felt herself listening only to the woman’s overuse of italics. Oh dear. Perhaps this is what it felt like when the books said “her veins turned to ice”…

But Demon hadn’t released her hand.

“Madam, ye will apologize to Lady Georgia.” His tone was as icy as Georgia’s stomach. “I have acted as her escort for the journey from Scotland, as we were traveling on the same train. I have offered her a roof over her head for the evening so she can refresh herself before visiting with her father—and I will be escorting her to him tomorrow.” With each sentence, his voice had risen, until he fairly roared, “And kindly remember whose house this really is!”

In the sudden silence after his defense of Georgia, the parakeet fluffed its wings and hopped twice on the sofa’s back, cocked in readiness. His mother blinked. Then she bobbed her head a few times, mirroring her pet, hand fluttering about the silk drape she wore, each finger glittering with diamonds.

“Of-Of course, Your Gr—Demon. Of course!” She turned to Georgia and inclined her head deeply. “My deepest apologies, Lady Georgia, for jumping to conclusions.”

Accurate conclusions.

The older woman’s body language might make her seem contrite, but Georgia could see the glint in her gaze which said she didn’t believe her son’s blustering one bit.

Georgia accepted the apology with a stiff nod, and realized belatedly she was still holding Demon’s hand. She dropped it.

“Thank you, Lady Endymion,” she murmured, remembering the last line in the woman’s letter and wondering if she was expecting to be called Your Grace. “Your offer of hospitality is—”

“Well of course you can stay here, you silly girl,” the woman clucked, springing back to her place as the center of attention as she held out her hand toward the parakeet behind her. “Just not too close to Demon’s room, eh? Come along, Gladstone, there’s a good lad.”


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