Page 2

Your representative is not welcome at Endymion, and I’ll not listen to any of his offers. Call him back.

Demon

Chapter 1

There was no doubt about it: Castle Endymion was cursed.

Lady Georgia Stoughton huffed her way up the accursed front steps and glared at the accursed portico protecting the accursedly imposing front door.

Curses.

Oh, the land was beautiful, even in late November; there was a peaceful air to the way the wind ruffled the dry grasses, and the few leaves left on the trees rustled merrily in the cold afternoon sunshine. Ivy climbed the front of the castle’s stone edifice, which didn’t seem old enough to be termed a “castle”.

But Endymion must be cursed, the way the townfolk had whispered. She hadn’t been able to convince anyone to drive her, even after thrusting coins in their general direction, so she’d left her trunks at the inn in Banchot and walked here, across the fallow fields and muddy lanes. And now she’d knocked on the imposing front door and said door had been opened…

Well, surely the only reason the creature who opened the door screeched “Witch!” was because of Georgia’s current preoccupation with curses.

The giant wart didn’t help.

“I beg your pardon?” Georgia struggled to maintain her composure.

The plump woman shook her head, causing the old-fashioned mop cap on her head to wobble. “What?”

“Which?” Georgia repeated.

It was almost comical, the way the woman gasped and clutched at her bosom, gaze darting across the front lawn. “A witch? Which witch?”

Georgia actually turned to follow the woman’s gaze before she realized what she was doing, and clucked dismissively. “Apologies, madam, perhaps we can begin again?”

The wart on the woman’s chin wobbled in time with her mop cap as she nodded. “Right-o!” Then she slammed the door.

Cursed.

Was this reception the reason the townsfolk had refused to drive her to the estate? She’d had no trouble with the train trip to Aberdeen, nor the journey to Banchot. But once settled into the inn, she’d been unable to find a single person willing to drive her out here, each muttering about curses and demons from hell.

And, despite the cheerful early winter breeze, she was beginning to see their point.

Eyes narrowed, she rapped smartly on the front door once more.

This time, when the be-warted creature pulled open the door, Georgia didn’t give her the opportunity to screech anything. Instead, when she opened her mouth, Georgia forestalled her.

“Good afternoon, madam.” She tried to wrap herself in the haughtiness her father had drilled into her from a young age. “I am Lady Georgia Stoughton. Here to see Baron Endymion. I am told he’s expecting me.”

The woman blinked. “Nay, ye’re no’.”

“I am…not?” Unconsciously, Georgia’s right fingers began plucking at the fine wool of her no-longer-cream-colored-thanks-to-the-journey-on-foot coat. “You are saying I am not me?”

“I’m saying ye’re no’ expected. I’m Mrs. Kettel, and I’m only answering the door because the boy is off sleeping somewhere. But I can promise ye, lass, the master is no’ planning on meeting with ye.”

Georgia’s mouth opened, then closed again with nothing said.

Father’s orders had been quite clear: The Baron must allow me to repay my debt. I have written to him many times, and told him to expect you. Do whatever you must to wipe that debt clear, for Danielle’s sake!

So… Endymion was expecting her. Father had said as much.

But this strange woman with the beaming smile and the gap between her teeth and the wart on her chin was just standing there with the door open, telling Georgia she wasn’t expected?

There was some mistake. And it wasn’t hers.