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Demon was scowling as he forced his hand away from the ache in his chest and rocked forward on his heels. “Mrs. Kettel, everyone kens witches love Christmas.”

Her eyes widened. “Witches?”

“And zombies. And bogeymen. Very attracted to cinnamon sugar.” What else? “And vampires adore Christmas hymns. Carols. Cheer.”

“I had nae idea,” the housekeeper whispered, hands clasped in front of her mouth. “So nae Christmas?”

“Nae Christmas, Mrs. Kettel.”

On that final word he nodded firmly, turned on his heel, and stepped over the stubborn cat. He needed a drink, a ride, or a fook.

* * *

Georgia’s stomach was all twisted with anticipation. Part of it was the breathless excitement that came every morning since she’d arrived at Endymion, nervous expectation knowing his touch was imminent.

But the rest was because she had The Plan, and she wasn’t certain how he’d take it.

Tonight, after dinner, he’d held the door to the library open for her then stalked through himself and threw himself on the worn settee beside the hearth. Someone—likely the invisible Bruno—had ensured the fire was roaring merrily and swept the ashes away from the ostentatious bear-skin rug spread before it.

“I need another book,” barked Demon. “I liked the last one ye chose.”

“High praise indeed,” she murmured. Instead of obeying, she sashayed toward him, pleased by the way he watched her from under half-lowered lids. “Before you decide, however…”

When she sat on the settee, he moved his legs so she wouldn’t have to perch on the very edge. Well, it was either that or allow her to sit atop him, which she wouldn’t have minded at all.

“Georgia.”

She couldn’t tell if it was reprimand for sitting so close to him, or exasperation, but the way he growled her name always sent a spike of-of something through her. It started in her chest and shot to her belly, then settled lower, between her thighs.

Yes.

Shifting on the settee, Georgia studied him. Tonight he was dressed no fancier than usual. He wore trousers, a waistcoat and jacket, no tie. His long hair was spread across the arm of the settee behind him, but...

“You are wearing shoes,” she noted in surprise.

From his supine position, Demon shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “My feet got cold.”

“Are they normally warm? Is that why you prefer to be barefoot?”

“Nay.” His gaze was wary, as if knowing his feet weren’t really her purpose for seating herself beside him on the settee. “I just dinnae like the pinching. I dinnae like to feel…caged.”

And yet he preferred seclusion at Endymion. Well, it is his own choosing. Perhaps that’s the difference.

Would he feel trapped by a Christmas celebration? Mrs. Kettel had sadly told Georgia that the master wouldn’t agree to it. No matter what Demon said, Georgia fully intended to decorate her own room for the coming holiday, but she hoped to gain his cooperation in allowing the staff to celebrate as well.

Well, no time like the present. She took a deep breath. “Demon, may I ask you a question?”

He grunted his agreement, his brows still lowered. He already looked angry.

Georgia lost her nerve. “What is your name?” she blurted, then hid her wince. Well, best try to look as if she’d intended that all along. “Your real name, I mean.”

“Demon.”

Her lips twitched, even as she was aware of the heat of his legs so near her bottom. “No, the name your mother calls you. Your given name.”

He shifted, crossing one ankle over the other. “My given name is Gabriel, but ye misunderstand. My mother was the first one to call me Demon.”

Shocked, Georgia tried not to let her reaction show. His mother had named him after the greatest of all archangels, and then nicknamed him Demon?