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He was staring into the distance.

Following his gaze, she sucked in a breath when she saw the small party trotting through the distant hedges, heading for Castle Endymion.

“Who are they?” she whispered. “Are they coming here?”

Instead of answering her question, Demon muttered, “Spunkmuffin. Wankbiscuits!”

Come to think of it, that might’ve been an answer after all.

“Demon?” Georgia prompted, “those two curses mean essentially the same thing. Should I be concerned?”

“No’ if ye dinnae mind being talked at non-stop. They brought the cockwobbler? And the children?” He winced and dropped his head back, staring at the sky. “Christ, is that Bull driving?”

With no idea who or what he was talking about, Georgia turned her attention to the carriage and two horses picking their way along the frozen road. The driver was a young man, barely more than a lad, but she couldn’t see who was inside. Two men were riding on either side of the vehicle, one laughing with the lad.

“Who are they?” she whispered again. Danger? Enemies?

Demon snorted. “My best friends. Fook.”

In amazement, Georgia turned her attention back to the man who still held her, although his arm had shifted to her waist. She placed her hand on his chest and felt his heart thumping steadily beneath her palm.

Best friends?

In the time she’d known him, she’d never heard Demon mention any friends, much less a group who lived close enough they might visit on a dreary day so close to Christmas.

She felt him tense and glanced back to realize the party had arrived. And Demon was scowling at them.

“Merry Christmas, Demon!” called the smiling blonde man. “We come bearing gifts!”

He really was handsome, wasn’t he?

“Aye, and since we ken ye fairly well, we made certain at least one is a bottle of whisky.” The other man—dark hair, and sporting a beard—swung carefully down from the saddle, gingerly putting weight on one leg as if uncertain it would hold him.

Demon hadn’t moved. “Well, at least ye cantankerous barnacles have good manners. Tell me that’s no’ Sophia and the bairns in there?”

Why was he not welcoming his friends?

The lad—he had to be around sixteen, dressed flamboyantly—jumped down from the driver’s seat. “Of course we brought them. It’d be a terrible Christmas visit without people who actually make ye smile, would it no’?”

The lad was approaching them and Demon actually stepped backward, pulling her along with him. “Ye stay over there, ye little shite. I like my pocket watch where it is.”

Grinning, the lad held up his gloved hands. “Point taken. And I cannae filch anything in these heavy leather things, but are they no’ gorgeous?” He hummed admirably at the gloves. “I had them posted from London.”

“He’s keen on spending my money,” the bearded man grumbled as he limped to the carriage door and opened it. “We’re here. Come say hello to yer Uncle Demon, but dinnae actually touch him.”

Uncle Demon? Georgia glanced in shock at the man whose hold had turned steely and whose expression matched.

“We know, we know,” quipped the little girl who held out her hands for the man to help her down. “I’ll curtsey politely and inquire after his health.”

“Not his health!” groaned the boy—he looked the same age—who all but fell out of the carriage after her. “He doesn’t want to talk about his scars any more than Uncle Rourke does!”

The girl—she had to be his sister?—wheeled on him and planted her hands on her hips. “I know that, but he saved our life, so—”

“No he didn’t, that was Uncle Rourke! And you don’t know how to curtsey anyhow!”

As Demon began to growl, the lass stomped her feet. “Sophia’s been teaching me!”

Georgia’s fingers curled around the lapel of Demon’s coat, feeling as if he were ready to explode. “Demon?” she whispered, so confused at these people’s presence.