Page 17 of The Not So Perfect Duke

He had spat those words at her, clearly hoping to shock her. Knowing he indulged in such dissolute activities should have slammed the door shut permanently on any inkling of attraction. But it had only made him all the more mesmerizing.

“Why stuffy virgins would read such claptrap is beyond me. I believe on-hand experience is always best.”

He then gave Althea a wicked grin. He had been referring to a physiological book she quoted about the recent classification of sexual preferences. So, she retorted about him having a portrait in the attic, calling him out on his nickname in society.

His smile had evaporated.

“I am beyond weary of the Dorian Gray references. It’s not amusing. And it is insulting. I may be debauched, but I would never sink to the depths of that gothic fictional character.”

He had been angry then, his eyes like blue chips of ice. The interview continued, and the sparks flew about. Mixed in with the annoyance on both sides was a decided attraction.

Then as he rose to leave, she did as well, and the hem of her skirt caught on the toe of her boot, causing her to stumble. Strong arms held her upright and enfolded her in a masculine embrace. Damon’s strong arms.

Time had stood still.

“Are you all right?” Damon murmured to her, genuine concern in his tone.

“Do not think this is some parlor trick to have you rescue me from a faux fall. I don’t play games,” she whispered into the folds of his silky cravat.

Damon then nuzzled her neck. “I would not care if it was a game.”

He had smelled wonderful. Exactly like today. Freshly laundered linen and a hint of expensive cologne with a woodsy and bergamot aroma. Very appealing. Damon holding her close had been a revelation. As if her desire had been cut free from its moorings. Leaning against all that solid masculinity had her insides tumbling. They haven’t stopped tumbling since. Unconsciously, she laid a hand across her midsection.

“Sister, are you not feeling well?” Eleanora asked worriedly.

Althea was torn from her reminisces and brought into the present. She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Let us fetch a cup of tea, then we can be on our way.”

A large table was set up at the front with tall men wearing livery standing nearby. On that table were platters of sugar biscuits decorated with icing crosses and thin slices of dark fruit cake with a marzipan topping. Althea did not feel like eating for her innards were scrambled like Mrs. Bartle’s Sunday morning eggs.

All thanks to that man.

The new Duke of Chellenham.

Chapter 5

Asher held out his hand. “My condolences. Not only on your father’s death but the dukedom being thrust upon you.”

Damon took his friend’s hand. They had known each other since they were boys. And because of it, Asher partially understood the dynamics of Damon’s so-called relationship with the old duke.

“And thrust upon me it truly has. Thank you for coming. You did not return to London specifically for this? God forbid.”

“Afraid so. We haven’t seen you in months, and we wanted to be here for you,” Asher replied.

Damon’s gaze slid to Asher’s pretty wife. He took her hand and kissed it. “Lady Chastity. Thank you.”

The words were sincerely spoken, softening the lady’s expression further.

“Anything you need, Your Grace, do let us know.” Chastity moved away, but Asher lingered.

“Allow me to arrange a dinner party. You, me, Christian, and Gideon,” Asher murmured.

“Gideon has returned to Foxmont for a few weeks, but yes, a dinner or luncheon with the three of us.”

Asher nodded and joined his wife by the refreshments.

“Your Grace.”

Damon turned toward the deep voice. It was Oliver Wollstonecraft, a prospect and recent member of The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park.