Page 27 of The Not So Perfect Duke

Althea chewed on the corner of her mouth. “I suppose we were speaking in such a way. We argued at the reception, as usual. Then we came here to speak about the case with Eleanora and Christian. They departed, and as Chellenham waited for his carriage, we—kissed.”

“And a kiss is how it starts. You have been attracted to the new duke from the first,” Sybil nodded.

“I don’t deny it. Although, there is something about Chellenham beyond his looks,” Althea pondered.

Sybil chuckled. “That is what Eleanora said about Christian. This all sounds so familiar. Well, I must prepare. I’m seeing potential clients this morning. And Eleanora mentioned expanding, turning the parlor and study into permanent offices. I believe we should. And we should install that telephone contraption we have been discussing. Our finances are robust, and we can afford some alterations. We can even cut down on the size of the dining room.”

“Yes, we could. Or we can see about setting up an office nearby, and we will discuss it soon. How is Edwina Callen working out?”

“She is extremely efficient. I like her. Today, she is assisting Eleanora with the fraud case but will be available after tomorrow for anything you wish.”

“And Archie?”

They had taken on a street lad that used to sell them information. Now fifteen, he worked part-time for the agency. Archie was turning into a capable investigator.

“He is collecting information on a divorce case for me,” Sybil replied.

The doorbell rang.

“Goodness, my appointments already?” Sybil stated, standing.

But Mrs. Bartle entered the room and said, “The Duke of Chellenham wishes an audience, Miss Althea.”

Sybil snickered at their housekeeper-cook’s faux superior tone. Mrs. Bartle replied with a sly smile.

“By all means, show him in,” Sybil replied. “And I will take my leave. Have fun, Cousin.”

Sybil was exiting as Damon strode into the room. He stopped to give her a slight bow, then looked at Althea as he removed his gloves and hat. Mrs. Bartle took them, along with his long coat, then left them alone.

He stood, staring, and Althea’s nerve endings pinged with awareness. He was not wearing mourning black but a day suit the shade of dark caramel, with a brown vest and cravat. In a word, he looked glorious and enticing, like a slice of butterscotch cake. As usual, Damon left her breathless.

In attempting to stand, she stumbled. But this time, Damon was not near enough to catch her. Embarrassingly, Althea wound up sprawled on the carpet.

He was kneeling at her side in an instant. “God, Althea. Are you hurt?”

All that was injured was her pride. “It’s nothing,” she said as she tried to get up.

But Damon halted her. Grasping her leg, his hands moved under her skirt. Deftly, he unbuttoned her short boot and removed it. He gently shifted her stocking-clad foot from one side to the next. His touch scorched, sending heat upward to settle between her legs.

“No discomfort?” he asked, his voice quiet yet husky. “I am checking for a possible sprain.”

“No. No pain at all.”

His fingertips moved halfway up her lower leg. “I feel a bump, and does it hurt when I touch it?”

Althea flushed with embarrassment. Nothing like having your flaws pointed out. “It has been there for a while, and no, it doesn’t hurt.”

“You should have that seen to by Buchanan.”

Althea raised an eyebrow. “Are you a physician now, Your Grace?”

Damon slipped one arm under her legs, then the other at her back, and stood, cradling her in his arms. If Althea had been flustered before, now her skin ignited, sending heat through her. He strolled over to the sofa and gently placed her on it.

“I am too heavy. You shouldn’t be doing that,” Althea admonished. “You could do serious injury.”

“Not at all. Light as a feather. It would be best if you stayed off that leg. Allow me to send for Buchanan.”

“No.”