Page 22 of The Not So Perfect Duke

But it was over before she could blink, and a regretful moan escaped the corner of her mouth as Damon backed up a step.

No!

Althea nearly reached out to grab the lapels of his coat to pull him back.

“I will await your report.” His voice shook a little, showing he was affected by their kiss as much as she had been. Damon glanced out the window. “My ride is here. I will send the footmen later to collect the dishes and hamper. Keep the food. Good afternoon.”

Althea closed the study door behind him and let out a shuddering breath.

Never had she felt so alive.

Chapter 7

Damon sat in his father’s study at an elongated, rectangular table, half listening to the droning voice of his father’s solicitor, Mr. Nigel Hendricks. He had heard words like ‘bequeath to my only son and heir,’ and Damon nearly snorted at that.

Only legitimate son, more like. Legitimate in the eyes of the law and society.

The reason he was only half listening?

Althea.

He recalled that spectacular kiss over and over. How he ached for more. Damon wanted them rolling about the floor, limbs tangled, with him thrusting and Althea moaning with delight. By God, she was eager. Althea was passion incarnate in his arms. But he ended it, more fool him. Why? He had no idea.

“Your Grace? The will?” Mr. Hendricks questioned.

Unfortunately, Damon was pulled into the present. “Continue on. I am all attention.”

The will was straightforward, as the late duke left everything to Damon. No mention of the duchess, his long-suffering wife, the duke’s older sister and her family, or any faithful retainers. Not that any of the servants were long-term or all that faithful. Who could blame them?

“My mother was left with nothing?” Damon asked.

“Except what is standard in the primogeniture. Everything goes to the eldest son and heir. However, the widowed duchess is entitled to a small income from the dukedom, usually from the rents and such,” Mr. Hendricks replied.

His mother would probably receive a pittance, which meant her upkeep would fall to him as the new duke. Blasted inheritance rules needed to be changed.

“And what of her dowry? Surely my father made provisions for that?” Damon asked.

Mr. Hendricks held up an officious-looking paper. “There was no dowry, Your Grace. It is all here, signed by your grandfathers and the late duke.”

His mother was the granddaughter of a viscount, and Damon’s grandfather was not even close to being either the heir apparent or the presumptive. There were three brothers before him, and they all had multiple sons. The viscountcy was and is insignificant and, according to peerage standards, underprivileged. One of his uncles was the viscount now, but the man rarely ventured to London. Not even to attend Parliament. Damon had no contact with that side of the family for years, not since his mother’s exile in Spain.

In fact, he could not recall the names of some of his cousins. How strange he never came across any of them in London, but then, it was a populous city, and Damon rarely socialized with the upper crust. Although he wouldn’t know his now adult cousins if he fell over them.

“Give me a summary. What is the financial state of the dukedom?” Damon glanced from Mr. Hendricks to the steward, Mr. Lionel Luckett.

There was an awkward silence.

“Good? Moderate? Fair to middling? Poor? Dire straits? Come now, speak,” Damon barked, losing patience with this entire process.

“As you are aware, Your Grace,” his valet Baldwin stated, “Mr. Crowle and I had a meeting with Mr. Hendricks and Mr. Luckett. The financial state is middling, leaning toward poor. The good news is that there are no significant outstanding debts. Your father recently tried to borrow against this town house but was refused because it is entailed. Although, I surmise that the duke was refused more for his lack of funds and collateral.”

Benjamin Crowle was Damon’s solicitor. “And Mr. Crowle, are there any savings?” Damon asked. “This Queen Anne’s Gate town house is paid for, surely.”

“No savings of any consequence, Your Grace. There are thirty-five pounds in the account. And yes, the mortgage was paid by your grandfather decades ago. That couldn’t be right about the savings. Damon’s father had boasted that he had inherited tens of thousands of pounds. Damon never knew his grandfather; he had passed away before Damon was born.

“And the debts?”

“Mostly to the wine merchants, grocers, and other incidentals, Your Grace,” Mr. Hendricks interjected.