Page 7 of The Not So Perfect Duke

“At once, Your Grace.”

MacClery departed, leaving him alone. Damon could hear movement upstairs. People stomped about in the front hall, no doubt the wagon to take away the body.

His father was dead.

Again, Damon waited to see if he felt anything. Regarding his father directly—still nothing. Nothing but annoyance at being left with this mess of a dukedom. The finances were probably a muddle as well.

However, strange emotions gripped him at the prospect of seeing the lovely Althea Galway once again. He had not seen her in a few months, not since late spring when she assisted Gideon Broyles, the Duke of Watford, with a personal matter.

Anticipation. Excitement.

And a hard—literally hard—jolt of desire.

No other woman had affected him in such an unadulterated way before. Would he still feel the same? Still yearning to hold her in his arms? Whisper in her ear, nuzzle the soft skin of her neck, hold her close in a protective embrace?

Or was his heart completely dead and blackened?

Seems he would soon find out.

Chapter 2

Althea Galway sat in the office study at 149 Cleveland Street, writing a report on a case that had just concluded. Early morning sunshine poured into the room, giving it a definite summer warmth.

The inquiry concerned divorce. The marriage laws had changed, allowing women to sue for divorce (with particular stipulations), and the bulk of their investigations focused on this matter. Althea had worked on this case exclusively with Archie.

Archie Fitzgerald, their young apprentice, had sprung up four inches in height over the past several months, making him ideal for more undercover work. The lad would be away attending Charterhouse school in the autumn.

Eleanora, Althea’s older sister and co-founder of the Galway Investigative Agency, breezed into the room carrying a tea tray. “My, you’re up early,” Eleanora stated. “Time to take a break. And the mail has arrived. Along with a special-delivered note specifically addressed to you. Can you believe we have more clients than we could possibly take on? What a powerful position to be in. Shall we winnow out cases, say three times a week? We can take turns.”

Eleanora was unbearably cheery, but this had been her permanent state since marrying Christian Bamford, the Duke of Allenby. Christian was her partner in all things, including the investigative agency.

Althea didn’t mind as she adored Christian. She could not ask for a better brother-in-law. Who ever thought a duke would revel in investigative work? In fact, Christian had assisted Althea with the Duke of Watford’s case.

“And you’re here early as well,” Althea observed. “I thought you and Christian were late sleepers?” She gave her sister a teasing smile, knowing that the couple was not using their morning time alone to sleep.

Eleanora chuckled. “Amusing. We had other appointments today, so no leisurely ‘sleeping’ this morning.”

“With regards to winnowing cases, Sybil has expressed an interest in staying firmly behind the scenes,” Althea said as she sorted through the mail. “She will run our little office and select clients. We trust her judgment. Besides, her courtship with our doctor friend is slowly but surely intensifying.”

Their cousin, Sybil Nolan, assisted with their investigative venture when not spending time with her parents in Yorkshire. However, she has been in London more often lately. Part of that reason was Doctor Corbett Buchanan, a Canadian whom Eleanora and Althea called on when medical matters needed addressing in any particular case.

Corbett had been a drinker and suffered from various mental issues from his turbulent time serving in The North-West Mounted Police as a surgeon on the Canadian Prairies. Accordingly, Sybil was not rushing into anything with the good doctor. He had been sober for almost a year and had taken on a position as a police surgeon at their Uncle Reece’s police precinct in Bethnal Green.

“Then, by all means, Sybil can handle it. I was wondering if we should enlarge the office area, and you can turn my old bedroom into a sitting room,” Eleanora suggested.

“Yes, we will discuss it with Sybil.”

Althea had plans of her own concerning the agency, but that was a conversation for another time.

Eleanora sat and passed the sealed envelope to her. “Open it, Sister. My curiosity is piqued.”

Taking the letter opener, Althea carefully slid it under the wax seal, then unfolded the note. She read aloud:

My Dear Miss Althea Galway,

I require your services for two matters of personal import concerning life and death, and I will pay any fee you care to name. Please send word when you are available today, and I will come to Cleveland Street at your earliest convenience. I prefer to speak to you alone, if at all possible.

“The note is signed, Damon Cranston, Duke of Chellenham. My God, his father must have passed, but when?” Althea pondered.