Page 78 of The Not So Perfect Duke

Damon cocked an eyebrow. “You were out with a man?”

“Yes,” she laughed gently. “I am twenty-six. I haven’t been wrapped in wool and stored away these past years. I have gone on social occasions with men.”

That declaration sent every predatory and envious nerve ending in his body on high alert. It made no sense, except it was a typical response for men in general. Arrogant men like him. How Althea tolerated him, he could not say.

“You must tell me about those occasions, each and every one,” Damon purred.

“Oh? And you will tell me about all your social occasions?” Althea laughed.

“This is it.”

She ceased laughing. “I’m the first woman you are taking out to dine?”

“You are. Remember your report on me during Christian’s case? I took in a musical and dined—alone. I do not attend balls, grand dinners, parties, except for those debauched country revels that led to even more depraved activities.”

Althea looked astonished, then she shook her head. “I am curious why anyone would even attend such an event. You are speaking of orgies?”

Damon stared out the window at the passing scenery, observing that the sun was low in the sky. Dusk would soon be upon them. “I cannot explain why I acted in such a way—”

“Damon, look at me.”

He turned slightly and met her frank gaze.

“I was asking the question in general, not requesting that you root around into your past. Perhaps someday, we will discuss your historical doings. But I see it pains you, and I do not want to cause you any pain. Are you still interested in such supplementary happenings?”

“No. Not at all,” Damon replied honestly. “Historical doings and supplementary happenings, very amusing.”

“Then let us leave your disreputable reputation in the ash heap of the past—where it belongs. I am only interested in the man who sits before me here, in the present. The man I have come to know better. The man I am falling in love with.”

If she had pulled out her revolver and shot him between the eyes, Damon could not be more shocked. He banged on the roof.

The small window slid open. “Yes, Your Grace?” Dawson asked.

“Pull over by the side of the street.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

It took a few moments, but the carriage inevitably parked. Their gazes were still locked.

“You are falling in love with me? You’re certain?” Damon asked, still incredulous. He knew she found him attractive, but this? His heart soared. “What happened to you needing time to think, jumbled feelings, and all that?”

“Well, it is all I have thought about these past several days. This health crisis brought much into focus—once the initial shock passed. I have no idea what the future will bring. Do any of us, really?”

“Kiss me,” he murmured.

Althea launched herself into his open arms. She rubbed her nose against his, and a rumble of laughter left his throat. Never had he felt such complete and utter joy. Then, Althea cupped his cheeks and leaned in, giving his lips a gentle brush, a feather-type kiss. It was enough to arouse him to the point of pain. Damon moaned and allowed Althea to set the pace. She hungrily nibbled on his lower lip, then dove in, tangling her tongue with his, all but devouring him.

“Oh, you taste so delicious,” she whispered between kisses. “I will never get enough.”

“I hope you never do,” he replied.

“Oh, we mustn’t muss ourselves,” Althea said as she reluctantly moved off his lap.

“I am tempted to tell Dawson to take us home, hang dinner,” he growled seductively.

Althea took her seat on the opposite bench. “It is tempting, but I want to have dinner with you. Eat red meat and drink bold red wine.”

“Damon banged on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward. “Dinner it is. And conversation. What is in that case, by the by?”