Page 84 of The Not So Perfect Duke

“Then take me to your bed and love me.”

Damon lifted her into his arms and headed toward the stairs.

“Wait, my case,” she cried. Damon set her down, grabbed her case, handed it to her, then swept her into his arms again.

Once inside his room, he lowered her and leaned in to kiss her.

Althea laid her hand against his chest. “Let me change into something I brought. Do you mind?” She sat the case on the chair, then unbuttoned his waistcoat. “You looked rather magnificent tonight. The gold waistcoat, the light fawn trousers.” She loosened his cravat. “There. Now, sit on the chaise. Do not undress further. Not yet. I will return in a moment.”

Althea snatched up her case and ducked into his bathing room, quickly changing into her silk turquoise blue gown. It had matching stockings and garters, which she had worn under her copper and brown-flowered dress. The night dress flowed magnificently, and as a finishing touch, Althea pulled the short sleeves off her shoulders. She left the first few hooks in the back undone, for she could not reach them.

With a quick exhale of excitement, she opened the door and entered the room. Damon sat on the chaise longue, his legs spread, his erection more pronounced with the tight trousers. She was in his arms in an instant.

“God. You are beautiful,” he murmured as he grasped the back of her gown. “I love this color on you. Perfection.”

Althea laid her hand on his shoulder and gazed into his half-lidded eyes. “I want you, Damon. I love you. Nothing and no one else matters at this moment, only us.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I love you, as I thought I would never be capable of feeling. You haunt my soul.”

Then, Damon took her to paradise.

Chapter 25

Althea sat upright in bed. “Oliver Wollstonecraft!”

Damon opened one eye and glanced at the mantel clock. It was closing in on midnight. “I do not appreciate calling out another man’s name while in my bed,” he grumbled. “Especially since we’ve made love twice.”

“It was three times. I especially loved being on top, like in the carriage.”

“I stand corrected. And I like that position as well. So, indulge me. Why call out the name?” Damon yawned and sat upright. The sheet slipped down, barely covering his naked and aroused state. “So, Wollstonecraft?”

“I think he is The Sentinel.”

Damon sputtered, then laughed. “Why would you think that?”

“This Sentinel followed us to the restaurant. I am certain of it. I do not believe he came upon us by chance. This vigilante was aware we may be in danger. And who knew of this outside of our immediate circle? Think back. Oliver Wollstonecraft was in the room when we discussed Browning and how he may break into one of our homes to look for a safe.” Althea nodded, crossing her arms across her sheet-covered breasts. She looked entirely pleased with herself.

“A particularly adroit deduction. However, if you recall, we also spoke of Silas Browning attacking Mrs. Seddon and the fact that he was a danger in Doctor Buchanan’s presence.”

“Oh, well done,” Althea enthused. “But Corbett acting as a vigilante? I cannot fathom it.”

“On the other hand, why would an heir apparent to an earl swan about the slums rescuing random people? It makes no sense.”

“Most vigilantes of the past patrolled an area that policemen would not dare to enter. St. Giles was demolished during a clearance in the ‘70s to make way for better roads and transportation, and the poor ventured further south into the Seven Dials. Also located in the West End is Notting Dale, another slum home to poisonous jobs such as pig farming and brick kilns. And Cut-throat Lane is there; the name says it all.”

Althea exhaled and continued, “Then there is the East End and its many slums. Why did vigilantes patrol these areas—a sense of justice and fairness? My father said, in general, the coppers left the vigilantes alone as they served a purpose. For the most part. Perhaps Wollstonecraft wishes to carry on his family’s good works in his own particular way.”

“My God, you are magnificent,” Damon murmured, impressed. “You may have the right of it.”

“We should do our part to protect Wollstonecraft—if he is The Sentinel—and keep his identification private.”

“I agree.” Damon grabbed the sheet and flung it from the bed, causing Althea to squeal playfully. “But I have something else in mind.”

“It is near midnight. I must head home.”

“One more time, my Thea. And it is one of my favorite positions.”

Damon encircled her waist and brought her up on her knees. He knelt behind her.