Page 11 of The Not So Perfect Duke

His mother tried to make up for it, but she was gone by the time he was 8 years old.

Regardless, back to the dream.

He searched every room. Then he came to the duke’s bed chambers. His small hand wrapped around the lion’s head doorknob. With a twist, the door popped open, revealing complete darkness. Damon looked toward the window. A slight cool breeze ruffled the draperies. The room itself was cold, for he could see his breath. Tentatively stepping inside, Damon headed toward the window, tugging the draperies apart. Moonlight washed the area in a subdued but eerie illumination.

Damon’s eyes adjusted to the lighting enough to make out a shadow on the bed. The clouds parted, revealing more of the full moon as light crawled across the wood floor until the shadow was revealed.

It was his father in the exact position he had been found in.

On his knees. Naked. A belt around his neck.

His lifeless eyes stared into nothing, although they now had a milky film over them. His father’s skin had a light gray tinge. With a snapping crick, the head turned, and those horrid eyes locked on Damon. The mouth twitched, then the hinged jaw dropped open in a ghoulish silent scream. Out of the duke’s mouth poured loose earth—it pooled on the bed in front of him. Mounds and mounds of moldy-smelling earth. A fat worm slithered through the dirt. Then he heard MacClery’s voice, “The worms will get him soon enough.”

Damon bolted upward, his hand over his mouth as if to silence his bloodcurdling scream. Perspiration poured from his temples as chills curved about his spine.

Christ, what a nightmare.

Why even have it? His father was not even in the ground yet. When was the last time he had a nightmare? It had been many years, but if he recalled correctly, it was somewhat similar. Going room to room looking for someone. For what purpose?

Oh, one of those new innovative physiological doctors would certainly have material aplenty to dissect here.

Trembling, Damon took a fistful of the sheet and wiped his brow. A sudden knock on the door made him jump. What time was it anyway? His gaze swung to the timepiece on the fireplace mantel. It was close to five o’clock. In the afternoon, obviously.

“It is Kingsley, Your Grace.”

His butler had a standing order never to barge into a room without knocking as butlers were wont to do.

“Yes, what is it?”

“There is a Miss Althea Galway and a Doctor Buchanan to see you, Your Grace. I informed them that you were resting, but they claimed you asked them to stop by.”

Damon had been so weary when he returned from Cleveland Street that he neglected to inform Kingsley that they would be by later in the afternoon. Well, he wasn’t going to bellow at a closed door.

Damon stood, grabbing the bedpost as his legs shook. “Where is Baldwin?”

“I am here, Your Grace,” came the muffled voice through the door.

His valet. Now able to stand on his own two feet, Damon reached for the dressing gown at the foot of the bed and draped it over his nakedness.

“You may both come in,” he announced as he pulled the tie across his waist. “Where are they? Miss Galway and the doctor?”

“I put them in the drawing room, Your Grace,” Kingsley replied. “You have not eaten. Shall I bring a tray? Mrs. Stewart has breakfast foods ready as per your instructions.”

“Is there enough to offer the guests?”

“Yes, there is, Your Grace.”

“Then see it laid out in the dining room. When it is ready, come and fetch me, then escort my guests to the dining room. Then we are to be left alone.”

“I will see to it at once, Your Grace.” With a slight bow, Kingsley departed.

“Well, Your Grace. You do look a little ragged, I must say,” Baldwin said drolly.

Why he kept Baldwin around, he could not say. For the man spoke his mind. Although Baldwin occasionally tsked about Damon’s lifestyle, he never outwardly admonished him or showed disrespect. At least, not too much of it.

“No more than usual, you mean?” Damon replied drolly.

Baldwin moved to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. “Under the circumstances, it is understandable. My condolences and my sympathy, Your Grace. For the dukedom, and all that responsibility is now yours. Perhaps sooner than you thought or hoped.”