Free The Butler Did It by Kasey Michaels Page A

in Morgan’s brain, their movement rudely pushing all his resolutions having to do with calm and coolness and self-control into a corner, and bringing a twinkle to his eye and a small smile to his lips. She would handle him, would she? Let her handle this!
    He buttoned his shirt—most of it anyway—and turned back to the doors, took a deep breath, and pushed them open hard enough to bang against the walls inside.
    Seven pairs of eyes, inside the heads that had immediately turned toward the door, gaped at this wild man, hair disheveled, barely clothed, who had burst into their midst.
    He gaped back. He had expected to see two women, not a small army.
    Nobody spoke until a small, thin lady who’d seen her share of summers said, “Well, now that’s more like it! A real man.”
    â€œMother Clifford!”
    All right, Morgan knew that near shriek, the one coming from the younger woman, the plump one, dressed all in bilious green, currently sprawled on one of his couches and being fanned with a folded newspaper by a slick-looking young sprig who seemed to think red heels were still all the crack.
    This lady was the screamer.
    â€œMy distinct pleasure, my lord,” a man dressed as a gentleman, right down to his dove-gray gloves, said, advancing on him, right arm outstretched. “Sir Edgar Marmington, my lord, at your service, and may I say, my lord, you have a splendid residence. Simply splendid.”
    Morgan shook the hand, not even thinking about what he was doing, because he’d finally seen the girl standing in front of the fireplace.
    A vision. An absolute vision.
    But, as he’d never given her a tumble, never even met the girl, these people couldn’t be here, three generations of them, to demand he make an honest woman of her.
    â€œGo away,” he said to the man, and stepped past him, moving deeper into the large room. He blinked. The vision in sprigged muslin was still there, as were the rest of his uninvited guests, unfortunately.
    The dark-haired young beauty looked at him evenly, even accusingly, and suddenly Morgan was very aware of his bare feet and ankles.
    Just as quickly, he was reminded that this was his house, and if he damned well wanted to trod through it barefoot, he damned well would.
    â€œMy lord,” Thornley said, hurrying up from somewhere—frankly, after clapping eyes on the beauty, Morgan hadn’t looked around any further. He had been sulking in the country for a long time. “I can explain, my lord.”
    â€œWe ain’t goin’ nowhere, you hear me!”
    Morgan attempted to look past Thornley’s right shoulder, but that man stepped to his left, blocking his view. Morgan shifted to his left, and Thornley shifted to his right.
    â€œStop that,” Morgan commanded, and the butler bowed and stepped all the way to his right, exposing a rather squat, wide woman of indeterminate years, but with her rough edges certainly showing, advancing toward him.
    â€œYou look here, m’lord,” the woman said, wagging one short, plump finger at him. “I paid down good money for these lodgings, and I’m not budging no matter what this thieving bastard says, you hear me?”
    Morgan turned to the thieving bas—er, Thornley. “You can explain this?”
    â€œSadly, yes, my lord,” Thornley said, bowing yet again. “May I suggest we retire to your rooms and I might do that as you prepare for the day?”
    â€œHe means get some clothes on, sweetie, but don’t bother on my account,” the wizened little lady called out cheerily.
    Morgan motioned for Thornley to move out into the hall. “Ladies, Sir Edgar,” he then said, bowing, “I will be back directly. Feel free to ring for refreshments while I sort this out. I fear there is some misunderstanding, because, for whatever reason, you all must be in quite the wrong residence.”
    â€œThe devil we are!” the coarse-looking woman