The Butler Did It by Kasey Michaels Page B

drinking from it, deeply, by the time he reached the servant stairs.
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    M ORGAN EYED the large tester bed longingly. But he was still more hungry than he was tired, so he contented himself with watching Riley build up the fire in the grate as he propped himself against the side of a wingback chair and sipped from the wineglass the footman had produced along with two bottles of his lordship’s finest wine.
    It was good, being in the mansion again. It was even better that he’d dismissed Wycliff for the evening and could look forward to being blessedly alone.
    â€œAnd there you go, m’lord,” Riley said as he stood up, wiping one hand against the other. “Surely that should keep you warm and toasty all the night long.”
    Then he held out one rather grubby hand, palm up.
    Morgan’s left eyebrow climbed his forehead as he looked at the outstretched hand. “Yes?” he asked, transferring his cool stare to the footman’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t read palms, Riley. But if you were to go to Bartholomew Fair, I’m convinced you’ll find any number of gypsies ready and willing to tell you that you’ll be rich as Croesus, any day now. What I can tell you, my good man, is that I will not be the one who bestows such wealth upon you.”
    Riley snatched back his hand, putting both arms behind his back. “I’m that sorry, m’lord. It’s only being that, that is, it just sort of…happened.”
    â€œYes, I’m sure. Just as I’m convinced it won’t…just sort of happen again. Not to me, and most certainly notto any of my guests when they call here. If your service is exemplary, and the guest so chooses, he or she may decide to reward you, but that will be their decision, not yours. You may go now.”
    Riley bowed and scraped and backed his way toward the door to the marquis’s dressing room, which had no other exit. It did have Wycliff, who was busily unpacking his lordship’s things, but even Morgan couldn’t wish Wycliff on Riley at the moment.
    â€œThat way, Riley,” Morgan corrected him, pointing toward the door to the hallway.
    â€œYes, m’lord, of course, m’lord. Sleep well, m’lord, and, well, um, welcome to London?”
    â€œThank you,” Morgan said, watching the footman fumble with the latch, and finally throw open the door…only to just as quickly slam it shut once more.
    â€œForgot something, have you?” Morgan asked, intrigued both by Riley’s action and the fact that the footman’s ruddy Irish complexion had done a remarkably swift shift to a rather sickly white.
    â€œNo, m’lord,” Riley said, opening the door once more, but a crack, and peeking out into the hallway. “It’s only your food coming, m’lord. I’ll…I’ll just go fetch it.”
    â€œNo, have Thornley come in, if you please. I want to apologize again for descending on him without notice.”
    Riley shot him a look that had Morgan shaking his head. Were those tears in the boy’s eyes? “Oh, never mind,” he said, putting down his wineglass and headingfor the door. “I hadn’t thought Thornley could inspire such fear in his staff. I’ll do it myself.”
    As Riley looked on, his eyes so rounded they appeared capable of popping straight out of his head, Morgan threw open the door…to be presented with an empty hallway.
    He stepped out and looked to his left, to his right, and saw a door closing at the very end of the hallway.
    â€œMy old rooms?” he asked himself, confused. “Has Thornley gotten past it at last? I haven’t resided there since I was a child, too small for that large bed in here.” He called Riley into the hallway. “Do you know why he’s gone in there?”
    â€œNo, m’lord,” Riley said, looking down at his toes where, the blessed saints be praised, inspiration appeared to be