Page 6 of The Not So Perfect Duke

Damon threw open the door and met MacClery’s shocked gaze. He could fire the man on the spot, as he had planned to dismiss his father’s entire staff when the time came. But how interesting to discover MacClery was not entirely his father’s loyal retainer. Were any of them? Perhaps it would be best to keep most of the staff in place. For the time being.

“MacClery, await me downstairs in the library,” Damon demanded coldly.

The policeman discreetly moved away.

“If I’m for the chop, tell me now. Your Grace.”

“Library, MacClery.”

The butler straightened; and, with all the dignity he could apparently muster, made his way to the library. Damon turned his attention to Evercreech.

“Do you need me for anything else?” he asked the detective.

Evercreech shook his head. “No, Your Grace. We will be moving the body directly, and I will await word from you regarding the examination and autopsy.” The detective touched his forelock, then returned to the young woman, who was sniffling quietly now.

Damon entered the upper hallway, took a shaky breath, then exhaled. What to do first? He would have to contact his mother. She was free of the duke at last. He had no doubt she would marry De León as soon as possible. Who could blame her? Not Damon.

He entered the library, and MacClery stood by the desk, back straight as if preparing for what was to come.

“Sit, MacClery.” Damon waved his hand toward the chair. “I am not firing you for speaking the truth. Do you wish to stay on here? It will not be as a butler. I have my own whom I trust implicitly. But underbutler will suit for now. But only if you continue to be truthful in all matters. Your salary will stay somewhat the same.”

“Most generous, Your Grace. Aye, I mean, yes, I wish to stay on.”

“There must be several here I can cut, staff-wise. I may not keep the marquess town house, and it isn’t entailed, so I may be selling it forthwith. I want the senior and loyal members of Clarendon Place integrated here or at Chellenham Park.”

“I understand, Your Grace. There is not as many staff here as you may believe, and there has been a high turnover, and some recent vacant positions were not filled.”

“Good to know. I want to meet with my father’s steward right away. I want an up-to-date accounting of the finances, holdings, and savings. Arrange it.”

MacClery nodded. “As soon as possible, Your Grace.”

“I will be hiring an investigative agency. If you wish to keep your position, you must promise to cooperate with them in any inquiries they may have, whether personal or sordid. Do you agree?”

“I do, Your Grace.”

Damon stared long and hard at the Scotsman. Time will tell if he was sincere. “Any conversations we have, either here and now and in the future, are to stay between us. No sharing below stairs, especially. You are to be my man. Assist me in all things, understand? There must be trust between us, and it needs to be earned on both sides.”

“I understand completely and agree, Your Grace.” MacClery hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but will you continue with the debaucheries under this roof specifically?”

Damon raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the former duke had an orgy here two months past, for example.”

“Indeed?” Damon rubbed his temple. A sharp pain tore through his head, as it often did when agitated and overwhelmed. He was inheriting quite a corrupt dukedom. “If I pursue any debaucheries, as you call them, I give you my word it will not be under this roof.”

Damon never brought women to his home or held depraved parties. All his sexual pursuits were done elsewhere, the East End, specifically.

The man’s rugged features visibly relaxed. Damon would have to obtain an accounting of all who attended this orgy. But he would leave that for Althea and her investigative agency.

“See to it that the woman upstairs is paid to ensure her silence and see her off the premises. She is never to come here again; make that clear. Come and notify me when the body and the police have departed. Do you have a footman you trust?”

“There is one, Your Grace, possibly two.”

“Send one of them to me right away.”

MacClery stood. “Would you care for a drink, Your Grace? You’ve had a shock.”

The last thing Damon needed was alcohol to cloud his brain. “No, bring a tray with tea, sandwiches, and the like.”