To Protect An Heiress (Zebra Historical Romance) by Adrienne Basso

realizing his tormentor wasn’t going anywhere. It took far to much effort to yell again, so Trevor sat up and waited. He was trying unsuccessfully to hold his aching head together when his valet, Everett, entered the darkened room.
    “I do beg your pardon for disturbing you, my lord,” the servant said as he approached the massive bed, “but it could not be avoided. The duke is here.”
    “The duke? What duke?” Trevor attempted to lift his head, and the thumping in his brain increased.
    “The Duke of Warwick,” the valet hissed, adding for good measure, “your father.”
    The mention of his father’s title jarred a vague memory of last night’s ball, a moonlit kiss, a scandalous scene, and a fascinating carriage ride, all the components that accounted for the perfect excuse to get falling-down drunk the moment Lady Meredith had been safely deposited at her home. An idiotic, yet perfectly understandable way to end the evening.
    The stabbing pains behind Trevor’s eyes increased tenfold as his energetic servant began bustling about the bedchamber, retrieving the haphazardly strewn articles of clothing that littered the carpet. The marquess heard a distinct tsk of disapproval the moment before his valet pulled back the heavy tapestry curtains and flooded the room with light.
    Trevor slumped back in his bed, using one hand to shield his eyes from the sudden sunshine. “My head is pounding far too much to be amused by your little jokes, Everett. The Duke of Warwick would sooner eat nails than step foot inside my humble rooms. Now, close those draperies at once. Then go fetch me some coffee. A large pot, if you please.”
    “I would never joke about such a serious matter, my lord,” Everett insisted with his usual display of haughty dignity. He poured hot water into a bowl and began to methodically sharpen the marquess’s razor. “I informed the duke you would attend him the moment you completed dressing.”
    Trevor barely managed to resist barring his teeth in an angry snarl as the servant hovered expectantly beside the bed, ready to render assistance.
    “My father is truly here?”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    “I am not receiving visitors this morning,” Trevor declared. “Tell the duke to call back another time. Preferably next week.”
    Trevor rolled lazily onto his side and buried his aching head into his pillow. He could almost hear his valet working himself into a snit. In Everett’s rather stuffy, proper mind, one did not eject a duke from the premises.
    “I could not possibly tell his grace you refused to see him.” The valet sputtered with astonishment. “It would not be polite. Or proper.”
    “’Tis most improper to call on people without warning at such an ungodly hour of the morning,” Trevor groused.
    “It is three o’clock in the afternoon, my lord.”
    “Oh.” Trevor muttered under his breath, then sat up gingerly. He cradled his head in his hands, hoping the throbbing at his temples would not increase to unbearable levels now that he was upright. “The hour of the day is immaterial. I have never had uninvited afternoon guests to my rooms.”
    “I imagine, just this once, you could make an exception for a family member,” the valet replied blandly.
    And a person of such noble rank . The valet did not speak the words aloud, but Trevor knew they were very much a part of the servant’s reasoning.
    It was a delicate decision, considering the state of his head and the exhaustion of his body. Yet Trevor realized his father would have to be faced eventually. Perhaps it would be best to get it over with now.
    “Allow me a few minutes of privacy to attend to personal matters,” Trevor said, motioning toward the chamber pot. “Then you may escort the duke in here.”
    “Here?”
    “Yes.”
    The valet’s jaw dropped. “There is no proper sitting area in your bedchamber. What will you have his grace do? Pull up a chair next to the bed as if you were an invalid?”
    “Why not?”
    “