Free Malia Martin by The Duke's Return Page A

She clutched her things to her chest and nearly ran from him.
    Trevor sighed, deep and loudly, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged hall. He hated being a duke.
    He started up the main staircase that curved toward the upper floors. At the top he was presented with four different hallways. He turned in a slow circle, stopping only when a door off to his right opened and a large woman with a huge ring of keys at her waist came through the portal.
    “And who might you be, prancing about my house?” she asked in a deep, brassy voice.
    Trevor did not say anything for a moment. He did not dare announce his title again, just look at what had happened to the last maid.
    “Cat got your tongue, young man?” The woman advanced on him, and Trevor actually felt threatened.
    “I’m the Duke,” he said quickly.
    The woman stopped. “Well and it’s about time you were!”
    “Yes, well, I am rather tired from my journey. Could you perhaps show me to a room and order me a bath?”
    “Tsk!” She bustled over to him. “That Filbert didn’t announce you, did he?”
    “Actually, he did.” Trevor smiled, remembering, then became serious again. “’Tis the Duchess who left me without an escort. She became rather perturbed with me.”
    “Ah!” The woman turned around and started down the center hall. “Well, come on, then, and I’ll show you your room.”
    Trevor had to run to keep up with her.
    “The name is Elleanor—Ellie’s what everyone calls me,” she said, as she took a turn and strode down another hall. I’m the housekeeper. Anything you want, you just tell me. I keep this place shipshape, that I do.” She stopped finally before a door. “I’ll send up a boy with some hot water for your bath.”
    “Thank you, Ellie.”
    She waved her hand in the air. “‘Tain’t nothing, your grace. We’ll need you smellin’ fresh and clean to attract a wife, now, won’t we?”
    Trevor arched his brows as Ellie turned away and huffed back down the hall. Attract a wife? Both Ellie and Sara seemed rather excited about getting him married off. He was only eight and twenty. He had absolutely no plans to rush the marital situation into fruition. He had never really given much thought to getting married, actually. And he certainly was not going to startnow. The whole mess with Stuart and Rawlston was enough trouble for him at the moment.
    He entered his room, then stopped, paralyzed with the hugeness of it all. His chambers alone were nearly the size of the townhouse he’d just left in London. The entire house was like a city; the estate must be the size of a small country. He sank into a chaise near the window and leaned his elbows on his knees. Overwhelmed was definitely an understatement.
    The work involved in dealing with a place this size was not something he would ever be able to handle. He would have to find a steward or solicitor soon. And until then he would have to get along by himself. He dropped back against the cushions of the chaise with a loud sigh and stared at the ceiling.
    It was the most ornate ceiling he had ever seen. Plaster had been grooved into oval frames, and someone had painted some pretty risque scenes there. Trevor turned his head.
    He liked his ceiling. He had finally found a good thing about Rawlston Hall.
    The painting just above him depicted a scantily clad woman and her beau in a passionate embrace; the next scene over showed the same woman, but fewer clothes. Trevor wondered which duke had commissioned the amorous ceiling. A duke after Trevor’s heart, that was for sure.
    He chuckled, studying the paintings until someone knocked on his door. He sat up andrubbed his eyes with his thumbs. “Come in.”
    A line of servants entered, all carrying two buckets of steaming water. “For your bath, your grace,” the boy at the front of the line said, as they marched past him, across the room, and through a doorway. Trevor stood and followed, entering into a large washroom with a huge tub in the