The man was as predictable as the clock striking the hour. Ashley rubbed at his eyes. Sleep was often elusive for him, and he felt remorseful for keeping his servants up so late to take care of his needs. But, try as he might, the ones who had been with him the longest seemed to take great pride in being available despite his odd schedule. Just as he’d expected, there was a scratch at the door. “Enter,” he called absently. His valet of twelve years entered the room and nodded politely. “I trust you had a good evening, Your Grace.” He’d had worse. “I suppose,” Ashley said as he rose and moved toward the wardrobe. “Allow me, Your Grace,” Andrew said as he stepped in Ashley’s path and reached for his night robe. “Go to bed, Simmons,” Ashley growled as he stumbled over a footstool. Simmons stuck one foot out and slid the stool out of the duke’s path with a hard shove.
