She placed her hand on his shoulder, blushing at the feel of his warm skin and hard muscle. She shook his shoulder gently.
He opened one eye groggily. “Eh? Oh, there you are. Come back to bed, you saucy minx.” He caught her by the wrist and attempted to draw her into bed.
She pulled back indignantly. “I’m not a saucy minx,” she said in an outraged whisper. “I’m Viola, here to retrieve my shawl, which you are lying upon. I don’t want anyone to see it here and draw unsavory conclusions.”
“Wassat you say?” He turned his head and squinted at her. “Too much light. Close those curtains. It’s too early. If you’re not here to warm my bed, then go close those window curtains.”
“I most certainly will not.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Wake up and give me my shawl.”
“Come and get it,” he drawled sleepily.
“Don’t think I won’t!”
Here he was sleeping while his sisters fretted downstairs.
Would she? Did she dare?
She took a deep breath and reached for the fringe, attempting to tug the silk free from his colossal weight. She shifted her hand lower, trying to get a better grip on the fabric. Too late, she realized that the movement had put her hand in very perilous proximity to certain unmentionable areas of his anatomy.
She tugged on the shawl.
He rolled over, half freeing the shawl, and sending her staggering backward with an ungraceful grunting noise.
She held out her hand. “Give me my shawl if you please.”
“Only if you agree to close the curtains first.”
She went straight to his bedchamber windows and began bustling about, opening them wider.
“Stop that, you she-devil! That’s way too much light. It’s too early for this.”
A shaft of sunlight pierced the dimness of the room. He winced, shading his eyes with his elbow. “It’s too early,” he grumbled. “I need more sleep.”
“You have to wake up now. You’re supposed to escort your sisters to the opera tonight.”
“Plenty of time before then,” he grumbled. “I can sleep half the day if I choose.”
“No, you can’t.” She opened another curtain.
“If you don’t stop letting light into this room I’ll—”
“Throw me over your shoulder like a roll of carpet. Yes, I’ve heard that before. But you won’t. Not this time.”
“Oh, won’t I?”
“You won’t. Because even you have the decency not to rise absolutely naked from a bed with a lady in the room.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he growled.
“I can go around and open the curtains and there’s nothing you can do about it.” She followed her cheeky words with misdeeds, circling the room, opening curtains. Her pert bum swaying as she bustled about his chambers.
“If you don’t stop that,” he roared, “I’ll have to commission a tombstone for you. ‘Here lies Miss Viola Beaton, who opened a duke’s curtains against his will.’”
“Give me my shawl.” She held out her hand.
“Hand me a dressing gown.”
She threw him a dressing gown. “You have a full schedule today, Your Grace. First you must speak with your sisters and then accompany them to the opera.”