Lois Greiman by The Princess Masquerade

“Sleep,” he said. “The real lessons begin tomorrow.”
    There was little she could do but comply. Turning on her heel, she gathered up her nightgown, and although she spared one longing glance toward the bathing chamber, she remained where she was, slipping the robe off her shoulders before yanking the nightgown over her head. Then, stepping out of the ring of fabric, she pattered back across the floor and climbed under the covers. The mattress was soft, the blankets plentiful. She yawned. Vindication would have to wait. Except for the razor she’d taken from the commode of course.
     
    A rude hand shook Megan awake. She moaned and tried to ignore it.
    “’Tis time to arise.”
    She sat up only to find herself blinking owlishly into the viscount’s glare.
    “Did you sleep well?”
    She made a face. “Not so good really. I got a ache—”
    “Very well. Thank you for asking.”
    She scowled.
    “It’s the proper response,” he said, rising smoothly. “You sleep like the dead.”
    “Innocent,” she grumbled irritably.
    “I didn’t accuse you of any crime. Not this morning at any rate.”
    “I sleep like the innocent ,” she explained, and stared groggily in his direction. He was dressed impeccably in tight pantaloons, silver waistcoat, and a midnight blue cutaway coat. His starched cravat was tied just so, but there was, she noticed, trying to push back the wild mass of hair that exploded from her head, a stubble of beard shadowing his perfect jaw.And she thought there might be a loose thread on one of his waistcoat buttons. “You been awake all night?”
    He ignored her question and eyed her carefully. “Have you seen my razor?”
    She yawned. “I can’t even see me own hands yet.”
    “I could have sworn I set it on the commode.”
    “What’s a commode?”
    He scowled, but turned away. “Deirdre brought breakfast. Are you hungry?”
    She scooted up in bed, the pleasure of the moment almost drowned in the thought of a meal. “I’m starvin’.”
    He stared at her for an elongated moment as if aching to correct her, then exhaled softly. “You’re going to learn to read today.”
    She blinked at him, certain she hadn’t heard him correctly. “You’re joshin’.”
    “And for every successful attempt you will receive”—he paused, then swept his hand sideways to indicate the breakfast—“one bite.”
    Breakfast looked lovely, like a dream really, with boiled eggs, toasted white bread, a small crock of marmalade, golden brown sausages cooked to perfection, and chilled cider in crystal glasses. But it was the bowl of sugared almonds in his hand that made her mouth ache in anticipation.
    She reached for the nuts, but he drew them slowly away, making her scowl and lean back against the headboard. “Bring on them books.”
    “Get dressed first.”
    She shook her head.
    “A lady sees to her personal appearance before all else,” he said, and, reaching down, snatched the blankets away.
    She gasped as she yanked her tangled nightgown over her legs and grudgingly dropped her feet to the floor. “Ladies,”she said, realizing with amazement that the floor was warm from the crackling fire, “must not ’ave a ’ell of a lot to do.”
    “True ladies such as Anna,” he said, and reached into the bowl, “entertain themselves with games of skill and intellect such as chess.” Picking up one almond, he dropped it into his own mouth.
    It actually hurt her to see him chew it. “I prefer a rousin’ game of hazard meself. Got me dice right ’ere if you—”
    “I shall teach you to play chess,” he interrupted, and dropped another nut into his mouth.
    Her fists tightened. “I thought them was for me.”
    He ate another, then closed his eyes as if in ecstasy. “If you continue speaking as you are, lass, I’m likely to be sated before breakfast begins.”
    Megan opened her mouth to retaliate, but he picked up another almond and held it like a threat. She considered tackling him and wrenching