Mal didn’t bother with a bucket of water; instead, he simply charged into Drake’s bedchamber and jerked the bedclothes from him, flinging them to the floor in a heap. When Drake didn’t so much as stir, Mal finally and completely lost his temper. It wasn’t something that happened often; he prided himself on his control of his feelings. But this — this indifference, or apathy, or carelessness, or whatever it was that had Drake in its grip — this was the absolute outside of enough. “Up!” he roared, loud enough to rouse everyone in the house. He grasped Drake by the arm and pulled him up, then wrapped an arm about his waist and tugged him bodily out of the bed. Drake let out a little moan. Mal ruthlessly stamped out his momentary, guilty flicker of compassion. “Stand up and dress, and bloody w
