She was up out of bed and wrapped in a shawl before she was really awake. Cold air on bare toes banished the last of her drowsiness, and she slid her feet into some slippers before she rushed into the parlor.
Nobody was there. The banked fire gave off enough light to show that Mary had cleared away Jane’s untouched dinner.
Only as she stood in the empty room did she think how foolish this was. If burglars had broken in, she wasn’t exactly dressed to deal with them. She was defenseless, unless she intended to smother them in flannel.
Another bump from behind the door to the dressing room. And something that sounded like a groan.
It was Hugh. He didn’t sound well.
Before she could question the wisdom of bearding him in his den, she was at the door and knocking. “Hugh, are you all right?”
After a pause long enough to make her frantic with worry, he answered.
“Jane, go to bed.” His deep voice was slurred.
She didn’t retreat. “Are you ill?”
“No, I’m not ill. Go away.”
She stifled a twinge of hurt at his curt dismissal. “I’m coming in. You sound awful.”
“Damn it, don’t—”
She pushed the door open to find him standing in the center of a narrow, windowless room, not much bigger than a cupboard.
“…come in.” In the flickering light of a single candle, he glared at her.
She studied him with concern. He looked disheveled and uncertain on his feet. Had he caught a chill, staying out so late on a freezing night? “I heard you fall.”
“I lost my balance. There’s nothing going on. Go back to bed.”
He sounded grumpy. That in itself worried her. Hugh was almost always even-tempered. Even on their wedding night, he’d remained polite and pleasant. Mostly.
“Not until I’m sure you’re all right.”
Those thick coffee-colored brows contracted in a fearsome scowl. “I’m all right.”
“You don’t sound it.”
“I’m tired.” Actually now she looked, he appeared utterly exhausted and beneath his truculence, heartsick. His prickly temper stemmed from something deeper than a simple late night.
Oh, no, was he desperately unhappy with their marriage? After the last few days, she’d hoped they started to find a way to go on together.
Inevitably, the specter of Morwenna Nash rose. Why wouldn’t Hugh be unhappy? He was in love with another woman.
Which didn’t mean Jane intended to leave him alone and sick and wretched. “Let me help you undress.”
“That’s the worst suggestion you’ve made yet,” he snapped. Or at least she guessed he meant to snap, but the words didn’t emerge with the usual crisp clarity.
“You’re dead on your feet.”
“Go away, Jane.” He was swaying and seemed to have trouble focusing.
She ignored him and stepped forward to take his arm. He looked likely to collapse.
The moment she came close enough to touch him, she knew exactly what was the matter. “Ugh.”
Unsuccessfully, he tried to pull away. “I told you your wifely concern was wasted.”