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A distant thud wrenched Jane from a restless dream where she was running across the treeless wilderness of Salisbury Plain toward Stonehenge. But the monument kept receding, and she never got closer, no matter how she tried.

She opened her eyes to thick darkness. The lack of noise from the street told her it must be late.

There was another thud, and a muffled curse.

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.”

She winced at the bitter emphasis he placed on “wifely.” “You’re drunk.”

“I am indeed.” He blinked owlishly at her. The stench of brandy was a miasma around him. “Now go away, and let me sleep it off. I’m no fit company for a lady.”

“No, you’re not.” Good heavens, she hadn’t heard Lord Garson was a drunkard.

“Save the nagging for the morning.” He tugged at his crumpled, dirty neck cloth. “I know I deserve it.”

“I have no intention of nagging,” she said coldly.

“Pleased to hear it,” he sniped back. “Clearly I’ve got myself a wife in a million. If only she could bring herself to be my wife.”

Ouch. That was pointed. “I hate to think I’ve driven you to drink.”

“I’m in no state to bandy words with you,” he said, although she hadn’t been joking.

“You’re not getting anywhere with that.” She stepped in front of him and brushed his hands aside. “Here, let me.”

After a few quick movements, she’d unknotted the neck cloth and thrown it over the only chair. The room was so small, it didn’t take much of a throw.

“I can look after myself,” he grumbled.

“I doubt it,” she said, sliding his creased coat from his powerful shoulders. This close, the alcohol fumes made her dizzy, but she didn’t pick up any hint of cheap scent. It was no proof he hadn’t been with another woman, but something told her he’d sought refuge in liquor not lechery.

“Jane, you are a pain,” he chanted, although he put up with her ministrations. “A pain who drives me insane.”

“Not kind, when I’m being so helpful,” she said drily, turning to lay the coat across the back of the wooden chair. It seemed he was ready to bandy words after all. “And if you rhyme Jane with plain, I’ll strangle you with your neck cloth.”

She turned back to find him bracing one hand against the wall. He shook his head, his abundant brown hair tumbling over his high forehead. “Not plain at all. Pretty. But that doesn’t rhyme with Jane.”

She smothered a spurt of pleasure. The oaf had no idea what he was saying. “No, it doesn’t.”

“But I can fix that.”

“How?” She unbuttoned his silk waistcoat and tossed it over his coat. In this confined space, his big, brawny body, clad only in white shirt and buff breeches, seemed even more impressive than when he dressed like a gentleman. “By calling me Jitty?”

He shook his head again. “Jane, you are a pain who drives me insane. But you’re pretty as a sunset in Spain.”

“I appreciate the thought.” When she reached to help him with his shirt, her shawl slipped to the floor. “Lift your arms.”

She expected another objection, but he stood docile as she pulled the shirt over his head. He even bent down so she could reach. “Jane, whose kisses taste like sugarcane. Will you kiss me, Jane?”

“No.”

“Pity.”

A shirtless Hugh really was a magnificent sight, even half seas over with drink. Dark hair curled across his chest and arrowed down over his flat stomach in a way even an innocent like her found tempting.

He’d be more comfortable out of his breeches. Too bad. “Sit on the bed, and I’ll take off your boots.”

When he didn’t obey, Jane placed her hands flat on his chest and pushed.

It was like watching a mighty tree topple. For a moment, he teetered, then he went down. At the last minute, he twisted to save himself from knocking his head against the wall. The bed gave a loud creak, and he stretched his legs out across the bare wooden floor. His feet nearly touched the opposite wall.

He stared up at the ceiling and spoke in a slurred, singsong voice. “I can’t kiss Jane, and that’s a strain.”

She hid a smile and went down on her knees before him. “Make room for me.”

When he didn’t cooperate, she shifted his legs up with no particular gentleness. Bracing her back against the wall, she pulled off his boots. To her astonishment, she was enjoying herself. There was something heady about having this great, handsome galoot under her sway.

He’d gone quiet, and she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But when she looked up, he was leaning on his elbows and his gaze clung to the jiggle of her bosom under her nightgown.

When he tilted forward and cupped her breasts, a smile of beatific appreciation curved his lips. “Jane, Jane, who has a big brain.”

Her nipples beaded as he squeezed. Even drunk, he remembered how to touch a woman. “That’s not my brain,” she managed to say.

He raised heavy eyes to meet hers. “Give us a kiss, wife,” he said without releasing her.

For a moment, she considered saying yes. But he wasn’t in his right mind—“Jane drives me insane”—and he must be getting cold, sitting half-naked in this icy room.

She managed to extricate herself and stand up. “Tomorrow.”

He groaned and slumped full length onto the bed, prompting another alarming creak. “Jane does refrain.”

“She does.”

At last, she paid attention to what he lay on. She’d never been into this room. If she’d thought about it, she would have assumed his bed was as comfortable as hers. Which turned out to be wrong.

His large feet protruded over the end, and he looked awkward, even as he closed his eyes and settled onto the thin mattress. He fumbled to drag the blankets up, but they hardly covered him. Dear heaven, it was the middle of winter. Over the last three nights, he must have frozen. While next door she’d been cuddled up under goose down quilts.

Guilt assailed her. No wonder he looked tired. She leaned in. “Wake up, Hugh.”

Long dark eyelashes fluttered, and she found herself staring into bleary brown eyes. “Why?”

“You can’t sleep here.”

“Nowhere else to go.” He rolled over and presented her with one shoulder. “Wife won’t have me.”

Jane suffered another twinge of guilt. “You can come back to the bedroom.”

She set one hand on his back, then snatched it away. Perhaps too much touching wasn’t wise. It would be so easy to give in to him, but not now when he was drunk.

He rolled over with a speed that startled her, given his inebriation. The hand that closed around her wrist seemed to belong to a sober man, too. “What did you say?”

Jane licked dry lips and fought to steady her voice. She wondered if he noted her racing pulse. “You can’t be comfortable in here. It’s cold, and the bed’s too short. You can sleep with me.” She paused, although the disappointment in his face told her that he understood what she was offering—and what she wasn’t. “Just sleep.”

He let her go and turned on his side away from her again. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Don’t be a child, Hugh,” she said impatiently.

“You said you wouldn’t nag.”

“I changed my mind.” She caught his hand and tugged with no result. She tugged harder. And again, until she was panting.

Hugh shifted onto his back and surveyed her with weary displeasure. “Don’t be a henwit, Jane. You can’t shift thirteen stone of unwilling man.”

“I can try.” She braced her feet against the floor and tugged again. With as little success.

“You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Or you could cooperate.” She narrowed her eyes. “And you can stop staring at my…bosom.”

His eyebrows arched in a supercilious expression. He looked less drunk by the minute. “When I made that damned fool arrangement with you, I never said I wouldn’t look. Or is this a new rule?”

She flattened her lips and let him go. “I’m trying to be sensible.”

“No, you’re trying to torture me.”

“No, I’m not,” she said hotly, picking up her shawl and knotting it around her neck.

“That’s a shame. Because you could win a cup for that.”

That hurt. She bit back a cross response and grabbed the edge of the threadbare blankets. “Move over.”

He sat up and regarded her balefully. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to keep you warm. I don’t want to be a widow before I’m a wife.”

“I’m as tough as old boots.”

Actually even their short—and chaste—marriage proved that wasn’t the case. Oh, physically he could take on all comers, but she’d learned that his feelings weren’t nearly as impervious to pain as he’d like them to be.

But it was late, and she had enough trouble on her hands already, without arguing the finer points of his nature. “It’s my fault you’re sleeping in the cold.”

“I get by. Anyway there’s no room.”

“If you lie on your side and squeeze up against the wall, there is.”

He didn’t look convinced. “You’re playing with fire, Jane.”

“I trust to your honor.”

“An inebriated man has no honor.”

She didn’t believe that either. “Hugh, I’m sleeping next to you. We can do it on this inconvenient contraption, or we can do it in the other room where we’ll both be comfortable.”

“Speak for yourself.” He groaned and set his feet flat on the floor. “You are a pain, Jane.”

Jane stepped back. His voice was so full of rueful affection, that she didn’t even mind him calling her a pain. She extended her hand. “I’m glad you saw sense.”

“You won’t be so smug, if I have a dream about snuggling up to my dear little bride, and you wake up to find me heaving about on top of you.”

She gave another of those delicious shivers. Right now, that didn’t sound nearly as threatening as he imagined. But this wasn’t the moment. She wanted him fully conscious when he claimed her.

Soon…

“You’re so tired that the second your head hits the pillow, you’ll start snoring.”

He still looking discontented, but he took her hand and stood. “I wouldn’t bet on it, sweetheart.”

The endearment was all irony, so it shouldn’t make her melt. But she couldn’t help smiling, as she collected the candle and led him into the bedroom.

Immediately the fire in the grate made her feel warmer. She let Hugh go, blew out the candle, and made for the bed. After a hesitation, he followed. Without meeting her eyes, he lay down about a foot away.

For a long moment, they remained unspeaking and flat on their backs. Then with another of those heavy sighs, Hugh reached out to wrap an arm around her and haul her across into the shelter of his body. Jane released the breath she’d been holding and curled against his side. Closing her eyes, she drifted to sleep, warm and strangely happy.