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as long as his seven-and-twenty-year-old memory could think back. Even at Eton and Cambridge he’d been restless at night during weeks of exams or other planned interruptions.
    He lowered both of his bare feet to the cold stone floor beneath him and grimaced.
    Unfortunately, even the cold couldn’t keep him in his bed and under the warm blankets.
    He stood and threw on his dressing robe.
    Plucking a candle from the nearest sconce, Gareth wandered into the hall, then down the stairs.
    Chess, he thought with a snap of his fingers.
    With the ladies occupying his drawing room for the majority of the day he hadn’t made his move in the afternoon. Perhaps he’d just play out a whole game while he was there—
    All thoughts of chess ended and his frown deepened when the door to the drawing room came into view. There was a low light illuminating the inch-wide space between the bottom of the door and the floor. Had one of the servants forgotten to put out the fire? Or had the candles been left burning? Or was someone in there? The questions and possibilities mounted with each step he took toward the door.
    Grasping the doorknob, he paused. Should he go in there? What if Jemma or one of Holbrook’s sisters were in there? The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
    He bit off a curse. This was his house, devil take it. He’d go in any room he wanted, thank you very much.
    Without a second’s hesitation, Gareth pulled open the door.
    He blinked, taking in the room.
    The wall sconce mounted by the door had both beeswax candles burning. The curtains along the north window were partially open and there appeared to be a small layer of embers in the hearth, evidence of a fire that died not so long ago. How odd .
    It appeared as if his guests had stayed in the drawing room late into the evening and the servants hadn’t come to take care of it for the evening. How convenient. He could drag the chess table over toward the fire and—
    A faint, but distinct clicking sound floated to his ears. Freezing in place, he strained to listen. It sounded like it was coming from the hearth—which would make sense since the fire was dying. He padded closer and furrowed his brow. This didn’t sound like fire. It sounded—
    “ Damn!” he said when his bare toe collided with something hard and decidedly sturdy—followed almost immediately by his knee colliding with the same thing.
    “Th—that’s what y-y-you get f-f-for sn-sneaking up on a b-b-body,” chattered a feminine voice.
    Gareth lowered his candle to see who was cloaked in shadows and talking to him. Jane.
    “What are you doing here?” He cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out so rough.
    “S-s-sleeping.” She offered him a weak smile through her chattering teeth. “T-trying to anyway.”
    “In here?”
    She nodded her trembling chin in response.
    Gareth didn’t pretend to know why and stoked the embers until they sparked, then threw another log on top of them. “Do you always sleep in the drawing room?”
    “No, only when there are no bedchambers offered.” A resounding clop echoed throughout the room when she cut herself off by clapping a hand over her own mouth. “Mmmhmmm mm mmm mmmm,” she said through her hand.
    Despite himself and the situation, he grinned like a simpleton, then reached down and wrapped his fingers around her delicate wrist. Lifting it ever so slightly from her pink lips, he said, “Pardon? Can you repeat that?”
    “Which part?” Her eyes flared wide and she moved to bring her hand over her mouth again, but he wouldn’t let her. He rather enjoyed her brass and he had no idea why.
    “The last part. I heard the first quite clear.”
    She tried to pull her hand from his, but he didn’t loosen his grip. He would in a moment, but not yet. “I asked you to forgive me, my lord.”
    He narrowed his eyes on her. “I’m not so sure I believe that.”
    “But it’s the truth,” she burst out as if he’d just charged her