Stephen yanked Chase’s pillow from beneath his head and tossed it into a chair by the window. “This is no tour, but work. You’re to help with the sheep today, remember?”

Chase threw an arm over his head. Had he really promised such a thing?

“So up! You’ve had some sleep. A good nine hours of it by my reckoning.”

Chase blearily opened one eye. Nine hours, hell, he thought. More like nine minutes. After he and Stephen had shared a very small glass of brandy in the library, the time had come for the household to retire. As he would have expected, the Wards went to bed at a ridiculously early hour—a time of night when Chase would normally just be getting ready to partake of a bit of dinner.

So it was that while the household slept, he was wide-awake. As soon as he was certain everyone was asleep, Chase slipped downstairs and into the library, in search of more brandy. He found it at once, sitting in regal splendor on a tray on the library desk.

He hadn’t hesitated, but had found a glass and opened the decanter. There he’d been, stopper in one hand, a glass in the other, when for some unknown reason, he’d suddenly imagined Harriet Ward’s expression if she were to see him at that very moment.

“I am only going to have one glass,” he’d muttered to the apparition.

She had not appeared the least impressed.

“It won’t hurt anyone.”

She’d raised her brows as if to remind him of all the damage that drinking had already done in his life. And drinking had caused irreparable harm. It had cost him his dignity, his honor, his pride…and now, his family.

Chase had looked down at the decanter, the liquid gleaming warmly. Then, with a sigh, he’d replaced the stopper and returned the glass to the tray.

Perhaps another night. Of course, that had left him wide-awake and with no amusement at hand. Chase had been forced to do something he rarely did—read. He decided that it was an embarrassment to the Ward family that one of their guests was so importuned, but there was nothing Chase could do about it. If reading was the only amusement available, then he’d see what books were at hand.

After an aimless search, he chanced upon a tome describing the sailing ventures of a questionable gentleman in the late sixteenth century. While Chase was of the opinion great quantities of the story were fabricated, he thought some of the tale might come in handy in his rendition of Captain Frakenham. Thus the candle was low before he managed to sleep.

“Rise, slugabed!” Stephen said, reminding Chase that late night or no, he was going to have to get up.

Chase opened his eyes to find Stephen grinning above him. “Blast you to hell.”

Stephen’s grin widened.

Chase sighed and sat up, pushing the hair from his forehead. He hadn’t seen this side of the morning in years. Oh, he’d been awake at the crack of dawn. But he’d never been awoken at the crack of dawn. “All right, all right. I’m up.”