"Me?" She edged one eye open.

"You."

He couldn't mean anyone else, or his mud-caked boots and the flaps of his charcoal greatcoat wouldn't be inches from her nose. She passed her tongue along her lips, stared at his hand, the one now hovering before her. "Well ... I-"

"If your friend is as sick as she says she is?"

Her throat dried. If he had shouted at her, or berated her for her folly, or laughed at her, it wouldn't have been half as bad, but this? This ...