afternoon on my own. I would not wish to keep you from your work.”
Quill, who had just been remembering the papers awaiting his signature, instantly changed his mind. “I have no work scheduled for this afternoon. I will accompany you.”
Gabby had the sudden thought that perhaps Quill didn’t want to be alone, given the saddening news about his father. It was unfortunate that his mother showed such a clear preference for one son over the other! Likely Quill was feeling neglected.
She turned and walked back into the house, absentmindedly handing her cashmere shawl to Codswallop.
Quill swallowed. What kind of gown had Gabby obtained from Madame Carême? He had never seen such an enticing garment in his life. It looked like something a courtesan might wear. From the back it perfectly outlined the rounded curve of her bottom. A curve that was longing, begging, to be cupped in Quill’s hand.
And the bodice of the gown was even worse. The flimsy muslin seemed to have been molded to her chest.
“I have located Mrs. Emily Ewing,” he said abruptly.
“How splendid! Does she live in London?”
“Yes.”
“She must not have received the letter sent from India. I shall write her a note directly,” Gabby exclaimed. “We can’t simply appear at her doorstep with a child and such unwelcome news about her sister.”
Quill just nodded. “I should like to know where you plan to go this afternoon.”
Gabby was stubbornly silent.
Quill moved over and tipped up her chin. Standing this close to her, he could smell an enticing, drifting smell of jasmine flowers.
“Gabby.”
In his quiet voice was a command. Gabby realized that. And it was no use asking something as foolish as Can I trust you? Obviously she could trust Quill. Her large, silent, future brother-in-law was the very essence of trustworthiness.
“It’s a trifling errand only,” she said desperately.
“Gabby.”
“All right. I would like to visit Hoare’s Bank. My father gave me a letter—”
“Ladies do not enter Hoare’s Bank,” Quill explained. “The letter will be delivered, and a representative of the bank will visit our house.”
“My father told me to never trust minor associates,” Gabby insisted. “I should like to speak to Sir Richard Hoare myself. And I can hardly request that the director of the bank journey to our house.”
“Then I shall accompany you,” Quill said. “You must understand, Gabby, that a woman’s reputation is her most important asset—” He broke off. Gabby had clearly stopped listening.
“Gabby, are you attending me?”
Quill was standing just in front of her, delivering his little lecture. Gabby had the oddest wish that he would put his arms around her. She must be demented. Hoping for an embrace from her future brother-in-law? It was just that—Gabby’s common sense came to the rescue. Quill was an uncommonly handsome man. His eyes made her feel weak in the knees and warm in the belly.
The problem, Gabby rationalized, is that Father never allowed me to have anything to do with men. So now I am overcome by the species in general. And for the first time, she wished that Peter hadn’t traveled to Bath. Because she had never been kissed by a man.
Quill had paused and was waiting for her to reply.
Gabby nervously chewed on her lower lip. The look in his eyes couldn’t be described as amusement, precisely.
“Gabby,” Quill said, his voice dark with—with something.
She swayed a bit and his large hands steadied her shoulders. In a second she could be in his arms, Gabby realized.
“I…I …” She fell silent, struck by a fiery wave of rebellion. She wanted a kiss. She didn’t want to be an un-kissed person for one more second.
“My mother died at my birth, and my father is not a demonstrative man,” she said, looking at Quill’s lips.
“Yes?” Quill’s thumbs had begun a small massage just at the base of Gabby’s collarbone.
Gabby shivered.
Quill was well-aware that Gabby had not told him the truth about her
Quill, who had just been remembering the papers awaiting his signature, instantly changed his mind. “I have no work scheduled for this afternoon. I will accompany you.”
Gabby had the sudden thought that perhaps Quill didn’t want to be alone, given the saddening news about his father. It was unfortunate that his mother showed such a clear preference for one son over the other! Likely Quill was feeling neglected.
She turned and walked back into the house, absentmindedly handing her cashmere shawl to Codswallop.
Quill swallowed. What kind of gown had Gabby obtained from Madame Carême? He had never seen such an enticing garment in his life. It looked like something a courtesan might wear. From the back it perfectly outlined the rounded curve of her bottom. A curve that was longing, begging, to be cupped in Quill’s hand.
And the bodice of the gown was even worse. The flimsy muslin seemed to have been molded to her chest.
“I have located Mrs. Emily Ewing,” he said abruptly.
“How splendid! Does she live in London?”
“Yes.”
“She must not have received the letter sent from India. I shall write her a note directly,” Gabby exclaimed. “We can’t simply appear at her doorstep with a child and such unwelcome news about her sister.”
Quill just nodded. “I should like to know where you plan to go this afternoon.”
Gabby was stubbornly silent.
Quill moved over and tipped up her chin. Standing this close to her, he could smell an enticing, drifting smell of jasmine flowers.
“Gabby.”
In his quiet voice was a command. Gabby realized that. And it was no use asking something as foolish as Can I trust you? Obviously she could trust Quill. Her large, silent, future brother-in-law was the very essence of trustworthiness.
“It’s a trifling errand only,” she said desperately.
“Gabby.”
“All right. I would like to visit Hoare’s Bank. My father gave me a letter—”
“Ladies do not enter Hoare’s Bank,” Quill explained. “The letter will be delivered, and a representative of the bank will visit our house.”
“My father told me to never trust minor associates,” Gabby insisted. “I should like to speak to Sir Richard Hoare myself. And I can hardly request that the director of the bank journey to our house.”
“Then I shall accompany you,” Quill said. “You must understand, Gabby, that a woman’s reputation is her most important asset—” He broke off. Gabby had clearly stopped listening.
“Gabby, are you attending me?”
Quill was standing just in front of her, delivering his little lecture. Gabby had the oddest wish that he would put his arms around her. She must be demented. Hoping for an embrace from her future brother-in-law? It was just that—Gabby’s common sense came to the rescue. Quill was an uncommonly handsome man. His eyes made her feel weak in the knees and warm in the belly.
The problem, Gabby rationalized, is that Father never allowed me to have anything to do with men. So now I am overcome by the species in general. And for the first time, she wished that Peter hadn’t traveled to Bath. Because she had never been kissed by a man.
Quill had paused and was waiting for her to reply.
Gabby nervously chewed on her lower lip. The look in his eyes couldn’t be described as amusement, precisely.
“Gabby,” Quill said, his voice dark with—with something.
She swayed a bit and his large hands steadied her shoulders. In a second she could be in his arms, Gabby realized.
“I…I …” She fell silent, struck by a fiery wave of rebellion. She wanted a kiss. She didn’t want to be an un-kissed person for one more second.
“My mother died at my birth, and my father is not a demonstrative man,” she said, looking at Quill’s lips.
“Yes?” Quill’s thumbs had begun a small massage just at the base of Gabby’s collarbone.
Gabby shivered.
Quill was well-aware that Gabby had not told him the truth about her
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