Satisfied that his geldings were peacefully at a standstill, Quill turned his large body toward Gabby, which caused his thigh to press against her leg. Gabby flushed. It was embarrassing to remember how she had clung to his body that morning. No wonder he had rethought their marriage.

When Quill didn’t say anything immediately, Gabby took a deep breath and repeated herself. “If you wouldn’t mind, I should very much like to return to the house.”

The traffic in the park was gradually increasing as the hour of six o’clock drew near and London gentlefolk turned out to admire themselves—at least those who braved a chill. The snap in the air had given Gabby’s cheeks a pink glow that made her look as delectable as an apple tart, to Quill’s mind.

He had registered the fact that she leapt at the chance to break off their engagement. Not that he was going to let her get away with it. Quill was used to setbacks. They happened frequently in business endeavors and only made him the more determined to gain whatever it was he wanted. However, there was no reason to further blacken Gabby’s reputation by jerking her onto his lap in public and kissing her until she begged him to marry her.

That could wait for the evening.

Without bothering to say another word, he untucked the reins, loosed the brake, and deftly turned the horses back into the circular drive.

Gabby swallowed hard. For a moment she had thought that he was angry enough to kiss her. But he must have caught himself, remembering that he had got what he wanted: he was a free man once more. She stared at the flicking ears of the horses, trying hard to calm the furious misery in her heart. Luckily she still had her first fiancé. It was providential, like keeping one’s money until the milk had been tasted. Now that her second fiancé had turned sour, she hadn’t really lost anything.

Except that the lump in her throat told her that there had been an irrational—and quite stupid—transfer of affections. To put it in a nutshell, she wanted rather desperately to marry Quill, and she didn’t give a fig whether she married Peter or not. And to make matters worse, she thought that Peter probably felt the same about her.

She pressed her lips together hard. You will not cry, she told herself. You thought you were in love with Peter only yesterday, for goodness sake.

Quill cast her a sideways glance. She had a queer, pinched look around her eyes, his Gabby did. And then he remembered a line of Peter’s, something to the effect that Patrick Foakes had convinced everyone that he was madly in love with Lady Sophie by throwing civility to the winds.

He stopped the curricle, pulling it over to the right once again.