The gray sky had parted to reveal scraps of blue. A pale spill of sunlight turned Gabby’s chemise into nothing more than a thin veil between himself and the rounded curves of her hips. He could see the outline of her body as if drawn in ink: the delicate way her waist curved in from her ribs and then blossomed out again, a hint of full breasts between her left arm and her side, the turn of her neck as it blended into delicate collarbone.

He inspected her from head to foot, from the sheen of her glossy hair to the tips of her silk slippers. He surveyed her as if she were a figure made of the finest china, one that he was considering for purchase.

He couldn’t find any words.

“Quill?”

Gabby sounded nervous, to Quill’s mind. She was clutching her hands rather tightly before her.

In the nick of time, his self-possession, gained from six years of crippling injury, abruptly reasserted itself. His body would never rule his mind—even in matters of erotic pleasure rather than acute pain. But he was shocked at how close he came to leaping on Gabby, and to the devil with his headaches.

Instead, he nodded casually and strolled past her to sit down in a chair by the fireplace. He stretched out his boots and stared at them meditatively, quite as if his body wasn’t on fire, straining at every pore to jerk his half-naked wife into his arms. Take her there, without ceremony and without forethought. Take her on the carpet, on the bed, on the chair. Over and over until this intolerable lust was satisfied and he could return to being himself: a calm and rational person. A person whose emotions were mild and composed into neat categories labeled marital duty and filial respect.

Filial respect. He had almost forgotten about the funeral again.

Gabby’s heart was beating so fast that she felt ill. The moment Quill took his eyes off her she rushed over and put on her night-robe. If she wasn’t mistaken, he had seriously considered tumbling her right on the bedchamber floor.

She didn’t mind that he had changed his mind, Gabby told herself. Everyone knew that men and women did those things—tumbled about—in the dark, in their beds, under the covers. Not in the early afternoon. At a decent time, in a decent place.