Gabby thought about it. “No.”

“A migraine is a type of headache,” Quill explained. “A very severe headache, accompanied by nausea and vomiting that lasts three to five days. I am incapacitated during that time.”

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Gabby’s tone was appalled.

“If I stay in a darkened room and eat almost nothing, it goes away more quickly.”

“But is there no medical remedy?”

Quill shook his head.

“I didn’t know …” Gabby whispered. “Were you in pain when we were in the library?” She raised agonized eyes to his. “You should have told me, Quill!”

His mouth took on a sensual, crooked curve. “Did I appear to be in pain?”

“Yes—no?”

At that a chuckle escaped. “I was in pain, Gabby. But not that kind of pain.”

A large hand touched her cheek. Gabby pushed it from her face. “Don’t do that, Quill! I can’t think if you start touching me. What kind of pain are you talking about?”

Her eyes were the color of autumn leaves, Quill thought. Nut-brown. Words didn’t seem available to catch the way they changed with the light. He leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue making a ravishing foray into Gabby’s mouth.

She gasped, a small sound, easily silenced. He caught her lip between his teeth, caught a softness that stole his breath and drove a shiver down his body. Then he undid the tie at her waist and pushed the robe off her shoulders. She gasped again.

“Am I in pain, Gabby?” His voice was a husky murmur, low and unsteady. A hand clasped her cheek, fingers tracing the curve of a delicate ear.

“No,” Gabby said. A rose flush crept up her cheekbone, but she twisted away from his hands and mouth. “You are distracting me. If you weren’t in pain in the library, then what causes these headaches? I don’t understand.”

Quill almost reached out, but stopped himself. He was trying to avoid the truth. “I get the headaches after intercourse,” he said flatly.

Gabby blinked uncertainly.

“Connubial relations. Conjugal felicity.” Quill racked his mind for more euphemisms for the event. “Intercourse,” he repeated. But Gabby was twisting her hands together, and Quill grasped the truth. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Of course I do!” Gabby rushed into speech, stung by embarrassment. “I just am not quite certain about the details, perhaps. I have a general idea. And I should like to point out that there are undoubtedly other young women who have exactly my level of knowledge. My mother died when I was born, you know. And one couldn’t expect my father to explain the intimacies of marriage!”