Her father’s advice had been blunt and to the point: If he doesn’t die of your insipid jabber before marriage, he’ll go to drink after. Better he than I. So for my sake, keep your tongue between your teeth till he’s properly leg-shackled. That was the sum total of her father’s marital advice.

The memory made her falter. “I don’t know precisely what you are referring to,” she admitted, weaving her fingers together in her lap. She cleared her throat. “Could you explain it to me? I would hate to cause you to have a headache without knowing.” She was so embarrassed that her face had taken on a fevered look.

Quill reached out an arm and pulled her against him. Then he smoothly lifted her into his lap, stifling a groan as enchanting curves, covered only by sheer cotton, settled onto his legs.

Gabby didn’t look up at him. She pressed her fingertips to her cheeks, trying to calm what she knew must be an unattractive ruddy flush.

Quill’s hand wandered from her neck to her breast. Gabby startled and her back instinctively arched, pushing her breast into Quill’s hand. A hoarse noise escaped his throat.

“Are you in pain now? Does that hurt?” She sounded as if she were ready to leap from his lap.

Quill almost laughed. “No.” He couldn’t speak for a moment because he was savoring the way her body trembled as he rubbed a thumb across her nipple. Not to mention what was happening to his body.

“Do you know, Gabby, I’ve never been married before.”

“I do know that,” Gabby choked. Perhaps she should stop him from—from what he was doing. It was hard to think clearly.

As if he heard her thought, he did stop. His fingers stilled, cupped around the weight of Gabby’s breast. Her body quivered like the string of a violin waiting for the gentle sweep of the bow.

“I’ve never been married before, and thus I’ve never made love,” Quill said carefully. “I’ve had relations with women. They say there’s quite a difference.” Actually, the only person with whom he had ever discussed such an intimate topic was an old school friend, Alex Foakes, the earl of Sheffield and Downes. In a fit of mild intoxication one evening, Alex had said making love to one’s wife made intercourse with other women look clay-cold, like being frozen to the bone.

“Oh, quite,” Gabby replied.

He could tell she had no idea what he was talking about. Gabby was leaning against his chest and he couldn’t see her face, but he would bet anything that she was chewing on her lower lip.

“When you had intercourse with these women, did the migraine always follow?”

“Yes.” His thumb was moving in idle circles again.