Gabby gasped in surprise as the damp spot over her breast was replaced by the strength of a large male hand. Cool air drifted over her legs and she instinctively tried to jerk her chemise back below her waist. But Quill had rolled so that his hip pinned her down, and her head became confused by his hand on her breast and the roughness of his trousers on her bare thigh. And then his hand—

“Take your hand away!” Gabby was shocked to the core of her being. She twisted her legs together as sharply as possible and rolled away.

Quill, dazed by his fingers’ bold exploration into melting warmth, lost balance and let her go. Long legs flashed as she scrambled sideways.

Gabby ended up kneeling on the bed, still panting slightly, cheeks rosy. She glared at her husband. “You mustn’t do that ever again. I don’t like it. It’s…it’s an imposition. Worse than an imposition.” She couldn’t even think of a word strong enough.

“I wanted to,” Quill said with a wicked grin. “And I want to touch you again.” His hand crept toward her bare knees.

Gabby jerked her chemise down and started wiggling backward. “We will have to discuss this rationally,” she said. “There are certain liberties that I will not allow. That—that are not allowed by the Church!”

To her shock, Quill burst into a snort of laughter. “You sound like a nun,” he laughed. “Or a bishop!”

Gabby scooted off the opposite side of the bed, her brow lowering. “I don’t think it’s funny,” she said, crossing her arms over her bosom. “Whatever making love is, I know it doesn’t include anything as indecent as what you just did, touching me there.”

Quill couldn’t help it. He broke into a huge burst of laughter, letting the gathered tension and grief of the day roll out of him. “Oh, Lord, Gabby, you’ll be the death of me!”

Gabby stalked furiously over to the door and pulled the bell cord. Hopefully Margaret hadn’t gone out for a stroll, because she wished to be dressed immediately. Doing her best to ignore Quill, she walked over to the clothespress and opened the doors. She had nothing black. The darkest color she had was a puce walking costume. Fine. She would go for a walk.

Quill was still sprawled on her bed in an unseemly fashion. Gabby turned around, hands on her hips. “I should like you to leave my chamber now,” she said sharply. She walked to the door. “Margaret will be coming to dress me.” Lord, but he was a good-looking man, she thought unwillingly. He was all muscle and grace lying on her bed, propped up on one elbow.

“What if I told you that such touches were common practice?” he said winningly.