“Thank you. I am not tired, but I would like to bathe.”

There was a slight bustle as Codswallop dispatched a footman to fetch hot water.

Gabby began to climb the stairs, Quill just behind her. When she reached the second floor, she moved toward her old chamber, but Quill gently held her back.

“They will have moved your clothing into the viscountess’s chamber, Gabby.”

She bit her lip. “Your poor mama …”

“It’s the way of things,” Quill said. “She will have the very finest guest bedchamber whenever she wishes to visit. But the master chambers are ours now.”

He bent his head and kissed her, a brief, sensual promise. “What is the point of having an adjoining door if one cannot watch one’s wife dressing—or undressing?”

Gabby jumped backward so quickly that she knocked his hand off her arm. “It matters nothing if that door is shut,” she said firmly. Gabby had given a great deal of thought to the future during the days she waited for Quill’s migraine to recede. Only a bedlamite would consider engaging in behavior that caused her husband pain. And if he thought she was going to be party to instigating another such attack as racked his body for three days, he would have to think again.

But there was no point in arguing in the open hallway. Gabby mustered her dignity and moved toward the viscountess’s chambers. Her husband dogged her heels. She entered, and he closed the door behind them.

Gabby sighed. “Don’t you think it would be better to have this discussion after we have washed and eaten a meal?” She drifted across the room, pretending to inspect the gilt chairs positioned before the fireplace.

“I believe that we should discuss it now,” Quill replied.

She turned around, her fingers trailing over the polished surface of a rosewood writing desk. “Obviously we cannot indulge in the kind of behavior that caused your migraine.”

“I see nothing obvious about it.” Quill’s voice sounded tight, almost angry.

“I should think it is unquestionable. Something about …” She paused and chose her words carefully. “Something about connubial relations gives you a migraine headache. Therefore, we shall not repeat the experience until a cure is found.”

“For God’s sake,” Quill shot back. “Do you think that I didn’t attempt to find a cure?”

“We shall have to try harder,” she replied stubbornly. “I know you, Quill. You could hardly bring yourself to speak to me about it. There are likely hundreds of doctors both here and abroad with a cure for your malady.”

Quill crossed his arms and leaned against the mantelpiece. “The leading expert on migraine headaches is an Austrian named Heberden. I had him brought over to England to consult with my doctors. Heberden remarked that bleeding was detrimental.”