She heard the door open and then close. Sobs ripped from her throat. Oh, God, what a liar she had become! She had told him that—and he believed her. He believed she was indifferent.

It was so far from the truth. Every finger longed to touch him. At night, lying between cool linen sheets, she thought of nothing but the heavy pleasure of his body, of the way he pounded into her, of the hoarse moan that broke from his lips. And even…she even remembered how he spread her legs and touched her until she writhed before him, naked as the day she was born. Shamelessly raising her hips to his hand.

That was how absorbed by wicked desire she was, how far she was in sin. How far she was from indifferent.

When the bathwater arrived, Gabby told Margaret that she had a headache and would not join her husband for dinner. Then she lay curled in misery while the bathwater steamed and finally cooled. Only when it was stone-cold did she lower herself into it. Punishment, she thought dimly. For lying and for desiring—which was worse? But she knew the answer. Quill was right about desire. There could be nothing wrong about the way their bodies met and loved each other, in daylight or at night. But there was everything wrong about telling him that she disliked the act.

And so she sat in chill water and watched her nipples turn a dark cherry red, as they had for her husband. As they did when she thought of him.

And she sobbed. Because she loved him and she wanted him. And the two could not go together. Because she loved him, loved the way he laughed with his eyes but not out loud, the way he looked at her silently, the way he touched her, as if she were beautiful and worth cherishing.

She loved him more than she loved herself, and thus they could not make love.

The cold bath worked. Other memories replaced the heated memory of lovemaking. During his migraine, Quill’s skin became deathly pale, as if the honey had leached from his skin. His face looked ashen, haggard, and his eyes were sunken. And the vomiting…No.

She was right to lie. It was horrible to deceive Quill, but it was for his own good. Instinctively she knew that he would rise from a migraine attack and come back to her bed. He would suffer that pain over and over again.