Because he loves me, Gabby said to herself. He had not said so, not since asking her to marry him, but Quill was shy with words. Since he loves me, he would always make love to me. He would not wish me to be deprived of pleasure, no matter the toll it took on his own health. But now…he would not think to make love to her. He wouldn’t even wish to do so, coldhearted jade that she seemed.

And that was the most important thing.

LUCIEN WAS IN HIS CARRIAGE, heading with something less than enthusiasm to a champagne breakfast being given by the Duke and Duchess of Gisle, when he realized that it was a Tuesday morning. To be exact, it was Tuesday just after ten o’clock, and if he sent the carriage in the opposite direction, he might arrive on Emily’s doorstep at the same time as Bartholomew Hislop, thereby making it absolutely clear to Hislop that Emily was no straw damsel for his taking.

He rapped sharply on the carriage roof. But when they drew up before the small house, there was no sign of Hislop. Perhaps he should drive on. Emily had repeatedly refused to see him. Every time he presented himself at the house, Sally told him that Mrs. Ewing was not at home.

The memory steeled his backbone and Lucien almost motioned to his waiting footman to close the carriage door again. Undoubtedly Hislop was already in Emily’s study, breathing on her shoulder or committing some such other gross indelicacy.

Lucien gritted his teeth and stepped out of the carriage, drawing on his gloves. He’d be damned if Emily would deny him and be at home to Hislop.

Sure enough, when he rang the doorbell the little maid, Sally, once again stammered some nonsense about Mrs. Ewing not being at home. He gave her a look and a sovereign; she fled back down the hallway.

Lucien hesitated for a moment outside Emily’s study and then pushed open the door without knocking. Immediately he knew he had made a mistake. Emily and Hislop were standing just before her desk, with their backs to him. They looked cozily intimate, and Lucien saw distaste on Emily’s face when she looked around.

“Forgive me for disturbing you,” he said, his French accent particularly marked due to embarrassment. Clearly Emily did not mind Hislop’s company. Why, he had a hand on her wrist.

Hislop casually let go of Emily and bowed to Lucien. “Fancy seeing you again,” he said, not as genially as he had when they first met. “Odd coincidence, that.”

“I visit frequently,” Lucien said grimly. His black eyes were narrowed.

“So do I, so do I,” Hislop replied, seeming to have no sense of his personal danger.