Quill closed his eyes for a moment. “I told you what the doctors said.” But from the depths of his lust-driven body, a silent voice spoke. Do whatever she wants, advised the voice. Otherwise she might exile you from the bedchamber again.

“Right,” he said, smiling down at his wife. “We will spare my hip.” He stroked her stomach as if he were caressing a cat. Shivers followed in the wake of his fingers. Suddenly he rubbed his thumb across silky damp curls, pulling her trembling thighs apart with his other hand.

Gabby gave a funny, half-strangled gulp. Quill withdrew his hand and moved backward, swinging his legs off the bed. He left her shaking, with a fluid burning heat between her legs. “Quill?” She reached her arms out to him. Her eyes were a dusky golden color and hazy with desire.

Obviously his wife had abruptly found herself in the throes of the same lamentable lust that had plagued him for the last fortnight. Suddenly Quill started thoroughly enjoying himself. “You know,” he said lazily, “I think we should outline our plan. So that we’re both clear about our duties.”

Gabby read the challenge in his voice and responded instinctively. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said airily.

“Well?” He stood in front of her, large and imposing, his legs spread, an amused smirk in his eyes that told her of secret laughter. “Why don’t you detail the first step?”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Will you remove your clothing, please? I would prefer not to be in this state alone.” She registered the even tone of her own voice with a sense of gratitude.

At that, Quill smiled a crooked, sensual smile that didn’t reveal his surprise, if he felt any. “I think not, Gabby. What if I strain my hip? You had better do it for me.”

She sat up and came to her feet. Her heart was pounding unevenly. “Of course,” she responded, quite as if he’d asked for a second cup of tea.

She began to untie his neckcloth.

“If we are to spare my hip,” Quill remarked, “you shall have to do most of the work.”

“Of course,” she murmured.

He grinned. “Gabby, how much do you remember of our wedding night?”

Gabby pulled his neckcloth from around his neck and dropped it neatly over a chair. “I remember everything, of course.” She avoided his eyes as she began unbuttoning his shirt.

“If I am to put no weight on my hip,” Quill said, tone soft as a devil’s, “you will have to be more…forthright than you were that night, my dear.”

Gabby swallowed. “Naturally,” she replied without expression. She reached the last button and eased the shirt off his shoulders. His chest was a smooth sun-brown, without a single hair. Bewitched, she drew her fingers uncertainly over his taut muscles.