Gabby swallowed, trying not to imagine how Quill would view the possibility of having parts of his brain put to sleep. At least that settled the question of whether she should ask him again to take the medicine. He would never touch it.

“Please, Sudhakar, will you remain in London for at least a week? My husband has a migraine; he will be ill for the next few days, but I would like you to know the man I have married.”

“I will gladly make a short visit, if you promise me that you will reconsider this decision, Gabrielle.”

She bowed her head. “I am grateful, Sudhakar, for your forbearance. And I am truly sorry that you think I am acting like my father.”

Sudhakar noted that she had avoided his request, and sighed. “I would be proud to call you my daughter,” he said. “You are the dhtu of my heart. What stems from evil in your father stems from love in you. Now, let me have some rest, Gabrielle. My old legs still think I’m at sea.”

Gabby kissed him on the forehead and slipped from the room, the tiny bottle clutched in her hand.

Chapter 23

QUILL WAS HAVING a gloriously sensual dream. He was lying on the bed, and Gabby was undressing him. She was bathed in a rosy light. But the light wasn’t coming from behind her; it radiated from her skin, as if she were glowing.

And then he noticed that she wasn’t wearing any clothing. He watched her breasts as she unbuttoned his shirt. He considered touching them, but it was enjoyable to simply lie and watch her.

“Mmmm, Gabby,” he murmured. His voice rolled out of his mouth like thick molasses.

“Yes?” She was wrestling with his wristbands.

“Why are you so rosy?”

“What did you say?” His dream wife seemed a little irritated. Her breasts bobbed as she tugged at his sleeve.

“You look like a medieval saint,” he said, and then giggled. A more rational part of his mind noted that he hadn’t giggled since he was a boy. “I’m married to a saint—a medieval saint. I rather like that idea.” His voice trailed off. “Of course, medieval saints wore clothing, at least in the pictures I’ve seen.”

A warm hand cupped his cheek and Gabby’s face swam into view. “Quill, are you feeling all right? You’re not making a good deal of sense.” Her beautiful eyes looked concerned.

“Course I am,” he said. “I’m having one of the best dreams of my life. Are you going to keep doing that, Gabby love? Or should I call you Gabby o’ Dreams? Or Dream Gabby?” He giggled again.