Gabby didn’t dare look at him. She had spilled the tea, and her best gloves had horrid-looking yellow stains on them. The same stains adorned the bodice of her best gown, and its hem was ripped clear off. The gown had been fashioned with an extra panel at the bottom in a Greek key pattern, and that panel was trailing on the ground. Quill must think she showed a complete lack of refinement.

Strong fingers closed around her elbow.

“Shall we adjourn? Our presence at the table is now superfluous.” To her surprise, Quill’s eyes were dancing with merriment.

Gabby looked back at the table. It was empty; the footmen were clustered around Codswallop, attempting to hoist him to his feet. She paled. “Codswallop is injured.”

“I believe he is merely winded by his dash across the room,” Quill observed.

Gabby still looked worried, so he added, “Don’t you think the footmen resemble amateur tooth-drawers clustering around a resistant patient?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You are laughing at me, sir!”

“Not a bit of it,” Quill said, his face almost earnest enough to convince her. “I would never be such a rudesby. Alike accidents have happened to those of the highest decorum. I believe that Codswallop’s dignity is perhaps offended, but his person is intact.”

“Well,” Gabby said, looking down at herself. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can convince you that I am a lady of the highest decorum, is there?”

She met Quill’s eyes, and the merriment there so warmed her backbone that she giggled.

Quill, who was still rather intoxicated by the melting bundle of soft curves that had fallen so providentially into his lap, chuckled in response. Finally Gabby burst into laughter.

And that was how Peter found them when he pushed open the door to the drawing room.

Chapter 3

GABBY HEARD THE SOUND of the door opening and swung about quickly. For a moment she didn’t register who was standing a mere ten feet before her. Quill’s laughing eyes had made her feel prickly all over.

But she forgot that sensation in an instant as she took in the new arrival.

It was Peter. Her husband-to-be. She took a quick step toward him and then stopped. Peter was—Surely it was he. His eyes were a rather sweet brown.

But it was impossible to tell whether his hair was brown or not, since it was heavily powdered.

He was wearing a dark coat that was embroidered along the collar, the cuffs, and all down the front. And his waistcoat! It seemed to be made of poppy-colored silk, and it was embroidered all over with wildflowers. There was a perfect froth of silver lace edged with gold thread falling from his neck. His silk stockings were perfectly white. And his shoes had large silver buckles.

Gabby’s mouth fell open, and then she snapped it shut.