“That is absurd,” Gabby replied sharply. “If she were poor, she wouldn’t be so elegant.”

“Her gown may have been elegantly fashioned, but it was made of plain cambric,” Quill observed. “Her shoes had been overdyed, and she was exhausted. I think it’s quite likely that Mrs. Ewing is engaging in some sort of work. It reflects badly on the Thorpe family that she is so pressed. Perhaps they are estranged.”

“Oh, dear.” Gabby swallowed hard.

Then she felt a soft touch on her cheek. “Nothing you can do about it, Gabby,” Quill said. His large hand tipped up her chin and he brushed his fingers over her lips.

Gabby looked up at him without moving.

It was irresistible: her drifting jasmine perfume, her speaking eyes. Quill bent his head and their lips met. She tasted faintly like blackberry jelly. But that pedestrian flavor had nothing to do with the fire that raced up his loins when Gabby’s tongue met his—shyly, sweetly, something less than innocently.

Quill’s frail self-control crumbled, and a large hand stroked the middle of Gabby’s back, a delicious persuasion that made her press closer.

“Well, well,” a strident voice sounded in the room. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Gabrielle. Leave a man alone for a moment and he is overcome by lust.”

Gabby sprang back so fast that she almost overbalanced. “Forgive me, Lady Sylvia,” she gasped.

“For what?” Lady Sylvia strolled into the room to the sounds of yips and yaps. “I’m not the one being kissed. The Dewlands always were a lusty lot,” she added meditatively. “Now, if I think back to the details of Kitty’s first season …”

Quill shuddered. The last thing he wanted to hear about was his parents’ youthful indiscretions. “I can assure you, Lady Sylvia, that my reprehensible behavior will not recur.”

Lady Sylvia waved her hand imperiously. “Go on, why don’t you? Go do something intelligent, Erskine. I’m sure that I ought to deliver a lecture on propriety now, and I don’t need you around to hear it.”

Quill frowned.

“Leave,” Lady Sylvia growled.

“Lady Sylvia, Miss Jerningham.” He bowed and left the room.

“Prickly, isn’t he?” Lady Sylvia wandered over to the tiger table. “Good gracious, this table is a monstrosity. I can see that Kitty’s taste has gone from being somewhat indiscriminate to appalling.

“It’s none of my business, of course,” she went on, blithely ignoring her role as chaperone, “but you’re kissing the wrong one, aren’t you, gel?”

Gabby nodded, hot crimson in her cheeks.

“Do you want to marry Erskine, then? Mind you, it’s a better match, on the surface at least.”

“Oh, no,” Gabby exclaimed. “I’m very pleased to be marrying Peter, Lady Sylvia.”