“He doesn’t take it to heart,” Gabby said. “If he’s allowed to emerge when he wishes to, Kasi is perfectly happy.”

“Oh, he’s a downright cheerful little soul,” Mrs. Malabright confirmed. “As long as he doesn’t get overset by being outside or by being around strangers. I’ve never been one for the outdoors, at any rate.”

That evening Gabby thoughtfully put on one of Madame Carême’s evening gowns. Her train swept the floor behind her and made her wiggle as she walked. She tried to remember that while it was desirable to dip and sway below the waist, one must not wiggle above the waist. In truth, dip and sway was not an unpleasant sensation. Gabby let herself dip a bit more. She dipped and swayed her way right down to Quill’s study and knocked lightly on the door.

He looked up as she entered. In the twilight of the library, his face was hard and dark, unwelcoming. It was a pity that Gabby kept forgetting the set of Quill’s mouth when she was away from him. It brooded, that mouth. It was shocking how different Quill was from Peter’s slim perfection. His body, even the leg that caused him such grief, was large and muscled.

“This room needs light,” Gabby remarked. For a moment she walked into the room at her normal pace, and then she remembered to dip and sway.

So she made an unnecessary little turn about the library, turning the wicks of the wall sconces. Quill’s eyes had darkened perceptibly by the time she returned, Gabby noted with satisfaction.

“I should like to go out this evening, Quill.”

“Go out?” He was all but gaping. Not slavering at her feet, but close enough.

“Go out,” Gabby said, pacing her words slowly. “I should like to go to the theater, or to a party. A Lady Stokes is having a card party with dancing this evening. And we have an invitation!” She held out one of the embossed cards that arrived every day for Peter and were ceremoniously placed on a mantelpiece by Codswallop.

“To a party,” Quill repeated stupidly. “We can’t do that. I never go to that sort of thing.”

“Why on earth not?”

Quill forbore to answer. If Gabby couldn’t guess why he avoided occasions designed for dancing and prolonged periods of standing, he saw no reason to enlighten her.

“I suppose we could go to the theater,” he said reluctantly.

Gabby favored him with a smile and then drifted over to perch on the edge of his desk. She wanted to make sure that Quill had taken in the effect of Madame Carême’s bodice.

After a second, she was quite certain that he had. His eyes were simmering with a dusky, dangerous light. Gabby felt powerful—a heady sensation. She leaned toward him slightly.