During dinner, Gabriel was an entertaining companion, amusing her with an endless supply of stories. He was willing to discuss any subject, and encouraged her to speak frankly and ask as many questions as she liked. Whenever she jumped from one topic to another seemingly unrelated one, it didn’t appear to bother him. It seemed that no matter what her faults were, he was willing to accept her for who she was, and who she was not.

At the end of the meal, the house stewards would return to remove the dishes, and bring tiny cups of Turkish coffee, a plate of French cheese, and a tray of bottled liqueurs. Pandora loved the jewel-colored liqueurs, which were served in miniature crystal glasses shaped like thimbles with flared rims. However, they were deceptively strong, as she discovered one evening when she made the mistake of trying three different kinds. As she tried to rise from her chair, her legs wobbled dangerously, and Gabriel quickly reached out to pull her into his lap.

“My balance is off,” she said in befuddlement.

Gabriel smiled. “I suspect it was that extra glass of Crème de Noyaux.”

Pandora twisted to cast a perplexed glance at the half-filled glass of almond cream liqueur. “But I didn’t even finish it.” With effort, she leaned over to grasp it, downed the rest in a gulp, and set the empty glass on the table. “There, that’s better,” she said in satisfaction. Spying Gabriel’s liqueur, which he had barely sipped from, she began to reach for that one as well, but he hauled her back with a smothered laugh.

“No, sweet, you don’t want a headache in the morning.”

Pandora looped her arms around his neck and stared at him with owlish concern. “Have I had too many? Is that why I feel so swignorant?” As Gabriel began to reply, she interrupted him with her mouth and wrapped herself around him passionately.

In the morning, she awoke with a hazy memory of having done remarkably indecent things with him on the chair . . . clothes had been discarded or pulled to the side . . . and at some point she vaguely remembered squirming and bouncing on his lap while savaging him with kisses . . . oh, she wanted to die of embarrassment.

Also, she had a headache.

Mercifully, upon seeing her discomfort, Gabriel didn’t tease, although his mouth worked briefly as if to hold back a smile. He had a glass of peppermint water and a headache powder waiting for her, the moment she awakened. After she downed the medicine, he put her in a warm scented bath.

“My head feels like a threshing machine,” Pandora grumbled.

Gabriel bathed her with a soapy sponge while she rested her head back against the rim of the tub. “The Germans call it katzenjammer,” he said. “The way one feels the morning after an evening of drinking. Translated, it means ‘the wailing of cats.’”

Pandora smiled slightly, keeping her eyes closed. “I would be wailing, if I thought it would make me feel any better.”

“I should have stopped you after the second glass. But I overestimated your tolerance.”

“Lady Berwick says a lady always takes wine or spirits within a sober limit. She would be disappointed that I behaved badly.”

She felt Gabriel lean over her, his lips brushing her water-speckled cheek. “Let’s not tell her, then,” he whispered. “Because you’re so delightful when you behave badly.”

After her bath, he wrapped her in a thick flannel towel and carried her into the bedroom. Sitting on the bed with her, he carefully pulled out the tortoiseshell combs that anchored her hair. Pandora turned onto her front and rested her head on his chest as he began to massage her scalp with gentle fingertips. The slow kneading sent a delicious tingly sensation down the back of her neck. But she couldn’t let herself enjoy it fully.

“What’s worrying you?” Gabriel asked, his fingertips especially gentle around her bad ear.

“Part of me doesn’t want to go back to London,” she admitted.

The soothing massage didn’t cease. “Why not, darling?”

“As soon as we return, we’ll have to send out wedding cards to let people know they can call on us, and pay calls in return, and I’ll have to learn the servants’ names and the domestic expenses, and make certain the larder inventory matches the butcher’s bill. And someday I’ll have to give a dinner party.”

“Is that bad?” he asked sympathetically.

“I’d rather be guillotined.”

Gabriel eased her up higher on his chest and began to smooth her hair. “We’ll postpone sending out wedding cards until you feel more settled. People can wait to call until you’re ready. As for the servants—they won’t expect you to know everything straight off. Moreover, the housekeeper has managed the household efficiently for years, and if you don’t wish to involve yourself in the details, she’ll proceed as usual unless you tell her to change something.” His fingertips traced a light pattern over her bare upper back, eliciting a pleasant shiver. “You’ll feel better when you make some progress with your board game company. When we return, you’ll have your own carriage, driver, and personal footman, to allow you to go wherever you like.”

“Thank you,” Pandora said, pleased. “Although there’s no need to hire an extra footman. I’ll have the second footman accompany me when necessary, the way Kathleen does.”

“I’d prefer to hire a special footman, for your convenience and my peace of mind. There’s a particular fellow I’m considering—he’s vigilant, capable, and trustworthy, and in need of a new position.”