by Julia Quinn
Meow.
Nicholas stopped short. That sounded almost . . .
Happy?
Meow.
“She did it,” Jameson said, in a statement that could only be described as reverent.
Nicholas looked at him, and then back at the carriage.
Georgie opened the door. “Do come in,” she said, the very model of a gracious hostess.
With equal parts trepidation and curiosity, Nicholas ascended the steps to the carriage, only to be met with the sight of—
“Is that a hammock?”
Georgie nodded excitedly.
“For the cat?”
“It’s my design. But of course I could not have put it together without Sam’s help.”
Nicholas turned and blinked at the heretofore unnoticed groom, who was crouched at the far end of the carriage, looking inordinately proud of himself.
“It was all her idea, sir,” the groom said modestly.
Nicholas could only stare. First at the groom, then at Georgie, then at the orange cat, who was suspended in a loose webbing of rope.
“I think he likes it,” Georgie said.
Nicholas wasn’t so sure about that. It was true that Cat-Head sounded almost content, but he looked ridiculous.
And ridiculously uncomfortable. All four of his legs had been poked through holes in the webbing and hung down like furry twigs. Its face was squished but visible through another gap, a thick piece of rope supporting its chin.
“Is he going to choke?” Nicholas asked, looking over at Georgie with concern.
“No, I think he’s comfortable. Feel him.” She grabbed his hand and placed it under Cat-Head’s belly. “He’s purring.”
Nicholas looked at Sam. Why, he wasn’t certain. But surely someone still possessed a shred of sanity. “Are we certain it’s not just indigestion?”
“No, no,” Georgie said, “that’s definitely a purr. Although you do bring up an important point. He will need to relieve himself at some point.”
“We will all need to relieve ourselves at some point,” Nicholas said, somewhat dazedly.
“Yes, of course. It’s just that it’s a bit, er, complicated to get him into it.”
“And out of it, as well?”
“I haven’t yet made the attempt,” she admitted.
“Let’s hope we figure it out before his needs become urgent.”
Behind him, Sam let out a little snort of amusement.
“But what do you think?” Georgie asked.
He thought she’d gone mad, to be honest, but she was so damned proud of herself he was never going to say that.
“I think it’s ingenious,” he said. Which was also true. It was ingenious and she’d gone mad.
“I wasn’t sure if he would like it,” Georgie said with palpable excitement and pride. “And I still don’t know what will happen once we start moving, but it was worth a try.”
“Indeed.”
“After all, you looked so comfortable in your hammock this morning.”
“Me?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you. Everyone said you worked so hard last night. You’ll have to tell me about it later today.”
“You modeled this on me?”
Cat-Head made an odd noise, but it wasn’t a howl.
“He sounds . . .” Nicholas searched for the correct descriptor. “Not happy, exactly.”
“But better than yesterday,” Georgie said brightly.
“Absolutely.” Nicholas said this with utter conviction. It couldn’t possibly be worse.
Grrrmphamow.
Nicholas moved his head for a better look. It was possible that the cat’s change in volume may have been due to a simple inability to open its mouth. But as long as it could breathe . . .
“Shall we be on our way?” Georgie said.
Sam scooted to the door. “Yes, ma’am.”
But no sooner than he had hopped down, Marian appeared in the doorway.
“Are you riding with us today?” Georgie asked.
Nicholas gave the maid a long, hard stare.
“Er, my things are here,” Marian said, nervously motioning to a small satchel on the rear-facing bench.
Long. Hard. Stare.
“But I can ride in the other carriage,” Marian said very quickly.
Nicholas gave the maid an almost imperceptible nod.
“Are you sure?” Georgie said. “I think the cat will be better behaved than yesterday.”
“I . . . ah . . .”
Nicholas did not take his eyes off Marian’s face. She, in turn, was trying very hard not to look his way.
“I think . . . I think I had better . . .”
Marian accidentally caught his eye. His brows rose.
“I should like to get to know Mrs. Hibbert better,” Marian blurted out. “And Marcy and Darcy.”
“Oh,” Georgie said. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Also”—Marian cast a wary eye toward Cat-Head—“that looks unnatural.”
Georgie frowned. “Technically speaking, I suppose it is unnatural.”
Nicholas looked at the cat. In all honesty, it was hard to look away.
Meow.
“Time to go,” Nicholas announced. Someone had to make a decision. He handed Marian her bag. “We’ll see you at the next stop.”
And then, before anyone could make a noise of protest—even Cat-Head—he shut the door.
“Gah, finally,” Nicholas muttered.
“Is everything all right?” Georgie asked. She sounded . . . not nervous exactly. Maybe curious.
“Nicholas?”
Maybe a little nervous.
“You should sit down before we start moving,” he said.
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” She sat, although not where he’d wanted her to.
“You don’t get sick riding backward?” he asked.
“What? Oh. No. Not really.”
“Not really?”
They started moving. They held their breath, but Cat-Head didn’t make a sound.
“Not much,” Georgie amended.
“Then sit over here.” He reached out, took her hand, and pulled her over to the forward-facing seat. “I don’t bite.”
He didn’t let go of her hand.
She blushed. “I thought you’d want room.”
“There’s plenty of room.”
She gave a little tug, and he reluctantly let go of her hand; he supposed she needed it in order to get herself settled.
They moved slowly through the village, Nicholas and Georgie both keeping a wary eye on the cat.
But it didn’t make a sound.
“Unbelievable,” Nicholas murmured.
“I wasn’t sure it was going to work,” Georgie admitted.
“You may very well be a genius, Mrs. Rokesby.”
She turned to him and smiled.
And again, all he could think of was the sun, and the way he felt happy when it broke through the clouds on a long gray day.
“Georgie?”
Her eyes lit with curiosity.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
Because honestly, it was past time.
Chapter 16
In a way, Georgie knew what he was going to say before he said it. There was something in his eyes, in the way he looked at her and covered her hand with his before he spoke. And of course it was crazy that they hadn’t kissed, not properly.
They were married. They were supposed to kiss each other.
Georgie just wasn’t sure it was supposed to feel . . .
Or that she was supposed to feel . . .
She looked at him.
She looked at Nicholas, at the man she’d known her whole life, the man she’d only recently stopped thinking of as a boy. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath, or look away from his mouth, or wonder what it might feel like if his lips touched hers.
And she thought about the fact that she’d taken his name. She had pledged herself to him for better or for
worse, till death did they part. It was supposed to be holy, but what she was feeling right now wasn’t spiritual, it was base and it was carnal, and it thrilled her even as it terrified her, and—
“Georgie?”
His voice. It did things to her. This was new.
“Georgie?”
She dragged her gaze from his mouth to his eyes.
“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured.
“How do you know?”
His lips curved. “I just do.”
“I think you know me,” she whispered.
This seemed to amuse him. “I’ve always known you.”
She shook her head. “No. Not like now.”
“Not like I will,” he vowed.
Mere inches separated them, and then slowly, softly, his lips touched hers. At first it was the softest brush of skin. Then his hand touched the back of her neck, and it was all she could do not to melt into him then and there. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and what had started as a hint of a kiss turned into something deeper.
Hotter.
Georgie gasped at the unexpected rush of sensation, and when her lips parted, the kiss grew even more intimate, more luxuriant.
She hadn’t known that a kiss could involve more than just a touch of the lips. Or that she could feel it everywhere, across her skin, in her blood, in the very center of her soul.
“Nicholas,” she murmured, and she heard the wonder in her voice.
“I know,” was his response. “I know.”
She felt his hands move to her back, but it didn’t matter if he was pulling her against him because she was already pressing forward. This need within her—she didn’t fully understand it. All she knew was that she wanted this. She wanted to be closer.
She wanted him.
She kissed him back—or at least she thought she did. She’d never kissed anyone before, not like this. She could only assume she was doing it right because he seemed to like it.
And she knew she liked it.
Tentatively, she brought one of her hands to his hair. Surely at some point in her life she’d touched it before, but suddenly she had to know—right now—what it felt like between her fingers. Was it soft? Springy? Both? His hair had always had the tendency to curl, just a little bit, and she was gripped by the most foolish desire to find one of those almost-ringlets and give it a little tug, just to see how quickly it would spring back into shape.
But first she just wanted to touch him. To feel his warmth, and to revel in the knowledge that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
It was a heady, giddy feeling.
It was glorious.
“Georgie,” he murmured, and she heard the wonder in his voice.
So she said, just like he had, “I know.”
He smiled. She felt it against her skin when his lips trailed across her cheek to the line of her throat.
She tipped her head back, shivering with delight as his lips found the hollow above her collarbone. She didn’t know . . . she’d had no idea . . . if anyone had told her . . .
Meow.
“Nicholas,” she whisper-squealed. He was doing something utterly shocking and delightful, and—
Meow.
Maybe if she ignored it . . .
Meow.
She made the mistake of looking up.
Cat-Head.
Staring at her with freakish intensity.
“What’s wrong?” Nicholas murmured, his lips still warm against her skin.
“Nothing,” Georgie said in a firm voice. She shut her eyes.
Grrra—
“Stop!” she said, her eyes flying back open.
Nicholas jerked back.
“No, not you!” She clutched his shoulder. “Don’t you stop.”
He stared at her in confusion. “What is going on?”
“Mee-OW.”
Georgie glared at the cat. Without a doubt, that was the smuggest meow she’d ever heard.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
Nicholas kept kissing her, moving to a particularly lovely spot near her ear. “Ignore him.”
“I can’t.”
“Try harder.”
Georgie turned her head, giving Cat-Head the cut direct.
She heard an indrawn kitty breath, and then—
GRAOWWW!
“No,” Nicholas practically moaned. “No no no.”
Georgie looked back up at the cat. “Stop that,” she hissed.
Cat-Head gave a little cat shrug.
Georgie turned back to Nicholas.
GRAOWWW!
“What?” She whipped back around.
Cat-Head purred.
“You slippery vixen,” she breathed.
Nicholas went mostly still. “Are you talking to me or the cat?”
Georgie disentangled herself from her husband’s arms and sat up so she could give Cat-Head a full-on glare. “Enough.”
“I really hope it’s the cat,” Nicholas remarked.
“He only makes that awful noise when you’re kissing me.”
“What if you kiss me?”
“Nicholas,” she groaned.
“Not that I wish to defend the beast,” he said, “but he did howl for at least six hours yesterday. And we were not, as I distinctly recall, kissing.”
“Yes, but that was different. He wasn’t in the hammock.”
Nicholas ran a hand through his hair and looked up at the ridiculously trussed cat. “To be fair, it’s hard to see how the hammock is helping.”
“He’s being quiet right now. And also, I don’t have to hold him.”
“True,” Nicholas murmured. He sat back, and they both watched Cat-Head, swinging gently as the carriage sped along the turnpike.
“This is actually interesting,” Nicholas murmured. He leaned forward, eyeing the cat with a shrewd expression. “We should test the hypothesis.”
A statement Georgie found baffling. “What?”
He immediately shifted into academic mode. “A hypothesis is a theory made on the—”
“I know what a hypothesis is,” she cut in. “I just don’t know what you mean about testing one.”
“Ah. Right, well. As you know, the hallmark of scientific investigation is the rigorous examination of hypotheses. A theory is only a theory until you conduct an experiment to prove it.”
Georgie regarded him with suspicion. “What is your theory, precisely?”
“Technically,” he replied with a tip of his head, “it was your theory.”
“Mine?”
“That the beast is trying to stop us from kissing.”
“That’s not exactly what I said,” Georgie pointed out. “And at any rate, I doubt it’s true. He’s just not that clever.”
“Clever or not,” Nicholas muttered, “he is the spawn of Satan.”
“Nicholas!”
“When we get to Scotland we’re getting dogs.”
“Not so loud,” Georgie warned. “Judyth will hear you.”
He gave her a you-must-be-joking look.
“She is very clever.”
Nicholas stared at her for a long moment before executing a particularly sardonic combination of head-shaking and eye-rolling.
“You’re the one who wishes to conduct a scientific experiment on my cat.”
He looked pointedly at Cat-Head, still hanging from the hammock like an odd, furry plant. “I’m conducting experiments?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” she said. “He was completely quiet.”
“Until I kissed you.”
“Well . . . Yes.”
His eyes lit with anticipation. “Now it’s time for my experiment.”
“You’re scaring me a little,” she said.
He waved this off. “May I kiss you?”
Georgie was a little surprised—and to be honest, perhaps a little disappointed by the clinical tone of his voice. But she couldn’t think of any reason to say no, so she nodded.
Nicholas touc
hed her chin, drawing her close. Their lips met, and once again, she melted into him. The mere touch of his mouth on hers seemed to set her fingers tingling, and her body was—
GRAOWWW!
“I knew it,” Nicholas grunted. He whipped around, glaring at the cat.
Georgie blinked. “What?” She sounded dazed. She felt dazed.
“Damned, meddling . . .”
There were other words, but his voice went too low for her to hear them.
“Look how innocent he looks,” Georgie said. She reached out and scratched Cat-Head’s smushed little face. “There’s no way he’s purposefully sabotaging us.”
“Facts are facts, Georgiana. Your cat is a demon.”
She sputtered with laughter. There was simply no other possible response.
“Can I turn it?” Nicholas asked.
“The cat?”
“Is there any way to turn the hammock so he’s not facing us?”
“Ehrm, no, I don’t think so.” Georgie grimaced, looking over her contraption again. “Not unless we take him out and face him the other way.”
This, she did not want to do. It had been a struggle to get Cat-Head into the hammock in the first place, and she had the scratches to prove it.
But she also really wanted to continue kissing her husband, so she said, “We could move.”
He looked at her.
She pointed. “To the other side.”
“I thought you said you get sick on the rear-facing bench.”
“Not if you’re kissing me.”
“That makes no sense whatsoever,” he said.
She smiled. “I know.”
He looked at her. He looked at the rear-facing bench.
He looked at Cat-Head, smirking down at them both.
“Off we go!” He grinned and hopped over to the other side of the carriage, pulling her along with him.
Georgie tumbled onto the seat, laughing as Nicholas landed on top of her.
“Much better,” he growled.
This just made her giggle more. “I didn’t realize this could be so much fun.”
“You have no idea,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
She pulled back, just far enough to look at him with a mischievous smile. “I thought you said your kisses had not been legion.”
He growled again, his weight settling on her in a thrillingly possessive manner. “I know enough to know I’m going to enjoy our wedding night immensely.”
“Just you?” she teased.
His eyes sobered, and he brought her hand to his mouth. “Georgie, I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make it a pleasant experience for you.”