First Comes Scandal (Rokesbys #4)(54)

His eyes widened. “Are you swaddling that cat like a baby?”

“I think it’s helping.”

GRAOWWW!

Well, it wasn’t hurting, at least.

“There, there, Cat-Head,” Georgie said. “We haven’t much farther to go.” She looked up at Nicholas. “Do we?”

He shrugged. He wasn’t sure where they were going to spend the night. He’d instructed the driver to stop at the next reputable coaching inn, but if there wasn’t room, they’d have to keep going.

Grrrrraow.

“I think he’s falling asleep,” Georgie whispered.

“Praise the Lord.”

Georgie sighed. “Indeed.”

BY THE TIME they finally stopped for the evening, Georgie was exhausted. She’d got Cat-Head to sleep, but then she’d had to hold him like a baby the rest of the trip. She’d tried to set him down once, careful to keep the swaddling tight and firm, but the minute he touched the bench, his eyes popped open and his howling began anew.

“No, no, Cat-Head,” she murmured, desperately trying to settle him back down.

She then tried to keep her hold on him while at the same time setting him down on the bench. She felt ridiculous, all bent at the waist as she leaned over him, but if she could get him to fall back asleep in such a position, maybe he’d stay that way when she pulled her arms away.

“Pick him up,” Nicholas had begged.

“He doesn’t know the difference.”

“He knows!”

“How can he know? I have my arms around—”

“He knows!”

She picked him up. He quieted instantly.

He knew.

Damn cat.

So she held him. The whole trip.

She held him when they stopped at the first inn, only to be told there were no vacant rooms.

She held him when they stopped at the second inn, where she waited while Nicholas and the drivers conferred for at least ten minutes, only to decide that they did not like the look of the other travelers.

Georgie was not exactly sure what that meant, but as they all had experience traveling the Great North Road and she did not, she decided to take their word for it.

It was late, though, much later than they would have normally chosen to retire for the evening, and she sensed that everyone was eager to put an end to the day’s journey when they came to a stop in front of the third inn. Unfortunately, it proved only marginally more fruitful than the other two.

“Bad news, I’m afraid,” Nicholas said when he opened the carriage door.

Georgie had been waiting in the coach, Cat-Head still swaddled in her arms. “Please don’t tell me they are full.”

“They’re not, but they’ve only one room available. I’m afraid you shall have to share with the maids.”

“All five of us? Will we fit?”

“The innkeeper says he can send up extra bedding.”

“But what about you?”

“I shall sleep in the stables, along with the rest of the men.”

“But it’s our—”

Wedding Night.

The words hung unspoken.

“We shall make do,” Georgie said firmly. Maybe it was for the best. Did she really wish to spend her wedding night in a coaching inn called The Brazen Bull?

“We could keep going,” Nicholas said, “but it sounds like the other nearby inns are also full, and—”

“It’s fine, Nicholas.”

“The horses are spent,” he said, “and I suspect we’re all exhausted.”

“Nicholas,” she said again. “We will be fine. I promise.”

He stopped talking finally, and just blinked up at her. “Thank you,” he said.

“There is nothing to thank me for.”

“You could be very ill-tempered about it all.”

“I could.” She smiled. “I still can.” She held up Cat-Head. “Want a cat?”

“God, no.” He held out his hand. “Let me help you down. We should make some haste. It’s late, but I’m told we can still get supper. I’ve made arrangements for a private dining room.”

The cats were handed off to the maids, the foot-men saw to the luggage, and Georgie and Nicholas made their way across the courtyard.

The inn was at a busy crossroads, and after so long in the carriage, Georgie was unprepared for the sheer volume of humanity sharing the scene. Nicholas, however, seemed perfectly at ease. He strode forward with purpose, threading between strangers as he made his way to the front steps of the old Tudor building that now housed The Brazen Bull Inn. Georgie was thankful for him, or to put a finer point on it, for the crook in his elbow in which her hand was tightly tucked. She could have done without his legs being quite so long; she had to scurry like a mouse just to keep up.

But then he stopped suddenly a few feet from the entrance—Georgie had no idea why; she hadn’t been paying attention—and she smashed right into him. Her arms flew around his midsection as she tried to keep hold of her balance. It was muddy, and the ground was hard—a fall would have been messy, embarrassing, and probably painful.

It was over in an instant, but the moment lengthened the way a blink can last forever. She felt her fingers spread against his firm belly as she regained her balance, instinctively pulling herself against him for stability. She felt her cheek press against his soft wool coat. She felt her breath catch.