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—

GRAO!

“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.

GRAO!

“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.”