Page 31 of To Marry and to Meddle
“This is a very comfortable bed,” she offered weakly.
“And you must have been tired,” he added. She turned crimson. “From our long day of travel,” he elaborated, straight-faced.
She shot a narrow-eyed look at him that was remarkably reminiscent of her friend Diana. “Yes,” she agreed. “It was quite wearying.”
Without warning, there was a frantic scrabbling of claws at the side of the bed, and Julian glanced over, startled—Cecil Lucifer Beelzebub was clutching at the sheet, dangling in midair. He must have been drawn by the sound of their voices, but was not quite big enough to make the leap from the floor to the bed, which was a somewhat lofty, elevated affair. Suppressing a sigh, Julian reached down with a single hand and scooped the creature up, depositing him on Emily’s stomach.
“Cecil!” she cried joyfully, sitting up at once. While she was disappointingly careful to keep the sheet pressed to her chest, she did, at the very least, present Julian with a very nice view of the bare expanse of her back.
“Did you sleep well?” she cooed, tickling the hell-kitten under his chin.
“He did not,” Julian said. “I heard him launching himself off the furniture in the wee hours of the morning.”
Emily glanced over at him. “Couldn’t you sleep?”
Julian was tempted to blame the kitten for his restlessness, just to see how she’d react (provoking her had proven to be strangely entertaining thus far), but he resisted the ignoble impulse.
“I never sleep through the night,” he confessed. “My mind is too busy.”
“That sounds dreadful,” she said frankly, scooping Cecil Lucifer Beelzebub up in her arms to cradle him to her chest, an action that Julian was fairly certain would result in the loss of an eye if he himself attempted it. A moment later, however, any such uncharitable thoughts vanished, by virtue of the fact that this movement had caused the sheet to slip perilously low. Julian cast a firm, commanding sort of look at the cat, trying to mentally convince him to wiggle.
Cecil Lucifer Beelzebub merely began to purr.
“I’m used to it,” he said, heaving an internal sigh of regret and returning his attention to the conversation at hand. “I’ve always been a fitful sleeper. My father used to—”
He broke off abruptly, surprised at the slip. He made a point of avoiding discussion of his father as much as was possible. He very rarely made such a mistake even with his closest friends—with Laverre, his manager, or Bridgeworth, his closest friend from Oxford. He supposed his head must be addled by the unexpected pleasures of last night’s romp in the sheets, though he paused to be grateful that he’d never before had this reaction to bedsport.
Emily, he realized, was watching him carefully, even as she seemed to be trying to pretend she wasn’t. He appreciated the act, unconvincing as it was—it allowed him to pretend not to notice her curiosity and steer the conversation past this bump.
“I used to wander the house a lot, as a boy,” he said. “Once, whenI was thirteen, I snuck out and went for a ride just before dawn, and returned to find the stablehands all in a tizzy—they thought there was a horse thief.”
“I can imagine,” she said with a smile, even as she continued to gaze at him with thinly veiled curiosity.
She did not say anything else, however, and instead glanced past him toward the windows directly opposite the bed, through which faint sunlight streamed, sneaking through a gap in the dark blue curtains that obscured the French doors leading out to a small terrace. “What time is it?” she asked, reaching a hand up to cover a yawn.
“Early,” he said, a quick glance at the bracket clock on the mantel above the fireplace confirming that it was not yet nine. Hours before he would normally be awake in town, in other words; if he’d had a late night at the theater, or at his club, or visiting whoever his female companion of the moment was, it was not unusual for him to sleep well past noon.
However, hedidhave a fair amount to do today, so it wouldn’t hurt to get an early start. He’d want to have a meeting with Laverre, of course, to see how things at the Belfry stood after his absence, though that wouldn’t be until much later in the day; no one would be at the theater at this hour, or any hour before noon. In the meantime, however, he’d no doubt there was a mountain of correspondence waiting for him in his study downstairs, and he wanted to take a look at whatever invitations had arrived while he was in the countryside.
The social Season was long over, meaning that the nonstop whirl of balls and musicales and dinner parties every single night had slowed considerably, but there were still members of thetonwho lingered in town even when others had fled to the country, and Julian did not wishto waste any opportunities that might present themselves for parading his new wife about before polite society.
It would have been more convenient, of course, if they had married in the spring, with a full Season’s worth of activities before them, everyone of importance in town, but perhaps this would work out for the best in the end. They could start slow, and by the time the next Season picked up in several months’ time, he and Emily would be well settled into married life, a picture-perfect image of domestic bliss and harmony. Furthermore, in a few weeks, more members of polite society would be returning to town after their shooting parties in the countryside, which would offer plenty of opportunity for them to begin building their reputation as a besotted newlywed couple.
“… have planned for today?” Emily asked, and Julian realized that he’d been so caught up in his thoughts that he’d not heard anything she said.
“I’m sorry?” he asked, shoving back the sheets and giving himself a stern mental admonishment to not be distracted when he noticed her gaze drop quickly to take in the amount of naked flesh on display.
“I asked,” she repeated, “what you had planned for today, and if there was anything we might do together?”
“Oh,” he said, feeling like a bit of an idiot. It had never occurred to him that she might wish to spend time together today, their very first day back in town—he’d thought she’d be busy getting to know her new home, visiting acquaintances she’d not seen in a few weeks, and generally… doing whatever it was that ladies did to pass their time, he supposed. He realized that he didn’t really know, specifically, what that was. They always seemed to maintain frightfully busy social calendars, however, so he didn’t expect Emily to have much difficulty in this regard.
“I’ll need to attend to everything I’ve neglected in my absence,” he explained, rising from the bed and sauntering across the room to where a dressing gown was always left for him, draped across the back of one of his chairs. He drew it on in an unhurried fashion, hoping that his blushing bride was enjoying the show. Whatever reputation she might have, Emily Turner—as he’d learned last night—was nonetheless a lady capable of enjoying the physical aspects of marriage, and this was a fact of which he intended to take full advantage at every possible moment.
“Surely you will want to familiarize yourself with the household, begin deciding what changes you wish to make?” he suggested. He turned toward her as he spoke, and did not think he was imagining the faint sagging of her posture at his words. He decided it was best to ignore this; ladies did sometimes prove to have mystifying emotional responses to the simplest of requests or observations, and he doubted Emily would be able to provide any sort of satisfactory explanation for her displeasure.
“Of course,” she agreed, perfectly politely. “Will you be going to the theater this evening?”
“At some point this afternoon,” he said, nodding. “I’ll need to meet with my manager, find out what I’ve missed—and, of course, work out this situation with Miss Simmons.” He sighed, running a hand over his face; in the pleasures of the previous evening, he’d nearly forgotten that headache. He lowered his hand to gaze speculatively at his wife. “In fact, it might behoove us for you to begin paying calls today.”
