Page 41 of Ladies in Hating
But who had Sarah Sophiabeen? A relative? A friend?
For whom would Luna have built this wild, lavish garden? And why keep it hidden?
A noisy scrape, as of a door against stone, broke Cat’s fervent concentration, and she whirled toward the library’s entrance, the diary pressed to her chest.
It was Georgiana. Her pale blue dressing gown—silk, again—was wrapped tight around her body, and her hand gripped thefabric together at her neck. Her hair was loose against her shoulders, and her eyes were bright and wild.
“Cat?” she gasped. “Catriona?”
Despite herself, Cat took a step toward Georgiana, out of the shadows. “I’m here. Is everything all right?”
To her shock, Georgiana crossed the room in feverish strides and took her by the arm. “Cat,” she said again, and her fingers clutched Cat’s upper arm for just a moment before she whirled to look out into the library. “I thought—I heard—”
She’d placed her body between Cat’s own and the south end of the library, where the moon shone brightest. Cat peered around Georgiana’s slim form, but nothing seemed obviously amiss. “What’s wrong?”
Georgiana spun back toward her. The moonlight worked upon her hair and skin, silvered the pale gold and ivory shades of her. Her fingers still clutched at her wrap. “You’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Cat lowered the book from where she’d been holding it to her chest. “Areyouall right?”
“I heard you scream,” Georgiana said. “At least—I thought—” A pink flush was rising above her dressing gown, knotted in her fist at the base of her throat. “Did you scream?”
“Why—no. I was only reading.” This did not seem the precise time to illuminate Georgiana on the topic of Luna Renwick and Sarah Sophia Penhollow. “Could you even have heard me in here, all the way from your bedchamber?”
Georgiana’s blush was still rising: her throat, her cheeks, her brow.
Her skin was so fragile, almost translucent. It revealed her emotions even when her voice and body were all glossy shield.
Cat did not know how she had not realized that before.
“No,” Georgiana said, and she sounded unsteady before she got herself under control. “No, of course not. I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”
There it was—her crisp precision, her clipped voice that might as well have been a wall of thorns.
But it was no use. Cat could see her there, her sleep-tousled hair and hot cheeks, andknowher composure for a lie. Georgiana had come into the library forCat—because she thought Cat was in trouble. That tangled urgency, that blurred dishevelment—it was all for her.
Cat moistened her lips. She thought about the way Georgiana had held her wrist in the rose garden.
And then she took a step closer.
Georgiana did not move. One hand was tangled in the blue silk of her dressing gown and the other was open at her side.
“Where’s Bacon?” Cat asked.
“I left him in the bedroom. He was sleeping—whatever I heard didn’t wake him.” Her lips parted, and Cat realized she was staring at Georgiana’s mouth. “I ought to have known then. I must have—I suppose I dreamt it.”
Cat took another step, and then there was nowhere to go, no space to cross, only a sliver of moonlight between their bodies. Her nose was full of Georgiana’s unnameable scent—amber-dark woods, earth and honey. She reached out and brushed her fingers across Georgiana’s knuckles, white with tension at the base of her throat.
Georgiana gasped, and Cat’s belly pitched, hot and unsteady.
“I want you to tell me something,” Cat said, her voice low in the stillness of the library.
Georgiana’s fingers loosened beneath Cat’s, but she didn’t say anything, only stood, breathing shakily, not quite returning her touch.
“Do you still think I stole from you? I need to know.”
Georgiana’s lips parted. The freckles around her mouth shimmered in the pearlescent light. “No. I don’t.” She swallowed, and Cat could see her throat work soundlessly. “Not for a long time now.”
“Good,” Cat said, and then she slid her fingers up to Georgiana’s skin. She touched the side of her neck, her throat, the line of her jaw.
