Page 2 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
All of London’s elite packed St. George’s, drawn from the country’s most esteemed and respected families. The groom’s side of the church was filled with titans of industry and commerce, since Dom’s kin was part of that world, and their elegant garments easily rivaled those worn by the aristocracy. Yet both the nobility and those with newly made fortunes stared uneasily at Kieran and Finn as they walked down the aisle. Perhaps they, like many in the city, had read of the Ransome brothers’ exploits in the scandal rags. Everyone was eager to hear of someone else’s misbehavior, if only to feel marginally better about their own paper-thin lives and spongy morality.
Kieran threw a roguish smile to the guests, delighting in the way the ladies’ hands fluttered at their throats and the gentlemen puffed out their chests. What did their discomposure mean to him?
One particularly engaging woman on the bride’s side caught his interest, her fingers dancing along the lace of her fichu, her lips curved upward in an intrigued smile. Kieran winked at her, and she batted her lashes.
“Hell.” Finn’s chuckle was dry. “Only you would attempt to arrange an assignation in a bloody church.”
“I join a long and storied tradition of defiling houses of worship. But I’ve found someone even more captivating. Get a look at the neck on the one in the second row, groom’s side.”
It was a most enthralling neck. Sweetly curved, with just a hint of soft, chestnut-hued down where the hairline began. Kieran’s mouth watered as he imagined gently nipping his teeth into that neck and hearing the lady’s shocked, thrilled gasp of pleasure.
Some men loved breasts, others were enthralled by arses or legs. But Kieran could write stanza after stanza on the allure of a woman’s neck.
The lady in question turned to the person seated beside her, presenting her profile.
Damn—Kieran knew her.
He swore aloud, earning him more censorious looks from nearby guests.
Finn laughed again. “Mentally seducing our best friend’s sister. A new nadir has been reached.”
“Don’t tell Dom,” Kieran muttered.
Though Dom accompanied him and Finn for nightly carousing, Kieran was the one who truly engaged every variety of wickedness known in London. For all his boisterousness, Dom remained on the side, placing bets, bellowing songs, yet eschewing female company. Hedidhave a habit of getting into spontaneous brawls.
Given that Dom knew exactly what kind of a rogue and scoundrel Kieran was, he’d never countenance Kieran contemplating debauchery with his younger sister.
As if sensing Kieran’s salacious regard on her, Celeste Kilburn turned in her seat, her gaze catching his. Her eyes widened slightly, then she offered him a tentative smile.
He did his best to return it as though he hadn’t been mentally disrobing and seducing her moments earlier. It was a neutral smile, verging on fraternal. Several years ago, Celeste had returned from finishing school as a striking woman, no longer a girl. From the time of her debut to now, she was also the model of proper decorum, faultless in her behavior.
He always made certain to give Celeste a wide berth. Doing so remained the only thing in the whole of Kieran’s existence that could be considered wise or safe.
Celeste tipped her head toward the front of the church, and he followed her direction, expecting to see her brother standing in front of the altar. That was usually the way with grooms, or so he believed in his limited experience, since he was never invited to weddings—or anywhere where respectablepeople congregated. Today was his first sortie as a groomsman, since Simon had asked a friend from Oxford to be his attendant, so he knew little about his responsibilities in this arena.
Instead of seeing Dom standing nervously but eagerly in his nuptial finery, awaiting the appearance of his bride, Kieran only saw the robed vicar. The vicardidappear somewhat uncertain, his attention shooting back and forth between something behind him before returning to the crowd, offering the assembly a smile.
It was the reassuring quality of that smile that gave Kieran pause. Just what was the vicar trying to reassure everyone of?
Warily, with Finn beside him, Kieran approached the vicar. He half expected the older man to glow with holy righteousness, or perhaps smell of frankincense, but the bloke was an ordinary man who had missed a tiny patch of whiskers underneath his ear during his morning shave, and he smelled of the starch of his robes mingled with mundane sweat.
“Something amiss, Reverend?” Finn asked.
“You seem to be short one groom,” Kieran added.
“Nothing at all is amiss,” the priest said heartily. Then, in a voice low enough so that only Kieran and Finn could hear it, he added, “Are you two... gentlemen... closely acquainted with Mr. Kilburn?”
“If by close,” Kieran answered, “you mean have I seen him drunkenly challenge three sailors to a brawl and win? The answer to that is yes.”
The priest stammered and turned lobster red, as Finn choked on a laugh.
“I’m also his attendant,” Kieran added.
Once he had recovered enough to speak, the reverend whispered, “The groom is faring poorly. I put him in the vestry to collect himself, but when I suggested summoning a member of his family to assist him, he vehemently declined. Well, I assume that by throwing a footstool at my head, he was declining my offer.”
Though lobbing small pieces of furniture at holy men did sound like Dom, doing so on his wedding day raised an alarm.
“Perhaps Mr. Kilburn might respond better to his groomsmen,” the priest continued.
