Page 34 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
As if she could feel his regard on her, Celeste turned and waved at him. He saluted her in return and continued on his course in her direction. A small distance away he espied her maid, but the servant was busy chatting with a burly groundskeeper.
“I’m awake again while the sun still hangs high in the sky,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. “It’s slightly alarming how regular this occurrence is becoming.”
“You’d better develop a callus where daylight is concerned,” she replied, “because there’s quite a lot of it whenever polite society decides to convene.”
“Good Lord,” he said, making a face, “with such unforgiving light, it’s a wonder anyone manages to breed.”
“We’re supposed to close our eyes, rely on imagination, and consider our duty. And besides,” she added, giving him a once-over, “you look equally handsome at noon as you do at midnight.”
His chest broadened, and he fought the smug little smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He’d heard more elaborate compliments before, but her simple words warmed him.
“Be advised that I’m fully committed to this endeavor,” he said, striving to stay focused. “Since our excursion, I haven’t set foot outside my door after ten o’clock in the evening. Not to the theater, not to a single private gathering.” His bed had been empty, too.
“Such noble sacrifice.” Yet her lips quirked.
A wider smile spread across his face. There was something so bloody delightful about her willingness to make sport of him.
“And what’s my sacrifice to be today? That pavilion strikes fear into my heart. It seems so . . . wholesome.” He shuddered.
“An event which is fortunately indiscriminate in who it allows to enter. You’ve no need of an invitation to participate, so it’s ideal for your first sortie. Before we breach its ramparts, I must ask—do you sneeze in the springtime?”
He frowned. “We’re answering riddles now?”
“Reply to the question, please.”
“Cloves make me sneeze, but not the springtime.”
She nodded. “Then you’re fit for battle.”
“Once more unto the breach, et cetera.” He extended his arm to her, and she set her hand atop it. This was only the third time they’d walked together like this, and it was far too pleasurable. He couldn’t get used to having her on his arm.
They approached the pavilion, Celeste’s maid trailing many paces behind them. The air grew thickly floral, but the scent could also have come from the respectable society matrons, decorous young ladies, and dandified bucks who also made their way toward the tent. Many speculative looks were shot in his direction, some of them scandalized.
“Don’t,” Celeste warned lowly.
“Don’t what?”
“Give them a rude hand gesture or make a face or any of the other thousand things I imagine you want to do.”
“I’d never,” he said, affronted. A moment later, he said, “All right, I wanted to. But I didn’t, and that should count for something.”
“Felicitations on being slightly less appalling than normal.”
“My thanks.”
They reached the entrance to the pavilion—people nearby keeping ample distance between themselves and him—and Kieran finally understood why Celeste had pressed him about sneezing.
A banner within readRegent’s Park Horticulture Exposition, 1818. Tables laden with plants of every description were arranged from one end of the tent to the other, and some larger potted specimens sat upon the ground, including miniature fruit trees and tropical palms. Colorful flowering plants made the warm atmosphere rich with fragrance, and their colors shone against the more sedate hues of the attendees’ garments. Men and women stood beside many of the plants, wearing eager expressions that clearly indicated they wanted to talk all things botanical with whoever would engage them on the subject.
“This isn’t an orgy,” Kieran murmured as he and Celeste entered the pavilion.
“Did you expect it would be?” she asked archly.
“A man can hope. What do we do now?”
“Now,” she said, moving toward the first row of tables, “we see and are seen. By and by, I’ll introduce you to the man who’s our goal. But we can’t go directly to him, lest we appear importunate.”
She nodded in greeting at people they passed, some of whom acknowledged him, while more than a few either stared at him in shock or else pretended not to see him. It wasn’t quite a cut direct, but beingignored hardly signified anymore. Unless he was being shot at or, to a lesser extent, punched in the nose, he didn’t care.
