Page 35 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
The atmosphere within the pavilion was humid and close, both from the horticultural specimens as well as the people admiring them. Yet the tent was even more redolent with the weight of propriety and expectation.
“Remember that you aren’t to spit on the floor,” she said lowly, “and try not to proposition anyone no matter how flirtatious they are in conversation.”
“I’m notutterlyferal,” he muttered sullenly.
She raised an eyebrow. “I read about what happened at the theater.”
“Ah, yes.” Then, “Which theater, and what night?”
A stunned laugh burst from her. “My gracious, you’re the definition ofincorrigible.”
“You say that as if it’s a negative characteristic.”
“If we’re to amend your reputation,” she said primly, “it can be a liability.”
“You were my defender the other night in the cab back from Jenkins’s.” His words were light, yet a small throb of hurt crept in. “Yet now you’re casting me in the same scandalous light as everyone else.”
She turned her gaze to his, contrition in her eyes. “Apologies. You deserve better.”
“Thank you.” His chest tightened. Unexpected for anyone to own their mistakes, and even more unexpected for it to matter that she cared about his feelings.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kilburn,” a gray-haired woman said politely as they passed. She eyed Kieranwarily, and he was seized with the impulse to make a suggestive comment to her simply to see Celeste’s aggravation.
But he wasn’tthatperverse to undermine their efforts at reformation.
“And a very good afternoon to you, Lady Newstead,” Celeste answered. “How fares your grandson?”
Lady Newstead beamed. “He’s learned his letters already.”
“But he must be hardly two years old,” Celeste exclaimed.
“Two years and three months,” the older woman answered proudly. “Takes after his mother’s side.” Lady Newstead’s gaze drifted once again to Kieran.
“Lady Newstead,” Celeste said, “perhaps you know Mr. Kieran Ransome. The earl of Wingrave’s son.”
“My lady.” Kieran bowed.
Both the older woman and Celeste appeared mildly surprised that he could execute the maneuver. He fought to keep from rolling his eyes. For fuck’s sake, like any aristo’s son, he’d had a dancing master. He kept his expression placid and pleasant, however.
“Once your grandson moves past hornbooks,” Kieran said civilly, “he might enjoy reading the stories about Samuel the Pirate. Rousing tales of adventure, but with solid moral lessons.”
Lady Newstead barely contained her shock at his recommendation before saying with a pleasant smile, “How delightful. I shall pass your recommendation on to my grandson’s nanny.”
“Enjoy the rest of the horticulture show, mylady,” Kieran replied, bowing again as Celeste led him away.
They were a few steps away when Celeste murmured, “Marvelously done.”
“As I said, I’m not utterly feral.” Still, he enjoyed the admiration in her voice. “And how is it that you know so many details about my escapades? Dom’s been garrulous.”
She was quiet for a moment, before she said, “I read about you.”
“The things that pass for entertainment.” His brows climbed higher. “Why would you waste your time reading that?”
“As I’ve said,” she replied, pausing to gaze at a spray of pink roses, “you have the privilege of leading the life I want for myself.”
He studied the line of her profile as she examined the flowers. “Then it isn’t me you find fascinating.”
“I didn’t say that.” A tiny smile appeared in the corner of her mouth, and the pad of his thumb itched with wanting to run it across her smile so he might learn the softness of her lips, her skin.
