Page 43 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
A woman raced through the entryway, chasing a gentleman. Neither of them wore shoes, and they slid and careened across the polished floor, laughing boisterously.
Celeste stepped back to avoid colliding with the pair, and was met by a firm, warm wall. She tottered,on the verge of losing her balance, when an arm encircled her.
“I’ve got you,” Kieran murmured in her ear.
Her eyes drifted closed at the feel of his breath fanning across her skin. The last time he’d been this close, they’d held hands. She wanted more, so much more.
“Ransome, you rat-eaten brute,” a voice called out. “Who the hell let you in my home? I don’t know whether to sack them or raise their wages.”
She opened her eyes to see Mr. Longbridge approaching. And while the gentleman was always attractive when he appeared at Society functions, tonight he verged on dangerous. He’d lost his cravat—or perhaps he’d never put one on—revealing the deep brown skin of his throat, and instead of a jacket, he wore an elaborately embroidered banyan that flowed behind him as he strode toward Celeste and Kieran. In one of his hands was a glass of amber-colored spirits, while a cheroot dangled between the fingers of his other hand.
“Longbridge,” Kieran answered with surprising warmth, given how the other man had just insulted him. “It would take cauldrons of burning pitch pouring down from the ramparts to keep me away.”
“I’ll put in an order of flaming pitch with my housekeeper.” Mr. Longbridge eyed Celeste.
For a moment, she debated whether or not to curtsey, as she had when they’d encountered each other before, but remembered that in disguise, and in this place, at this hour, she could liberate herself.
She plucked the glass from Mr. Longbridge’s hand and took a drink from it, letting the smoky flavorcoat her mouth and warm her throat. With traces of her old East London accent, she said, “I’m Salome.”
The host threw back his head and guffawed. “Welcome to my home, Salome. You’re free to do whatever you like, so long as all parties are willing.”
“Duly noted,” she answered, relieved that Mr. Longbridge hadn’t recognized her.
“Andthisrogue is willing to do anything,” Mr. Longbridge added, arching a brow at Kieran. “Did you ever return that suit of armor?”
“It was left on its owner’s front step,” Kieran answered, his eyes glinting, “more or less as I found it. Save for the codpiece.”
Celeste pressed her fingertips to her lips to stop herself from laughing, but then, wasn’t the point of these expeditions to live as wildly and openly as she pleased? She gave a loud, unladylike chortle. “Youmusttell me that story.”
“Another time,” Kieran said. “Tonight, we’re going to test the limits of Longbridge’s hospitality.”
She started to return their host’s drink, but he waved it off. “Keep it. There’s an abundance in my cellars. Which I’m sure Ransome will drain. Godspeed, my children.”
Putting his cheroot between his teeth, Mr. Longbridge sauntered off. As he went, a woman hurried up beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist. His low chuckle drifted back to where Celeste stood with Kieran.
“The very best of blokes, that Longbridge,” Kieran said, guiding her up the curving stairs. “Don’t tell him I said that, or else he’ll ban me from his house.”
“Never would I have guessed that he’s the same man I sat opposite at the Earl of Ashford’s dinner party three weeks ago. His manners were so polished, the earl himselfalmostsuffered in comparison.”
“None of us are precisely who people believe us to be.” At the top of the stairs, an array of decanters and glasses were arranged on a sideboard, and, after topping off Celeste’s beverage, Kieran poured himself a drink.
“We certainly aren’t.” She tapped the rim of her glass against his, then took another drink as giddiness danced along her limbs.
“I can’t believe I’m about to advocate temperance,” Kieran murmured, “but have a care with how much of that you imbibe. While Longbridge insists his guests respect consent, sometimes people forget themselves and try for too much.”
“I’d no idea when I impressed you into service that meant you’d also act as bodyguard. Don’t scowl. I’m flattered... possibly.”
“I trust you,” he grumbled, “but not others.”
In sisterly affection, she patted his cheek, but she wore no gloves and the feel of his stubble against her palm was far from fraternal. He went still beneath her touch, his shadowed eyes hot. Despite her decision to act uninhibitedly, she snatched her hand back, curling her fingers in—whether to preserve the sensation of his beard on her flesh or to erase it, she couldn’t tell.
They both took long drinks from their glasses. Kieran pulled a cheroot out from an inside jacket pocket and used a provided flint to light it. He drewon the cigar, yet he was careful to blow the smoke away from her. The rich smell enfolded them both.
She couldn’t stop from staring. Even her father and brother adjourned to a different room when they took tobacco, and to see a man smoke openly in front of her was another first.
He held the cheroot out to her.
Cautiously, she plucked it from his fingers, then put it to her lips. Feeling like the most sophisticated woman in the whole of England, she inhaled.
