Page 45 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
A ripple of desire moved across her skin and settled in the deep, secret places within her.
“So long as no one’s harmed in its getting,” he said, his voice low, “we ought to be free to find our joy where we can. God knows that in this life, none of it’s guaranteed.”
“Is that why you pursue it with such dedication?” she asked breathlessly.
He was quiet for a moment before answering. “Depending on others to bring us happiness leads to disappointment.”
“Thus, you give it to yourself,” she said with approval. “A wise strategy.”
His eyebrow quirked. “If you call me wise, I’ll deny it to my last breath.”
“I should call you something else, instead.” How fascinating that he refused to believe anything positive about himself. A piece of her stung for that boy he’d once been, the child who had been forbidden from showing emotion, and the rakehell who now gave himself the comfort that no one else thought he deserved.
“Impulsive,” he said sardonically.“Orundisciplined.”
“Perhaps that’s how you want people to perceive you,” she insisted. “Yet I’ve tangible evidence of your generosity. And you could have done the bare minimum in our bargain. If you truly didn’t care what I experienced, you would have taken me to Vauxhall or somewhere just as commonplace. But here we are at this extraordinary party because it’s unlike anything else in London. You’re giving me precisely what I need. Because you’re a good man, Kieran.”
Their bodies moved seamlessly together in the dance. Strange how she could be so ablaze with exhilaration, and yet also feel as though she’d finally found her home.
“My minimal efforts are hardly worth praise.” His voice was dismissive, yet there was a searching in his eyes, as if he craved her approval.
“I can see you’re going to impede me at every turn,” she replied with a smile. “Has anyone ever called youobstreperous?”
“Pigheadedarseis employed with more frequency.”
“I’ll endeavor to call you that, the next time we’re in polite company. ‘Do pass me the biscuits, Pigheaded Arse.’”
The way he smiled, a mixture of boyishness and virile charm, shot heat through her. But it was the way he held her that made her heart race. His arms were secure but not too tight, as though he wanted her close but trusted her to be able to stand on her own.
“It will be a challenge not to call you Salome when we’re in less disreputable company,” he said, his gaze heavy-lidded.
“You must resist the temptation,” she answered, alarmed by the notion.
“I will, only I’ve come to realize something over the course of our bargain.” His voice dropped even lower. “Salome isn’t a disguise.”
“No one has recognized me thus far,” she pointed out as he turned her again.
“What I mean is that Salome isn’t merely paint and scandalous dresses, although,” he added, witha sly half smile as he glanced down at her clingy bronze gown, “I’m entirely in favor of scandalous dresses. Salome, I see now, isyou.She’s part of you. Bold. Daring. A touch naughty, and completely in command of herself. I can even hear you in her voice, that touch of Ratcliff that your father wants to repudiate but is so important to who you are. All of that has always been within you, but as Salome, you can finally embody that part of yourself. You’re setting Salome free.”
Celeste started, absorbing his words.
It was a good thing that he held her so securely, or else she would have stumbled from the impact of Kieran’s insight.
Was it true? When she painted her face, donned her revealing clothing, and spoke with her old accent—was she playacting, or was she allowing herself to be the woman who dwelled inside her?
“I’ve changed my mind about you,” she said, slightly dazed from this revelation. At his curious frown, she added, “You’re generousandperceptive, and anyone who doesn’t value that is a damned fool.”
“You are no fool,” he said warmly.
I am, she thought.For you.
The feel of his long, taut body pressed to hers made her head spin, far more than the turns of the dance. Even if they had danced at one of the assemblies that clogged up the Season’s calendar, they never would have been able to touch each other this way, with only the barriers of their clothing between them. The silk and wool were both too heavy, and hardly anything at all. His thighs werefirm, his torso unyielding, and he radiated penetrating heat.
She clasped her hands to his shoulders, loving the play of muscle underneath the fine wool of his coat.
Their faces were mere inches apart, close enough for her to see the widening of his pupils and feel the subtle accelerated shift in his breathing. His gaze lingered on her mouth.
Growing up in Ratcliff meant that the harsh realities of life were ever present. She’d witnessed many things there, both brutal and beautiful, but never had the luxury of swooning. One always had to keep their wits. Yet having Kieran so close, reading the hunger in his face and body, wanting him as feverishly as she did, Celeste nearly gave in to the urge to swoon.
