Page 55 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
“Shall we?” Kieran held out his hand, and she took it.
She exhaled, grateful and proud beyond reason. Anticipation rose with each step into the tenement. At last, she was going to realize her dream. Thepower to bring it to life had always been with her, but by bringing her here, Kieran had helped her to see that, and reminded her how much Ratcliff meant to her.
Yet beneath this joy was a darker, bleaker truth. She might be able to find a way to keep her work with Ratcliff going, even after her marriage to Lord Montford, but sooner rather than later, this wondrous time with Kieran would come to an end.
Chapter 13
A fortnight earlier, if anyone had said to Kieran that he would have voluntarily been sober and awake at nine in the morning, sitting on a rickety chair in a tenement in one of London’s humblest neighborhoods, transcribing plans for an aid organization... well, he wouldn’t have even bothered laughing, the notion was too ludicrous.
Yet he’d spent all of yesterday morning and into the afternoon doing precisely that. As Celeste and the woman he came to know as Mrs. Susan Vere talked in Susan’s cramped set of rooms, he had volunteered for the role of stenographer. Celeste had first gone out to bring many people into the conversation, and at her urging, they’d offered their thoughts on her intention to bring literacy to Ratcliff.
Celeste had facilitated the discussion, ensuring that everyone’s voice was heard, and taking all suggestions into consideration. She’d run the talk smoothly, coming up with solutions to problems and making recommendations when something seemed too difficult to attain.
Damn Ned Kilburn for denying his daughter what was so clearly important to her.
Kieran’s intention was only to show Celeste what was possible. He hadn’t the ability to bring her dream alive himself, yet it seemed much more potent, more formidable, that she realized her own vision.
At the end of the meeting with the people of Ratcliff, Celeste emerged with a purposeful fire burning in her eyes and determination in her step. They hadn’t been able to hail a cab in Ratcliff, so a walk was necessary.
“I’ll contact the Duchess of Northfield immediately,” Celeste said decisively as they skirted around a dray that had stopped in the middle of the road. “She does exceptional work with her schools for girls in the East End, and I’m certain she’ll be amenable to donating hornbooks and quills to our cause.”
“I’m on good terms with the Earl of Ashford,” Kieran volunteered. “His wife runsThe Hawk’s Eye, so she would be an excellent resource for providing more literacy materials.”
Celeste came to an abrupt stop. She wheeled to face Kieran, her expression intent. “Thank you—again.”
“The hard work is yours,” he protested, “and Susan’s, and the other people of Ratcliff. I merely sat around decoratively.”
“You did far more than that.” She glanced up and down the busy commercial street before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve helped them, and made me very happy.”
It was as though he’d gotten drunk on pure sunshine. His head spun and light seemed to emanate from his skin. What was this feeling? He couldn’t place it, but managed to say with a modicum of rationality, “I’m glad.”
But there wasn’t time to linger on the streets of Clerkenwell. She took his arm and together they made their way west, until Kieran was able to hail a cab and take her back home.
Two days later, Kieran faced his reflection in the glass, watching his valet adjust the already perfect snowy white folds of his neckcloth and check that his equally white waistcoat was entirely free of lint.
“A subdued ensemble, sir,” Wesham said, flicking away a speck of dust from the shoulder of Kieran’s dark green coat, “compared to your favored garb.”
“We do what we must as circumstance compels us.” Kieran glanced toward his clothes press, which held a kaleidoscope of waistcoats and coats in an abundance of colors and fabrics, but, much as he would prefer to sport any of those garments, they weren’t precisely acceptable to the rarefied company he was to keep that afternoon.
“Sir, you’re fidgeting,” Wesham admonished gently as he adjusted Kieran’s cuffs.
“I’m a grown man,” Kieran answered, “and grown men don’tfidget. We aremoodily restless.”
“Your moody restlessness is preventing me from doing my job, sir.”
“Very well.” It was no good taking his humor out on his valet, but, damn it, merely thinking about seeing Celeste again after pleasuring her and afterseeing her happiness in Ratcliff sent his mind and body into an uproar.
How was he supposed to play the smooth, sophisticated roué in her presence? The taste of her continued to linger on his lips, and the feel of her still burned his hands. And her joy... her joy broughthimjoy.
It scared the hell out of him.
Because he couldn’t have her,shouldn’thave her. He’d already done a shit job of staying away, but he had to do better.
He ought to stay home this afternoon, find an excuse and beg off. It wasn’t as though he relished the thought of spending several hours with his arse growing numb as he listened to Mozart. But the whole point of this bargain he’d struck with Celeste was to put him in circulation as a possible bridegroom to Society’s most esteemed figures. Today, in fact, she was supposed to introduce him to respectable young ladies, thereby laying the groundwork for him to pay calls on and eventually court one of them.
Kieran scowled. He didn’twantto meet any respectable young ladies. The only thing he looked forward to today was seeing Celeste again.
What the hell was happening to him?
