Page 62 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
The crowds were thick and full of chatter after an evening of varied performances. There had been several singers, acrobats, even a trained bird that could spell by pecking at a deck of alphabet cards. The highlight had been the burletta, which had certainly been worth the wait as it alternated between comedy and pathos.
As she had during the performances, Celeste scanned the crowd in search of Kieran. She thought she’d caught a glimpse of him once, his dark hair gleaming down in the pit with the other raffish young men, but she’d blinked and he’d disappeared. She thought she’d also spotted Dom amongst the blades, but he’d likewise melted into the throng.
She and Rosalind reached the lobby and stood off to the side as the audience headed toward the exit.
“Seems strange that he wanted to meet youafterthe performance,” Rosalind said.
“I’ve no idea what he’s planning, or why I’m supposed to be at the theater at all.”
“A mysterious creature, your Mr. Ransome.”
“He’s notmyMr. Ransome,” Celeste said, her attention fixed on the multitudes of people moving past her. “He belongs to no one.”
“Notnow,” Rosalind noted, “but if your plan works, at some point he will.”
Celeste snorted. “Even when men take wives, they’re no one’s property. The same can’t be said for women.”
“Makes me grateful I’ll never have a husband.”
Was that Kieran amidst a group of bucks? No, just a man who bore a passing resemblance to him. Waiting was intolerable, especially because she’d no idea what awaited her. Knowing Kieran, it would surely be something extraordinary.
“Is that him?” Rosalind asked. “Esgob Dafydd, he’s a handsome one.”
It didn’t seem to signify how many times Celeste saw Kieran. Every time he appeared, her belly gave a tiny flip and her head went light. He emerged from the multitudes and moved toward them. Unlike the restrained garments he wore when attending the recital earlier today, now he’d donned a waistcoat of gold, worked all over with ornate embroidery, and his beautifully fitted coat was made of claret-hued velvet. She couldn’t stop from watching the flex of his thigh muscles beneath his snug buckskin breeches, which were tucked into tall black boots that shone like obsidian mirrors.
His hair, too, was worn slightly differently. It had been sleek and smooth at the recital, but now it layin wild curls that tempted her fingers to feel their texture. She’d felt his hair’s softness when they had kissed at Mr. Longbridge’s party—but she wouldn’t think about that now.
Alas, he hadn’t put kohl around his eyes, but that was something better suited to more private gatherings.
He strode to her and Rosalind, wearing his sly smile that promised so much.
“This is my friend Rosalind Carew,” Celeste said when he reached them. “Rosalind, this is Mr. Kieran Ransome.”
“Miss Carew,” he said, bowing. “Your assistance tonight is invaluable.”
“Anything for Celeste, Mr. Ransome,” Rosalind answered. “Including acting as alibi when necessary.”
Kieran’s smile widened. “You are a delight, Miss Carew.”
“I know,” Rosalind answered pertly.
“Back at finishing school,” Celeste confided, “Rosalind frequently encouraged me to misbehave.”
“As I recall,” her friend replied, “youwere the one who advocated that we sneak out after bedtime and swim in the pond. Andwhoencouraged me to steal Miss Hadstock’s keys so we could liberate her sherry? They found us in the morning asleep on the front lawn.”
“So there’s a precedent for your misbehavior?” Amusement danced in Kieran’s eyes as he gazed at Celeste. “I’m wounded—I thought I was helping you break ground. However, we ought to be moving along to tonight’s mischief.”
He glanced at the now almost empty lobby, whose few occupants consisted of two inebriatedmen leaning on each other as they staggered toward the exit, and a trio of staff sweeping up programs, orange rinds, and other debris. “Did you bring your . . . ?”
“I’ll fetch it.” In short order, and with another generous tip, Celeste had her satchel that contained all the necessary components to transform her into Salome. Kieran took the luggage from her since, as he explained, it would look the height of boorishness to have him empty-handed whilst a woman carried her own bag.
With her disguise secured, they joined the remaining audience members clambering into carriages and cabs. Kieran hailed one, then held the door open for Rosalind.
“Are you comfortable heading home on your own?” Celeste asked as her friend climbed into the vehicle.
“I grew up with brothers,” Rosalind assured her. “Which means I know how to throw a punch. And I know the vulnerable bits to hit.”
Kieran winced as he closed the door behind Rosalind. “I’ve a younger sister, and I can vouch for the fact that she aims her punches with vicious accuracy. Good night, Miss Carew.”
