Page 64 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
Yet to be a performer at the Imperial had to be quite different. True, the dressing room was clutteredand cramped, and was likely even more so when it was full of women preparing to go on the stage, yet it fascinated Celeste just the same. This was where the actresses and dancers got ready to perform.
And receive their admirers, Kieran had said.
Celeste glanced toward the chaise, its upholstery slightly faded and more than a little threadbare. Doubtless it had held more than its share of lovers.
Her cheeks heated as she imagined herself telling Kieran to stay in the dressing room as she disrobed. She’d seat him on the chaise, watch his eyes blacken with desire as she removed her clothing, garment by garment, and then, when she was clad in nothing but her shift, she’d straddle him and...
A knock sounded at the door. “Everything all right?” Kieran asked. “Things are almost underway out here.”
“I’ll be right out,” she said, dragging her mind back from dangerously salacious images.
She’d become proficient in quickly transforming herself into Salome, and twenty minutes later, opened the door to find him leaning against the wall in the corridor. He straightened when she emerged, a smile unfolding across his face. “Ah, there she is.”
“You only like me this way because my garments are practically indecent.”
His smile widened. “Much as I adore your scandalous clothing, when you’re Salome, you become the woman who’s been inside you all this time. I do love to see her.”
She needn’t have bothered with rouge because surely her cheeks were red as poppies. Yet his words inspired her. Perhaps she trulywasSalome, expressingpart of herself that she’d been forced to keep hidden.
More music eddied from the stage, with laughter and chatter adding to the merriment. “That must be the next step in tonight’s adventure.”
“Let’s join them.” Instead of offering her his arm, he reached out and threaded his fingers with hers. The feel of his bare palm against hers was a hot bolt streaking through her, so that by the time they reached the stage and a group of nearly two dozen revelers, she was fever hot and more than a little dizzy.
When she and Kieran stepped onto the boards, they were greeted by wild cheers. There were women she recognized as dancers and actresses, who had changed from their costumes into a mixture of gowns and loose-flowing robes, as well as other women who hadn’t performed tonight. Most of the men had removed their coats and undone their neckcloths, and one of them sported silk wrapped around his head like a turban.
The merrymakers lounged on mounds of pillows that were scattered across the stage—four people passed a long pipe back and forth between them—while a woman on the fiddle strolled from group to group, accompanied by a man playing a small Celtic-looking drum. Flagons of wine were everywhere and handed freely from person to person. More than a few of the revelers had brought pads of paper and were busy sketching the others.
“This is Salome, everyone,” Kieran said, presenting her like a treasure he’d claimed on an expedition.
Another round of cheers rose up, and Celeste gave a small curtsey, though it felt a little silly to be polite with such a gathering of freethinkers.
“Oi, Lottie,” a freckle-faced man hooted cheerfully. “You and Salome could be sisters.”
Lottie had been lounging on cushions, but at the man’s observation, she rose and swayed over to Celeste. She eyed Celeste, and it was indeed like looking into a smoky mirror because Lottie’s hair was the same shade as Celeste’s wig, their heights and figures very similar, and even the way Celeste had painted her face was a close approximation of Lottie’s own features.
Wrapping an arm around Celeste’s waist, Lottie cooed, “Ever think about a life on the stage, chicken? We could make a fortune as a sister act. And afterward, the men would knock our door down into splinters.”
“There can be only one you, Lottie,” Celeste demurred.
The other woman laughed. “True enough, but too much of a good thing is an even better thing. Just think about it, chicken.” She pressed a kiss to Celeste’s cheek. “Blimey, I’ve never kissed myself before.”
“A dream come true,” a pale woman in blue shouted.
Lottie made a rude hand gesture before returning to her place on the cushions.
“Whoareall these people?” Celeste asked Kieran quietly.
“Some are performers. We’ve poets and artists—that woman in the coral dress is one of the finestsculptors you’ll ever meet—and composers. Some are idlers like me, but to a one, everybody brings a little talent and unconventional thinking to the festivities. And once a month, after the theater empties out, we gather together to see where the night takes us.”
“Stop hovering at the edges and join the party,” Lottie shouted at her and Kieran.
“Are you ready?” Kieran asked her with a wicked gleam in his eye. Yet she thought she detected a hint of nervousness beneath his swagger. What on earth could he be uneasy about?
“I’m pastready,” Celeste answered,“and I’ve moved intobreathless with anticipation.”
Kieran winked at her—incredible how such a tiny thing could send sunlight careening through her belly—and together they went to sit with the others. Celeste made herself comfortable on a stack of pillows as Kieran stretched out like a lounging cat. The laughter and conversation flowed, especially as the wine was poured. Though to her surprise, Kieran declined the offered pipe, so she followed suit.
“Growing dull in your old age, Ransome?” one man wearing a printed scarf jeered.
