Page 75 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
Yet Montford would one day be a marquess, which far outranked an earl’s youngest male offspring. Even if Kieran could find himself gainful employment, he’d never have Montford’s wealth, or land. And Celeste had said that if she refused Montford, the earl would endanger the Kilburns’ social standing.
Kieran could never court Celeste, not with so much riding on her future betrothal. Which meant that, as repulsive as it was, he’d no choice but to seek out some other woman to be his wife. His family’s ultimatum compelled him.
Unaware of Kieran’s tormented thoughts, Finn let out a gusty sigh. “Must we?”
“Do you want Father to cut you off, or not?” Kieran fired back. At Finn’s silence, he said with a surly tone, “Get dressed and look fucking presentable.”
Half an hour later, he and Finn sat atop their horses, sedately walking the length of Rotten Row. Typically, Kieran avoided this place between five and seven in the evening. If he wanted to ride, he favored heading to Hampstead Heath and giving his horse the freedom to run as much as the beast—and he—desired.
“Can’t get a good gallop here,” he muttered to Finn, riding beside him. Kieran’s mount was Dulcinea, his black mare, a beauty of an animal who loved nothing more than tearing up the turf. She snorted impatiently as he tugged on the reins, keeping her in check when she likely wanted to bolt for the horizon. He guided her between open-top carriages and cattle mainly bred for looks rather than speed or strength.
“Since you said that we’re here to be seen, a gallop would defeat the purpose,” Finn remarked from atop his sleek gray gelding. “Impossible to get a decent eyeful if you’re whizzing past like a drunken comet.”
“Needs must,” Kieran grumbled.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ransome,” a ruddy gentleman called out as he rode past. In a slightly less friendly tone, he addressed Finn. “Mr. Ransome.”
“Lord Hempnall,” Kieran answered, touching his fingers to the brim of his hat.
“Who the hell was that?” Finn asked once the man had ridden past.
“Celeste—I mean, Miss Kilburn introduced me to him at a horticultural exhibition, and I attended a musical recital at his home.”
Finn didn’t press for more details about such a sedate event. Which was good because merely mentioning that day brought Kieran back to the dressing room at the Imperial, with Celeste in his arms as he’d recited the poem she’d inspired him to compose. He continued to feel the imprint of her warm softness against him. He could still taste her sweetness and spice, and see the eagerness in her face as she’d encouraged him to publish his work.
Pride surged through him. He’d wanted to ensure that her first time had been good, and thank God he’d been able to give her that. Pleasing his partners had always been important to him, but with Celeste, the weight had been all the greater. He’d bleed himself into a husk if it meant securing her happiness.
What a damned fool he’d been to think that one time with her would be enough.
“Greetings, Mr. Ransome,” a duo of ladies said, waving at him from their carriage.
“Lady Caunton, Miss Goswick.” He gave a slight bow as the women drove past, then glanced at his brother to snap, “What?”
“Miss Kilburn must have some fae blood in her to have wrought such a magical metamorphosis in your reputation. Perhaps she can conjure luck for me at the gaming tables.”
“You already win big at nearly every game of vingt-et-un,” Kieran said crossly. “No need for luck when you’ve skill on your side.”
Finn shrugged dismissively. “How difficult can something be ifI’mgood at it?”
Much as Kieran wanted to debate that point with his brother, his temper was too frayed to present a decent argument.
“Yet Miss Kilburn has brought about a remarkable alteration in your social standing,” Finn mused.
“Suppose she did.” Kieran nodded at an older man, his wife, and their daughter as the trio waved from their carriage. He had a vague recollection of meeting them at the recital, but he couldn’t be certain. One aristocratic family looked much the same as any other—a collection of pale-skinned, overbred people with the kind of myopia that derived from refusing to look past their own circle of acquaintances.
He supposed he ought to make conversation with them, particularly as the daughter was of marriageable age. The thought repelled him.
“Perhaps she can take me under her wing, as well,” Finn said thoughtfully. “We could arrange a similar bargain as the one you have with her now.”
“The fuck you will,” Kieran snarled.
The tiny quirk of Finn’s eyebrow conveyed more than a library stacked full of books.
“I only meant,” Kieran amended, “she mightn’t require the same sort of arrangement with you. There could be some other way of her providing you an entrée into respectable circles.”
A way that didn’t involve taking her to the forbidden side of London at night. A way that wouldn’t have her spending hours in Finn’s company while she wore the disguise of the free-spirited Salome.
Dulcinea gave another snort of annoyance as Kieran pulled back sharply on the reins. “Sorry, girl,” he soothed, patting the horse’s neck.
