Page 76 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
“Fear not, little brother,” Finn said evenly. “The odds of me developing feelings for Miss Kilburn are a thousand to one. Unlike you.”
It was a struggle to keep his hands loose on the ribbons, but hell, how he wanted to tug on them sharp enough to make Dulcinea rear up.
What hewantedto do was kick his horse into a full-out gallop and ride away, far from the countless eyes watching him here in Rotten Row, far from his own brother’s perceptiveness.
“Talking rubbish,” Kieran answered immediately, but could Finn see into his heart? It beat fiercely within the cage of his ribs, nearly robbing Kieran of breath. Because what Finn had said about Kieran developing feelings for Celeste... it was true.
“Talking rubbish is a common occurrence with me,” Finn agreed pleasantly. “Yet in this instance, I don’t believe I am.”
“Don’t say anything to Dom,” Kieran said, shooting his brother a warning look.
“What, precisely,wouldI tell him?”
“That I...” Kieran guided his horse around a cluster of riders who had stopped in the middle of the path to talk. He struggled to find the right words, ones that could both describe what he felt for Celeste, and also what would protect her. “That I... care for her.”
“So, I was right,” Finn crowed. “I was merely bluffing, and you fell for it.”
Kieran swore. “I’m going to pour treacle in your hair the next time you fall asleep.”
“A change of subject won’t deter me from ferreting out the truth. You’ve become attached to Miss Kilburn.”
“Lower your voice, goddamn it,” Kieran said tightly as he smiled at a mother and her two daughters in a barouche. He didn’t give a damn about ruining his chances with the daughters, but he had to shelter Celeste from any speculation.
He nudged Dulcinea toward a quieter patch at the side of the path, and waited for his brother to follow. When Finn drew up close, Kieran said lowly, “It doesn’t matter how I feel about her. She’s on the verge of marrying someone else.”
“Have you kissed her?”
Not trusting himself to give away too much, Kieran merely nodded. He wouldn’t tell his brother that he’d done far more than kiss Celeste. And goddamn, had it been incredible. The most extraordinary in his long history of erotic encounters.
Finn muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” Kieran demanded.
“I said you’re a bloody fool,” his brother said. “And a cad, to boot.”
“Both sobriquets I’ve already given myself,” Kieran answered. It would have been far wiser never to have touched Celeste. Wiser, perhaps, for both of their sakes. Yet how could he truly regret it when he’d given her such pleasure, and she’d made him so happy?
With a curse, he nudged his horse into an annoyingly sedate walk. His brother kept pace on his mount. They were silent for a moment as they continued to ride, passing more people who greeted Kieran or else eyed him with far more interest than he’d ever received.
“How does it feel?” Finn asked.
“Like I’m playing a role,” Kieran answered. “They think me worthy of their attention now, yet it was a superficial alteration in my behavior. At the heart of me, I’m the same.”
“I meant,” his brother continued, “how does it feel to care about someone?”
Kieran glanced over at Finn, noting his brother’s pensive expression. Like him, Finn had never kept a mistress, but unlike him, Finn was far less of a libertine, preferring to keep his focus on the gaming tables rather than romantic affairs. True, more than once Kieran had come back to their shared rooms to find his brother entertaining a woman—though hardly ever was it the same woman.
“It’s... like developing a new sense,” he finally answered. “I’m raw and overstimulated and I can’t help but feel like I’m doing everything wrong. But no one is here to teach me what to do. God knows Mother and Father are no experts.”
“Wish I could help,” Finn said wryly. “But I’m as useless as a spoon tasked with carving a steak.”
“There’s poetry, of course,” Kieran murmured, “which abounds with descriptions of emotion. Words, though, are sharp, delineated things. They only hint at something, something so profound as to exist outside language, beyond careful construction. You can very well say something pretty and evocative about living to see a smile bloom on someone’s face—but until you’ve actually experienced the answering blossom of light in your own chest when you do behold that smile, a poem’s nothing more than empty syllables.”
“Goddamn it, you’re in trouble,” Finn muttered after a moment.
“I surely am, big brother. I surely am.” He looked around at the crowds of riders and carriages clotting Rotten Row, but no one held any interest for him. “I’ve had enough of being seen. I’m ready to leave when you are.”
“Thank God,” his brother said with relief. “This respectability veneer is appalling. Only a liberal application of strong drink can remedy it.”
