Page 77 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
In short order, they returned to Henrietta Street. As Kieran stepped across the threshold to their rooms, he noticed an envelope bearing his name in an unfamiliar hand had been slipped beneath the door.
“A court summons?” Finn asked, passing him on the way to the whisky.
Kieran broke the wafer and read. “An invitation.”
“To a paternity suit,” his brother guessed as he poured two drinks.
“To a ball, you ass.” Kieran’s brows climbed as he read. “The Duke and Duchess of Greyland request the pleasure of my company in two nights’ time.”
“A gala of considerable repute,” Finn said, handing him a tumbler. “Even a scapegrace such as myself has heard of it. Receiving an invitation to the duke’s ball is quite a coup, little brother. Miss Kilburn has indeed worked wonders with your reputation. Felicitations.”
His brother tapped the rim of his glass against Kieran’s and they both drank. The whisky burned its path down Kieran’s throat but he was still damned cold.
“For someone who’s just been invited to the social event of the Season,” Finn noted, “you seem remarkably melancholic. You’vearrived, Key. All the mamas at the ball will know you’re a man of good standing and be eager for you to pay calls on their daughters.”
“Precisely.” Kieran threw back the rest of his drink and poured himself another, yet there was no amount of alcohol that could lighten his mood. “I’m well on my way to finding a wife. And I no longer have need of Celeste’s assistance.”
The whisky pooled leadenly in his stomach. There had always been a limitation on the amount of time he and Celeste were going to have together, but he’d truly thought—and hoped—that limitation would come later.
A tap sounded on the door, and when Finn made no move to answer it, Kieran went to see who it was.
“Miss said I was to wait for a reply,” the messenger boy said, handing him a folded note.
The alcohol didn’t lift his humor nearly as much as seeing Celeste’s handwriting. He took the missive from the boy and read it quickly.
Meet at the park three blocks from my house, two o’clock tomorrow afternoon? Strategy session!
“I’ll be there,” he said immediately. He handed the lad a coin for his trouble before the boy sped down the stairs. Only when the messenger had slammed out the front door did Kieran recall that there was no reason to meet Celeste tomorrow. As Finn had said, she’d done her job. There was no longer a needfor her to gain him entrance to reputable gatherings or make introductions to suitable young ladies.
But how could he inform her of that? Worse, how could he put it in a letter, rather than say it to her face? He’d have to tell Celeste what had happened, though he dreaded it with every particle of his being.
Chapter 18
It was, perhaps, unwise of Celeste to suggest to Kieran that they meet in the afternoon when her morning was unfortunately commandeered by Lord Montford. The earl had insisted she spend the morning with his mother. Yet Celeste couldn’t bear the notion of waiting until later. Shedidhave important information to discuss with him regarding the next step in the reformation of his social status. Of course she’d need to see him on the sooner side.
However, she knew better. Her breathless impatience arose strictly from the opportunity to be near him. A day and a half had passed since their unforgettable tryst in the dressing room. It was too long ago, and yet she still felt him on her,inher. She shivered with the pleasure that continued to reverberate through her body and in her thoughts.
The way he looked at her, the way he touched her... He trusted her to know what she wanted for herself.
“So, when is it to be?” Lady Stretton demanded.
Celeste blinked as she surfaced from her reverie. The marchioness’s tasteful parlor came into focus, including the portrait of Lord Montford that had been painted shortly after he’d returned from his grand tour. In the portrait, the earl stood beside an urn that he’d stolen from a Greek ruin.
Naturally, he was proud of his theft.
“Forgive me, my lady.” Celeste composed herself by taking a sip of excessively strong tea. “When is what to be?”
“The announcement of your engagement to my Hugh, of course.” Lady Stretton clicked her tongue in a way that would have earned Celeste a scolding from the teachers at her finishing school.
“I cannot say, my lady, as he has yet to ask me.” Celeste had no appetite for the dry lemon biscuits, yet she made herself nibble on one rather than continue discussing the subject she dreaded most. Still, perhaps it might be possible to maneuver the situation. After swallowing around the overbaked crumbs, she said pleasantly, “It would be most charming to make such an announcement around Christmas—or perhaps at the commencement of the next Season. If not later.”
“None of those options appeal to me. I’ll confer with Hugh about it.”
“As you like, my lady.” God, if only Celeste could jump to her feet, upend the fragile little table that held their tea, and run from the parlor.
Instead, she endured an hour of Lady Stretton’s chatter about dismissing a servant for being slatternly. At last, Celeste was liberated and could return home. She had enough time to change hergown before rushing out the door and toward the park.
“Do slow down, miss!”
