Page 86 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
The night gaped all around them. Distantly, a heavy cart rolled by, and there was the harsh burstof laughter as a group of drunken young men staggered home from their evening’s debauchery. It was like any night in London, perfectly ordinary, no one aware of the fact that Celeste was in agony, and Kieran suffered, too, because he was powerless to stop it—both of them burning bright at the center of the darkness.
“I have to dosomething,” he said, roughened voice grating in his throat.
She shook her head, already backing away toward the street. “Even the wild Kieran Ransome can’t rebel against this.”
He stared at her retreating form, wanting to snatch her back, to tuck her into the shelter of his arms and run like hell into the night. Yet there was no way out of the snare Montford tangled around her.
That son of a bitch. The urge to commit violence seethed through Kieran’s body. He’d never wanted to hurt someone more.
“I’ll see you home, at least.” It wasn’t much, but it was something.
She shook her head as she continued to back away. “What we had together will sustain me for the rest of my life. Goodbye, Kieran.”
Celeste started to turn, then hesitated before she launched herself at him. Her lips fastened to his in a hard, desperate kiss.
He had a moment with her in his arms, a moment to savor the feel of her, before she tore away and sped off.
Chest ripped open, he remained alone in the mews and stared into the shadows. The hours pastmidnight used to be his favorite, ripe with possibility, unhindered by expectations. He was the most himself when the good people of London were snug in their beds. When he’d shared that potential with Celeste, she’d grabbed on to it eagerly and flowered into her full self. He’d been lucky to watch her realize all that she was, and the night had belonged to them, at least for a time.
But now... now there was nothing but emptiness.
Kieran had no desire to go about his ordinary life. Nothing held any interest to him, and he consigned himself to prowling around his rooms, with forays to the pugilism academy to pummel his fists into anyone unlucky enough to be his opponent in the ring. Even the pain that shot up his arms from his ferocious blows barely registered.
Three nights after losing Celeste, however, Finn appeared in his bedchamber and threw a dark evening coat at him.
“Father commands us to attend him at the theater,” his brother announced. “Bathe, for the love of God, and get dressed.”
“I’ve no desire to play lapdog,” Kieran said, wadding the coat in his hands. “On this or any other night.”
“What you desire has no impact on Father’s demand,” Finn replied. “Either you voluntarily come with me to the Imperial Theatre or he’ll get those burly footmen of his to drag you there.”
What sodding choice was there, given that threat? Muttering, swathed in a foul humor, Kieran grudginglycleaned himself and put on his evening finery. He and Finn rode to the theater without saying a word.
The last time Kieran had been at the Imperial Theatre, he’d barely paid attention to the performance. Then, he’d milled in the pit, hot with the awareness that later that night, he’d be showing Celeste the hidden side of life at the theater. Yet he’d also been afraid because his intention had been to reveal the secret of his poetry to her. Never in his most fevered, desperate imaginings had he anticipated that that night would end with her acceptance of him. He’d never believed that they would make love, or expected how it would alter him. Or show him what he’d lost.
Everything was colorless and flinty without her—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d finished a meal, or slept more than a handful of hours. He was merely the framework of himself, empty on the inside.
“The melodramas haven’t even begun and you’re already looking tragic,” Finn muttered to him now as they sat waiting for the performances to start. “If we’re to enact the roles of dutiful sons for Mother and Father, we’ll have to plaster happy grimaces in place and pretend we’re exactly the respectable offspring they demand.”
Slouching in his chair, Kieran glanced at their parents seated in front of him. They sat at the rail to observe all the other important people coming into the theater. There was the usual distance between his mother and father, and the typical lack of conversation. His mother shot him a pointed lookand he reluctantly straightened, which earned him a nod of approval.
On edge, he glanced at the other boxes filling with the elite of English Society. Hard to give a damn about any of them, so his gaze continued to roam around the theater. The pit was its usual morass of bucks, dandies, courtesans, and other fast-living people all running from one sensational experience to the next. A few caught his eye and waved at him, urging him to join their company.
Yet even if he wasn’t obliged to remain with his family tonight, what the fuck did it signify if he wagered at a gaming hell or took part in an orgiastic party? If he wasn’t tasting Celeste’s lips, why kiss anyone else? Why touch someone who wasn’t her?
Moodily, he moved on from examining the pit, and he looked toward the tiers of seats reserved for the better-off audience members who didn’t have quite enough prestige or finances to secure them a private box. Prosperous bankers and brewers, their wives and offspring. Some of them possessed substantial fortunes that enabled them to penetrate the ranks of the ton, and a few were recognizable to him. There was one bloke he’d seen at Jenkins’s, and a couple he remembered from the musical recital, and then there was—
“Oh, fuck,” he growled.
Celeste was there. She sat with Miss Carew and they appeared to be conversing as they also took in the scene.
Even across the span of an entire theater, he saw the purple smudges of sleeplessness beneath her eyes,and how in just a few days, her cheeks were hollow. She fanned herself lethargically, and her eyes were dull, despite the fact that she was surrounded on all sides by stimuli. Wasn’t anyone looking out for her? She needed rest, and sustenance.
“Don’t,” Finn warned, clamping a heavy hand on his shoulder.
Kieran glanced down, only then realizing that he’d tried to rise and go to her.
“I have to—”
