Page 92 of The Good Girl's Guide to Rakes
“He’s blackmailing her into finally marrying him,” Kieran said. “He says he has proof of these midnight adventures and he’s going to ruin her if she doesn’t agree to become his wife. The hell of it is,” he went on through a haze of fury and misery, “she’s going along with his scheme to protect you. To protect me and Finn. Because if she’s dragged down, so are we, and she’s too good to let that happen.”
Guilt enclosed him with its spikes, and he cursed himself again for inadvertently making Celeste accountable for someone else’s wrongdoings.
“Goddamn it.” Dom dragged his hands through his hair. Self-recrimination twisted his features. “I didn’t know. I never would have made her sacrifice herself for the family.”
“I love her, Dom,” Kieran said hoarsely, “but what she needs more than anything is to be set free. At the end of this, if she wants nothing from me, I’ll let her go, but it must be her choice to make.”
“Can’t we just go and beat Montford to death with his own skeleton?” Dom rumbled.
“He’s put safeguards in place. Anything happens to him, word will still get out about Celeste’s ruination.”
“Hell.” Dom’s hands clenched and unclenched. “What if she ran away? America or Australia?”
“Already thought of that, and the consequences are the same.”
“Montford is playing moves ahead,” Finn said darkly. “Who knew the jackass was such a strategist?”
The three of them were quiet for a while, brooding over the ugly business of blackmail. Rain spattered against the grimy windows, while the other patrons continued the serious endeavor of getting drunk.
Kieran would have joined them, but he needed sobriety for what had to happen next.
“I’m formulating a plan,” he said into the silence. When Dom and Finn looked at him, he went on, “I’ll need your help. It’s a risk, but if it comes off, then Celeste is free. She can go wherever she wants, and do whatever she wishes.”
He hauled in a jagged breath. “If it means she can live on her own terms, I’ll strew rose petals on the road away from me and watch her go without a moment’s regret. It’ll kill me, but whatever has to be done to make her happy, I’ll do it.”
Chapter 23
Seated at her escritoire, Celeste stared down at the beautifully engraved invitation, trying to make sense of it. The lovely script was legible enough, but its contents baffled her.
Mr. Kieran Ransome requests the honor of your presence
Wednesday, the 20th of May, at the home of the Earl and Countess of Wingrave, 9 o’clock in the evening,
Music, dancing with a collation to follow
Then, beneath that, in scrawled handwriting,Pleasecome. What was damaged will be repaired. —K
What could it mean? NowKieranwas hosting social events. Everything for him truly had changed, thanks to her efforts. Yet try as she might to feel a sense of elation or happiness for him, she’d alternatedbetween incandescent rage at her situation and smothering sadness that all freedom was lost to her. She’d thought and thought, and had been utterly unable to find a way to disentangle herself from Lord Montford’s venomous web.
There was a knock at the door to her bedchamber, and her father poked his head in. He brandished a piece of heavy paper that looked exactly like the one she now held.
“You get this, too?” he asked.
“I did.” But why, and what Kieran hoped to accomplish with it, she’d no idea.
“Ransome himself wrote at the bottom asking me to come,” he said in puzzlement. “What’s it about, Star?”
“No idea.” Which was true enough. “Will you go?”
Her father shrugged. “Suppose so, if Ransome’s personally extending the invitation.” He was quiet for a moment before asking, “Is Lord Montford coming?”
“He hasn’t said anything to me about it.” Ever since that awful evening at Lord Hempnall’s three days ago, the earl had been calling with infuriating regularity. He insisted she accompany him on a drive down Rotten Row, or a promenade at the park, and an outing to Gunter’s—despite her preference for Catton’s. He’d accepted congratulations on their impending nuptials, and though Celeste hadn’t also accepted the felicitations, she hadn’t contradicted him, either.
In a week, he’d said at Gunter’s, the banns would be read for the first time.
“You might’ve told me,” her father now said, a touch of resentment in his voice. “About making official your engagement.”
“It just sort of happened.” Which was a rather mild way of saying that she was being blackmailed into marrying a man she despised, but she couldn’t tell her father that.
