The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Ten

“You kiss very well, Miss Ferguson,” Ian said, as their lips parted a moment later.

Catherine blushed, a shier of delight running through her at his words and his touch. Their hands lingered together, their faces almost touching. She could smell his cologne, a sweet and musky scent, alluring and inviting. She would gladly have kissed him again, and allowed her passions to take over, but instead, she stepped back, reminding herself that to him this was all a game.

“And I suppose you would know a good kiss from a bad kiss?” she asked, and he laughed.

“I would know it very well, and I can assure you there is no criticism I could give of your own efforts,” he replied.

Catherine had not kissed many men, and certainly so passionately as she had kissed Ian. There had been suitors who had offered a chased kiss to the cheek, and the Earl of Westwood had brought his lips to hers on several snatched and unpleasant occasions. But a real kiss, a kiss of passion and, dare she say, of love, had thus far alluded her. Until now.

“Then I am pleased, but surely one does not simply offer oneself to be kissed without first making the proper moves,” she said, and he laughed again.

“I suppose not, though we ourselves had only the merest of introductions the other evening before our lips met,” he replied, causing Catherine to blush even further.

How lucky she had been that it was Ian Bennet she had encountered in the library, and not some other man who might have used her surprise to his advantage. She had wanted to cause a scandal, there in the heat of the moment, determined to extract herself by any means from the Earl of Westwood and her father’s devious matrimonial plans. But now, having had time to reflect, Catherine was glad not to have caused quite the scandal she intended.

Her reputation was, though a little tarnished, still intact, and with the ton believing her to be betrothed, she could hold her head high and dismiss those silly women who muttered behind their fans. There was no scandal in her association with Ian Bennet, even if he did have a reputation of his own. She liked him, though she could not decide how he felt about her. Certainly, he played the game well, but was there something more?

“That was a unique situation,” she replied, turning her face away from him, and glancing back through the shrubbery for any signs of Jenny, her maid and chaperone.

“But one which has gladly worked out well,” he replied.

“But it can only continue for so long, can it not? I must find someone to marry – genuinely – otherwise the Earl of Westwood will still be waiting,” she said, shuddering at the thought.

“Then the art of seduction becomes even more pressing,” he replied, taking a step back and clearing his throat. He was like a tutor, imparting a lesson to an unruly schoolboy, and Catherine decided to play along, delighting in the continuation of their fantasy.

“And you are to teach me?” she asked, stooping down to pick a cornflower which was growing on a bank of wildflowers which bordered the clearing. She touched it to his chest, smiling at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Perhaps the kiss first,” he said, straightening up.

“But we have not arrived at that moment, yet. Is there not to be a seduction? Have we danced? What have you said to me or am I to say something to you?” she asked, as though falling effortlessly into her role.

“We have danced, yes, we have met at a ball, much like the other night. I have seen you across the room, our eyes have met, we have eyes only for one another the whole evening long, and then I come to speak with you again, less formally, now,” he said, clearing his throat again.

“And you ask me to dance a second time?” she replied, and he nodded.

“Something like this, “Miss Ferguson, would you do me the honor of allowing me a second waltz?” and you then reply…?” he said, his words trailing off in question.

“I would be delighted,” she said, offering him her hand.

“Then you have shown yourself an easy catch,” he remarked, and she blushed.

“But if we have already danced…?” she asked, but he shook his head.

“Why not offer some allurement? Do not make yourself so easily available. Tell me you have already promised this next dance to another man, and that way I shall wonder if I have missed my chance,” he said, and Catherine smiled.

“But if I want to dance with you, what then?” she asked, and Ian tutted.

“You are to create an illusion. You are interested, yes, but you must make me work for the chance. I must be led to think that you have all manner of other suitors and that I am but one of many who might have that final chance,” he said, looking at her pointedly.

“I see…” she said, though it all seemed terribly complicated. What would happen if she pursued such an illusion too far, she wondered? If she made out she was not interested, even if she was, then would he – the gentleman – not find someone who was interested?

“So, now you have danced with some other gentleman, and I have spent that dance sitting out, desperately hoping you will offer me your hand for the next waltz. You have shown willing, but not immediacy. I have had to work for what I wanted, and thus the allure becomes even greater,” he said, as though in conclusion of the lesson.

“So, in doing so, I have seduced you, but you believe you have seduced me?” she asked, and he laughed.

“Precisely,” he said, and Catherine laughed.

“It is no wonder I find the whole thing so tedious. All these unspoken rules, they are designed to trip one and humiliate one, it is simply terrible,” she said, shaking her head.

“But learn them, and you shall soon find yourself with whichever man you desire,” he replied, causing her to blush even more.

Catherine could not tell him that the man she desired was standing in front of her. Would these same principles work on Ian Bennet, too? He was not the sort of man to fall in love, or so she thought, nor to be led so easily by the ways of women.

“And what of the man? Is he merely the woman’s pawn?” she asked, curious to know Ian’s own thoughts on the matter.

“Most men are easily infatuated. They think of little but the physical delights. A woman can use that to her advantage, many women do. But there are those who do not understand the ways of men and find themselves at the disadvantage. You do not possess that problem,” he said, smiling at her.

“I am a seductress, am I?” she asked, laughing at the absurdity of such a suggestion.

“You seduced me in the library at the Somerset residence,” he said, and Catherine laughed.

“But I had no intention of doing so, I thought you were Hamilton Asquith, and given his reputation, such a seduction would have required little by way of my own abilities,” she replied.

It embarrassed her now to think of the way in which she had presented herself, the disheveled dress, the breathless look, the expression which spoke of her desire – it had all been an act, but one which had proved fruitful. Had she really seduced, Ian, she wondered?

“But we would not have shared a kiss had there not been some attraction there, some reason for our lips to meet,” he replied, taking a step toward her.

“Then I have already learned the lesson in such an art?” she asked, and he smiled.

“One can always refresh one’s memory,” he said, “the kiss, perhaps?”

Catherine’s heart began to beat faster now. She was breathless, anticipating what was to come. She wanted to feel his lips against hers, the closeness of his body, the touch of his hand. He pulled her closer toward him, their faces once more almost touching.

“Is such a thing permitted after only two dances?” she whispered, and he smiled.

“Let us forget the lessons for a moment. It is you I want,” he exclaimed, and he kissed her with such passion as to be quite overwhelming.

In that moment, Catherine felt herself entirely taken up by the delights of their kiss. There was nothing of a falsity about it, no forced gesture or empty act. This kiss was real. At least, that is how it felt to Catherine. Her arms were around his waist, gazing up into his eyes, their lips as one. She let out a sigh as they parted, for she would happily have had it last far longer, desiring again to know his touch. He looked a little embarrassed by his passion, apologizing for the sudden burst of feeling he had displayed.

“There is no harm in it,” she exclaimed, “am I not to learn the art of seduction?” and taking the initiative she pulled him close to her and kissed him again.

* * *

“And I said to Lady Bertram, you cannot permit the maid to remain, not after such a spectacle in the stables, you are… oh…” a voice behind them said.

Catherine spun around, startled by the sound of an intrusion into the clearing. Her lips had been pressed to Ian’s, arousal coursing through her, delighting in the very real moment of seduction she had found herself engaged in. Now, she found herself face to face with Lady Millicent Fotherely, one of the silly, tittering women who had so plagued her at the ball with her whisperings and scandalmongering.

She was accompanied by another young woman, a companion, carrying a large wicker hamper. They were evidently on a picnic and had made their way into the clearing through the trees, no doubt expecting to find it quiet and secluded. Catherine stepped back, her face flushed red with embarrassment, as Ian stepped to one side, clearing his throat, the two of them attempting to appear as though nothing had happened.

“We were just…” Catherine began, but Lady Millicent smiled.

“Oh, do not mind us. You just do as you wish. Come along Harriet,” she said, and the two women marched off through the trees, tittering to one another as they went.

“I give it a day,” Ian said, shaking his head.

“A day?” Catherine asked, still looking at the retreating figures of the two women.

“Before this incident is known across the ton. I am sorry, Catherine, it was foolish to bring you here. Even a betrothed woman should not be seen with her betrothed in such a compromising manner,” he said, but Catherine shook her head and smiled.

“Oh, let them talk. It does not trouble me. I am happy to be a betrothed woman, very happy, indeed,” she replied, reaching out and taking him by the hand.

“Then I am happy to be a betrothed man,” he replied, pointing through the rhododendrons, “shall we return to your chaperone?”

“Who needs a chaperone? Even when we try to hide, we are discovered,” Catherine replied, delighting in the mischievousness of it all and wondering what her father would say when he discovered all that she had been doing…