The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Eleven

“Abrandy, sir?” Redbrand asked, when he entered the library that afternoon.

Ian had been reading by the window, trying to forget the many complications which life now seemed to present him with. His excursion in the park with Catherine had seemed fun at first, but being caught by Lady Millicent had left a sour taste in his mouth. It was all becoming rather serious now, his feelings for Catherine growing strangely stronger by the moment.

“And something to eat, Redbrand, I am quite famished,” he said, laying aside his book.

The butler put a log on the fire, which crackled and spat with red sparks, before nodding to Ian and leaving the room. Ian closed his book and sighed. He could not stop thinking about Catherine, caught up as he was in feelings which were rapidly spiraling out of control. He had never meant his passions to be so aroused, but earlier that day, he had been almost unable to control himself.

It seemed ironic that he had spoken so vehemently of the rules surrounding seduction but had himself been seduced. Catherine was enchanting, and what had begun as a simple pleasure – a game, even – had now become something more. He had wanted to prolong the kiss they had shared in the clearing of trees behind the rhododendron bushes that morning, he wanted to kiss her again.

There was something about Catherine, something more than merely an attraction. She fascinated him, perhaps because she was so very much like himself. Was she too playing a game, he wondered? She had spoken of seduction, of tempting him, but there was surely more to it than that. He was pondering all this when a knock came at the door, and he leaned over to peer out of the window, spying Rickard on the steps.

The look on Rickard’s face was angry, and Ian wondered if already he had discovered from Lady Millicent what had occurred in the park just a few hours ago. He did not have long to wait. A moment later, the library door opened and Redbrand entered, announcing that Rickard desired an audience with Ian, who had now risen from his place by the window and prepared himself for the onslaught.

“He is most insistent, sir,” Redbrand said, and Ian sighed.

“Show him in then, and bring the whole decanter of brandy, will you, Redbrand? I fear it will be a testing few minutes,” he said.

But before the butler could return to the hallway, Rickard himself appeared, an angry expression on his face, and dismissed Redbrand with a wave of his hand. “So, this is where you are hiding, is it?” he demanded, and at these words, Ian could not help but smile.

“Westwick Manor is my home. I do not think I can be accused of hiding here,” he said, and Rickard faltered.

“Well… but you were with Catherine this morning, in the park. The rumors are all across the ton. It is scandalous, Ian. Think of my sister’s reputation,” he said, and Ian rolled his eyes.

“We are betrothed,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“You told me it was a matter of mere convenience, and yet here you are cavorting in a park. Did you think you would not be caught?” he demanded, as Ian pointed to a chair opposite the fireplace.

“I did rather, yes,” he replied, slumping down in a chair opposite, just as Redbrand returned with the decanter of brandy and a plate of bread and cheese.

“But… you were. I heard about it from Lady Millicent, and now the rumors are rife,” he said, snatching the glass of brandy which the butler proffered him.

“And I am sure she is taking great delight in telling everyone. But what scandal is there? Catherine and I are betrothed, are we not? Will a kiss do any harm? I think not,” Ian replied, taking a sip from the glass he now held in his hand.

“You lied to me about the marriage being mere convenience. Are you in love with my sister?” Rickard demanded.

Love was not a word which Ian liked to hear. To love someone meant attachment, entwinement, a meeting of emotions. It meant an investment, for where there is love, there can also be pain. Ian was well aware of his own rules, rules he had taken great pains to explain to Rickard only the other night at the ball. But here he was, breaking them and breaking them in a most spectacular manner.

“I… I told you, it is a matter of convenience,” he said, and Rickard laughed.

“Certainly, a convenience to find yourself in such a position of compromise. I hope you do not intend to break off the engagement and leave my sister with nothing,” he said, and Ian shook his head.

“Why would I wish to do that? If I did, she would be left only with a most unfortunate proposition,” he replied.

Ian could see straight through Rickard’s veneer. His friend was no different from his father – each was ambitious, and they had intended Catherine’s marriage to the Earl of Westwood to serve as the beginning of their own societal climb. To be married into the family of an Earl was to gain something which no amount of business dealings could do. It offered status, opportunity, privilege, and reputation.

“I am the brother-in-law of the Earl of Westwood,” were words that Ian could imagine Rickard enjoying saying, far better than “the brother of a Baron.”

“The Earl of Westwood was not an unfortunate proposition,” Rickard snapped, but Ian only smiled.

“Not for you, perhaps, but for your sister, most certainly he was. I could not help but feel sorry for Catherine in the face of a betrothal she had no desire to see through. She is happy now, is that not enough?” he asked, and Rickard was forced to agree.

“She is happy, that much is certain,” he said, taking a sip of brandy.

“Then why should anything more concern you?” Ian replied.

“There is the matter of our business interests,” Rickard replied, and now Ian saw the full extent of Rickard’s hand.

He really was as bad as his father, a man interested only in profit and maintaining his own status – or increasing it. He, too, saw Ian’s betrothal to Catherine as a threat, one which might affect his profits or cause his business interests to fail. It was an unpleasant way to view one’s sister – a commodity to be bought and bartered with, given away to one’s own advantage. Ian was glad to have helped Catherine, and he cared not one bit for Rickard and his father’s profits.

“Ah, now I see,” Ian replied, and Rickard appeared uncomfortable.

“Your dealings are in direct competition to our own. I would not see you take advantage of my sister for your own profit,” he snarled, and Ian laughed.

“And what pray are you doing when you seek to marry your sister to some frightful old earl? Are you not taking advantage of her, too?” he asked, knowing that Rickard could give no adequate response to such a challenge.

“That is entirely different. I want my sister to be happy, and she must realize that her happiness will be best served by marrying the Earl of Westwood,” he said, folding his arms and scowling.

“That is the furthest thing from securing happiness as could be imagined,” Ian retorted.

He was growing angry with Rickard, who was behaving merely as his father’s lapdog. Ian had no interest in serving the interests of his business rival, nor in appeasing Rickard’s wishes. To hear such talk made him only more determined to help Catherine in whatever way he could, and if that meant marrying her, then so be it.

“But it is all so sudden. You made no mention of your intention, you asked no one’s permission, you merely made an announcement, humiliating my father in front of the Earl of Westwood. And now, the two of you cavort together in the mot distasteful manner. Whatever happened to your rules? It seems they are discarded when you decide to follow more base desires,” he said.

Ian was not about to be insulted in his own house, but he could not deny that Rickard had a point. To the outside observer, Ian had broken his rules spectacularly. He had ignored every one of them, and whether by jest or intent at first, he now found himself the victim of his own haste. He was falling in love with Catherine – not by design, but by force of nature, a force he could have no hope in overcoming.

“Rules are made to be broken, and I never said I was entirely averse to meeting the right woman,” Ian said, though he himself would admit that it did all seem rather hasty.

In the arousal of his passions for Catherine, Ian had quite forgotten the pain which Cassandra had caused him. But is that not so often the case? Pain can be pushed aside, its searing freshness replaced by dull memory. When one is in pain, one never wishes for it again, but when the rawness of that pain is passed, it is all too easy to risk it again.

“But you sneered at my attempts on that very evening and made no intimation that you intended the object of your own affections to be none other than my own sister,” Rickard said, shaking his head.

“Because I knew precisely how you would react. Come now, I am growing weary of this. Do you accept the betrothal or not?” he demanded, and Rickard scowled.

“I do not wish to fall out over it. I accept it well enough, yes. But if you take advantage of my sister for your own gains, then… then I shall challenge you to a duel,” he said, straightening himself up.

These words made Ian laugh, for the idea of Rickard ever challenging anyone to a duel was quite absurd. His friend possessed neither the physical skill, nor the intellectual cunning for such a fight, and should a duel be proposed, Ian knew that victory would easily be his. It saddened him, though, to realize that their friendship – once the closest of bonds – should have come to this, that they were arguing over something which was not even real, a ruse which Ian had agreed to without entirely realizing the consequences.

“I admire you for your chivalry,” Ian replied, as Rickard got to his feet.

“And what do you intend now?” he asked, finishing the last dregs of his brandy.

“To marry your sister, Rickard, and for the two of us to be very happy,” he said, showing his friend to the door.

“Do you intend the marriage to be soon?” he asked, and Ian smiled.

“Well, if I am to take advantage of your business interests, then yes, it must be,” he said, winking at his friend, who scowled.

“I hope that really was a joke,” he replied, as Ian opened the door.

“The only advantage I hope to gain in marrying your sister is an even closer tie to a beautiful and enchanting woman,” he replied, and though these words were something of an act, they certainly had a ring of truth to them…

* * *

When Rickard had left, Ian sat down in his favorite chair by the window. The shadows were lengthening, and Redbrand had stoked up the fire and lit the lamps, so that the room took on an inviting atmosphere. He smiled at the thought of Rickard and his father growing anxious over the impending marriage. It served them right to feel in such a way after the anxiety they had caused Catherine. She was safe from that for now, but for how long?

Ian pondered his feelings for Catherine a while longer, thinking back to the kiss they had shared that morning. He could not help but have feelings for her, even if at first, he had merely played a game. He liked the thought of teaching her the art of seduction, for it was a way to grow closer to her, even if she herself did not realize it. He could remain in control, or so he told himself, confident that though he had broken many of his own rules, love would not conquer them.

“I am not in love, do not be so foolish,” he told himself, but there was something about Catherine, something different from other women.

He wondered if love was the right word as he poured himself a glass of brandy. He had been in love before, been infatuated before, been seduced before. But Catherine was not even trying, and already she had succeeded. In her, he could detect no guile, no ulterior motives, no intentions beyond that which he could see, and which she presented. All that Catherine wanted was a means of escaping her father and Rickard’s intentions, and of finding a man she truly loved.

“And that is not you,” he said out loud, shaking his head at the preposterousness of such a thought.

But in the hours that followed, Ian could not help but allow those same thoughts to creep into his mind, the thought that perhaps there could be something more than ruse and illusion between he and Catherine, perhaps there could be true love, instead…