The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Fourteen

“Come here, Plotinus,” Ian called out, watching as the dog ran at full kilter across the park, leaping at an elderly gentleman who had been examining a butterfly through a large magnifying glass.

“Oh, goodness me, goodness me,” the gentleman exclaimed, flailing backward with alarm as Ian came running over.

“Forgive me, sir. He means no harm, but his excitement knows no bounds,” Ian said, helping the gentleman to his feet and dusting him off.

“No harm done, merely something of a surprise,” he said, glancing warily at Plotinus, who was sniffing around his ankles.

Ian hauled the dog away by his collar, chastising him for his bad manners. They had been walking in the park for an hour or so, Ian having taken the dog out in the hope of some fresh air and time to think. He had been brooding since Catherine’s departure the day before, caught between his growing feelings for her and the wariness he felt of breaking his self-imposed rules.

There was no doubting that Ian had fallen in love with Catherine, or at least more so than for any other woman since Cassandra. In the years since that tragedy, Ian had become adept at seduction without feeling. He could charm a woman into his bed and feel no qualms when the next morning he told her that seeing her again would not be possible. It had never caused him guilt before, but the thought of doing that to Catherine was quite preposterous.

His feelings for her ran far deeper than mere infatuation, and he was aware of having entirely led her along a merry dance, one which now caused him considerable pain. He had not meant to fall in love with her, but merely to help her in her troubles. She had seemed like a kindred spirit to him, a woman not after his own heart, one who herself had no desire to fall in love. But in the kiss they had shared the day before, there was more than mere passion, a connection which Ian could not rid himself of, one he desired to further explore, despite his own misgivings.

“Plotinus, come here!” he exclaimed, drawn out of his musings by the dog, which now raced across the park in the direction of a couple walking by the ornamental lake.

“Oh, Ian, how good to see you,” Nicholas, the Marquess of Somerset, said, as Plotinus jumped up into his arms and began to lick him.

The Marquess was walking with his wife, Rebecca, and Ian bowed to them, pulling Plotinus back and holding him by the collar. “An enthusiastic thing, is he not?” Rebecca asked, eyeing Plotinus warily.

“He merely gets a little excitable,” Ian replied, embarrassed by the dog’s behavior, and the meeting with Rebecca, whom Ian knew to be a close friend of Catherine’s.

“And we must congratulate you on your betrothal,” Nicholas said, holding out his hand to Ian, who took it and nodded.

“I am a very lucky man,” he said, glancing at Rebecca, who appeared to be trying hard to conceal her expression.

“Catherine is very happy,” she said, and Ian nodded again.

“We are both very happy,” he replied.

“And when do you think the wedding will take place? In the summer, perhaps? A summer wedding is a delight,” Nicholas said, turning to his wife, who smiled.

“It will be our delight to attend,” she said.

“Catherine tells me you are to be a bridesmaid,” Ian said, trying desperately to think of something to say.

“Does she now? Then I suppose I will be. Though a lady with a child is not usually chosen for such a thing. My sister, perhaps, would make a good bridesmaid. We shall see,” she said, and Ian wondered if she knew about the deception, or whether, like Nicholas, she was entirely taken in.

“And good for business, too,” Nicholas said, causing Ian to clear his throat and make protest.

“I am certainly not marrying Catherine for my own gain,” he replied, for he knew Nicholas had connections to Catherine’s father, the words of Rickard still ringing in his ears.

“I was not suggesting such a thing, forgive me, but it will certainly be to your advantage to marry the daughter of a man such as Broderick Ferguson. My own father has much to do with him, their business interests are very much aligned,” Nicholas said.

Ian wondered if these words were designed as a warning. He liked Nicholas, but he was not certain he trusted him. In matters of business, it was hard to know who to trust, particularly when ambition and desire could so easily overwhelm the rational faculties. Friendship and business were not natural bedfellows, and though they were friends, Ian maintained a healthy suspicion of Nicholas, always wondering as to his father’s influence on him, an influence which could have drastic repercussions.

“I think it pertinent to keep business and romance as separate as possible. Poor Catherine was to be married to that awful man, the Earl of Westwood. How good that she is saved from such a fate,” Ian said, glancing at Rebecca, who nodded her agreement.

“Oh, I think it is an excellent match, one which has made Catherine very happy,” she said, smiling at Ian with genuine sincerity.

“She told you that?” he asked, and Rebecca nodded.

“She said she was ever so happy at the prospect of marriage, and that she is quite in love with you,” she replied.

Ian blushed. He had not for a moment imagined that Catherine should have such feelings for him, and yet here was one of her closest and most intimate friends revealing that very thing to him. He had thought he gestures an act, her passion part of her attempts at the art of seduction, but now it seemed that all of it was very real.

“I see…” he said, trying to hide his surprise.

“And no doubt you are in love with her?” Nicholas replied, looking at Ian pointedly.

“I… yes, I rather think I am,” he said, and Rebecca laughed.

“You think you are, or you are?” she asked, and Ian felt himself blush.

“I am,” he admitted, voicing feelings which only a few days previously would have been unthinkable.

“A firm basis for a marriage, and I am sure you will be very happy together. We shall all be seeing a great deal more of one another after the auspicious day. Catherine, Rebecca, and Samantha are never away from one another. We husbands must stick together, do you not think?” Nicholas asked, and he laughed as Ian nodded.

“It will be my delight, though we must always lay matters of business aside, I think,” he said, and Nicholas nodded.

“Whatever you say, very good now, a good day to you,” he said, taking Rebecca by the arm and leading her on along the path.

Ian stood for a moment with Plotinus, pondering what Rebecca had said. It seemed quite extraordinary, and Ian was unsure what to do next. “Has she really fallen in love with me, Plotinus?” he said, looking down at the dog, who gazed up at him with loyal affection.

It was certainly a revelation, and as Ian continued his walk that day, he allowed himself to consider the possibility of what such a revelation might mean and if he himself might reciprocate.

* * *

“I am visiting with Rebecca and Samantha this morning,” Catherine said, as she rose from breakfast.

It was two days since she had visited Westwick Manor, enough time, she felt, to make it appear as though her going out that day was entirely natural. Her father looked at her over his periodical.

“I have never understood the propensity of women to visit with one another. It is quite extraordinary. They flit from one salon to another, taking tea and talking about nothing,” he said, shaking his head.

“A man is not meant to understand such a thing, father. Merely to tolerate it,” Catherine replied, rising from the breakfast table.

“She will be visiting Ian,” Rickard said, turning from the sideboard where he had been helping himself to eggs from a large blue and white dish.

“And what business is that of yours, Rickard? I tell you, I am going to see Rebecca and Samantha. You may follow me if you wish, but you would only find yourself terribly bored,” Catherine replied, maintaining her composure despite the anger she felt rising in her.

Rickard had been beastly to her over the previous days, reminding her incessantly of her duty toward the family, and that her marriage to Ian was an affront to the proper order of things – namely the acquisition of a fortune. He had revealed his true colors as a greedy, self-centered, and overly ambitious man, the very image of her father, whose legacy he had evidently inherited.

“It is my business because you are my sister, and by pursuing this betrothal, I believe you are making a terrible mistake,” he replied.

Catherine scowled at him. She would not be told whom she could marry, and if she chose Ian Bennet, then so be it. The Earl of Westwood was still sniffing around, and she knew her father had promised him his prize, come what may. Such knowledge made it even more important that she find a suitable match quickly, and she was eager to continue her lessons with Ian so that she might know better how to seduce a man to her own advantage.

But in all of this, Catherine had been caught off guard by her own feelings, feelings which grew stronger by the day, and which she could not help but find alluring. She had fallen in love with Ian, their games in seduction no longer a ruse but very real. She found herself thinking of him in idle moments, longing to be in his company, and imagining what their next encounter might hold. Now she tossed her napkin aside and scowled at Rickard, who held her gaze angrily.

“I will marry whom I so choose,” she exclaimed, and before either Rickard or her father could reply, Catherine had fled the room.