The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams
Chapter Fifteen
“Straight from the horse’s mouth,” Rebecca said, offering Catherine a Madeline, as they took tea together later that morning.
“He actually said he was in love with me?” Catherine asked, glancing at Samantha, who clasped her hands together in delight.
“How could he not fall in love with you, Catherine?” she said, but Catherine was skeptical.
“You met him in the park, and he simply told you he was in love with me?” she asked. Rebecca had been recounting the tale of her and Nicholas’ encounter with Ian and Plotinus, and Catherine had listened in astonishment to the revelation now offered.
“Not exactly. I pressed him on the matter. I told him you were in love with him and…” Rebecca began, but Catherine gave a cry of horror.
“You told him I am in love with him?” she exclaimed, and Rebecca looked surprised.
“But you are in love with him, are you not? You told me so yourself just the other day,” she said, and Catherine sighed.
“Yes, but I was not about to tell him that. If he knows I am in love with him then it will quite change our relationship. He cannot know that I am in love with him,” she said, and Rebecca and Samantha glanced at one another with bemused expressions.
“But if you are in love with him and he is in love with you…” Samantha began.
“But surely he was only saying that for affect. He had to say it. How could he possibly say anything else when confronted with such a question?” she asked. It seemed astonishing to think that Ian would say such a thing. He was not in love with her, surely he could not be, and it embarrassed her to think of Rebecca – though entirely innocently – suggesting that Catherine was in love with Ian.
“I suppose so, but his tone was sincere,” Rebecca replied, taking a sip of tea.
“And why is it so surprising if he is? You have already shared so much together, why not allow those feelings to develop? Would you not wish to marry him, Catherine?” Samantha asked.
Catherine had not allowed herself to think so far ahead, not in her more reasonable moments, at least. Ian had been a friend to her, a man who had gone above and beyond to ensure that their ruse was a successful one. He played the part of her betrothed with great skill, but it was an act nonetheless, surely it was so.
“I… well, it is not a possibility. He is teaching me the art of seduction, in the hope that I will then find a man to marry in place of the Earl of Westwood. The ruse is the perfect cover,” Catherine said, but both Rebecca and Samantha laughed.
“But it is known across the ton that you are betrothed to Ian Bennet. What man will make his own intentions known when he possesses the certainty that you are beyond his reach. You cannot have the public face of betrothal whilst also engaged in the art of seduction,” Rebecca said.
Catherine knew she had a point. She had rather assumed that a man might easily be found, one that could play into her hands as she followed Ian’s instructions. But she had not counted on her own feelings in the matter, feelings which had quite swept her away and made her realize that love was not as simple as personal choice – sometimes the heart chose for you.
“But if become more popular then perhaps a suitor might approach me?” she said, and Rebecca shrugged.
“Perhaps, yes,” she replied.
“Otherwise… I am not sure,” she admitted, glancing from one to the other, and shaking her head.
“Then why not accept your feelings for Ian as sincere,” Samantha said, and Rebecca nodded
“He is a rake, but a rake who loves you, that much is clear,” she said, offering Catherine another cup of tea.
“But I do not know if what he says is sincere,” Catherine replied.
“Then you must use all your talents at seduction to discover if they are,” Samantha replied, looking pointedly at Catherine, who realized she was right.
* * *
“You cannot necessarily know if a man is interested in you without a little risk,” Ian said, when later he and Catherine were sitting in the library at Westwick Manor.
Catherine had evaded Rickard and slipped out of the Somerset residence by the servant’s entrance, taking a carriage to Westwick Manor, filled with some trepidation as to what she now knew of Ian’s feelings for her. It had surprised her to hear Rebecca’s words, and though she did not doubt that Ian had uttered them, she remained uncertain as to their sincerity, after all, the ruse was meant to be complete, and she had no doubt that Ian was playing his part well.
“You mean the sort of risk I took in the library on the night of the ball?” she asked, and he smiled.
“That was certainly a risk, yes, but I mean the sort of risk that asks a question, or passes a comment, one which will allow the gentleman to know the other’s feelings,” he replied, and Catherine smiled.
“You mean a question like, “do you love me?” and then I await the response?” she asked, fixing him with a searching gaze.
A slight blush came over his cheeks, and he looked at her and smiled. “That would be a bold question, and a gentleman may not be immediately in love, even if he finds himself somewhat enamored,” he replied, and Catherine felt her heart fall.
She could not ask him outright how he felt, or declare her own feelings, either. She did not wish to make a fool of herself, or cause Ian undue embarrassment. “Has a woman ever told you she is in love with you?” Catherine asked, deciding to be bold in her questioning.
“One has, yes,” he replied, and a sad look came over his face, one which caused a pang of guilt to run through Catherine at the thought that her words had stirred unwelcome memories.
“Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you,” she said, but he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.
“It is quite all right. I suppose I should tell you the truth, for there are enough rumors about the matter to make it pertinent to do so. I rather assumed you know, for Rickard has long known the truth,” he replied.
Catherine was somewhat taken aback. She had not expected him to share such intimacies with her, let alone hold nothing back. But she was curious to know the truth – not rumors – and she smiled at him and reached out to offer him her hand.
“If you wish to tell me, then I shall listen. I know than an actress named Cassandra broke your heart, and that she died in a carriage accident with your brother, but anything else would be mere speculation on my part,” she said, and he sighed.
“The reason they were in the carriage together was because they were lovers. That was the part of the puzzle I have tried hard to keep a secret. It is humiliating enough to know that one’s betrothed has sought satisfaction elsewhere, but an even greater humiliation to know that it is in the arms of one’s brother,” he replied.
His words were quite shocking, and Catherine gasped at the thought of what it meant. No wonder Ian had little desire for marriage after such appalling treatment at the hands of his brother and lover.
“And you had no idea that this affair was taking place?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I knew nothing of it, though I suspected some deception on Cassandra’s part. But I had believed it was a fellow actor, someone from the theater, and certainly not my own brother,” he replied, and Catherine nodded.
“I can understand how hurtful it must have been. And for them to both die in such tragic circumstances, that in itself is a further sorrow,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“There are some who might call it poetic justice. Had my brother survived, I would have been left with nothing. This house was his, and Cassandra would have been, too. They were laughing at me, making a fool of me, but still their fate seemed a harsh and unfortunate one. I would not wish such a thing on anyone,” he said, and Catherine gave him a weak smile.
“You have proved yourself the magnanimous one,” she replied, and he sighed.
“And learned to mistrust women in the process. That is why I have lived by my self-imposed rules for so long. Rules which prevent me from growing close to any woman, rules which I must follow if disaster is not to beset me,” he said.
At the mention of his rules, Catherine felt her heart sink. She knew how closely Ian guarded his emotions, never allowing himself to grow close to anyone. His words to Rebecca must surely have been a front, a part of the deception in which he was to play his role, ensuring that Nicholas believed their betrothal to be sincere. He could not have meant that he loved her, for that would go far beyond anything expected of him.
“I can understand that you would not wish to be hurt again, and that you would find the idea of intimacy difficult. You were treated quite appallingly, that much is certain,” she said, and Ian nodded.
“And not only by Cassandra,” he replied, though he did not elaborate further, and Catherine thought it best not to ask.
“There is no shame in being hurt, the shame comes in being one who hurts another,” she said, imagining that such words might be what her mother would have said in such a situation.
“There is embarrassment, though. For a man is not meant to allow himself to be fooled in such a way, not ever. That is why I have worked so hard to prevent myself from falling into such a trap again. I will not be caught out twice,” he replied, shaking his head and rising to pour himself a brandy.
Catherine was silent for a moment, wondering again what his intentions toward her might be, and what he meant by speaking of twice being caught out. It was clear he had been terribly hurt by Cassandra’s actions, and those of his brother. She could only imagine his humiliation, and it was no surprise that his attitude to women was so guarded.
“Twice?” she asked, and he waved his hand dismissively.
“My mother. She betrayed my father, she took lovers,” he said, and Catherine nodded, feeling ever sorrier for him, and understanding further why it was he found trusting other women so hard.
But it was this revelation, too, which made it so surprising that he had allowed himself to grow close to her. She could not decide if it was all an act, a game, or something more – his kiss had seemed sincere, his touch as real as any she had ever imagined, and she could not believe that every intimacy they had shared had merely been to satisfy their onlookers and make it believed that their betrothal was real.
“And you are happy in such a state?” she asked, and he took a ponderous sip of his brandy, and shrugged.
“It is hard to know what I want, Catherine,” he replied, coming to sit down opposite her again.
Catherine could understand that. Her experience of men was limited to the Earl of Westwood and a string of ill-matched suitors, each as odious as the last. Such experience had entirely disavowed her of any desire for male companionship and made her quite adamant that the life of a spinster was for her.
“I am sure you will realize it when you do,” she replied, and he nodded, glancing at her with a somewhat embarrassed expression.
“And what of you, have you got your eye on anyone yet? Is there not a suitor on whom you might call to put into practice all I have taught you?” he asked, but Catherine blushed.
It seemed the question did not come easily to him, and she rather wondered if he asked it because he believed he should, rather than because he hoped for an answer which revealed another.
“It is all that I can do to come here to Westwick Manor. I must always pass through the Somerset residence for fear of being followed. To contemplate two deceptions would be quite impossible. Besides, it is known about the ton that I am to be married to you. I cannot seek out another man, not at the moment,” she said.
Ian pondered this for a moment, as though he too had not fully considered the implications of their actions. “I suppose that is true, though I encourage you to try,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
“But my education is not entirely complete. Surely there is more to be learned,” Catherine replied, thinking back to the moments their lips had met, desirous of further instruction.
Ian smiled at her, rising from his place opposite, and coming to sit next to her. She could smell his cologne, his handsome face now close to hers, a smile playing across it as he swilled the brandy in his glass.
“Very well, we have talked of dancing, and we have dined together, much has always been achieved in our seduction of the gentleman, but what of later, when the guests have retired to the drawing room, and a dark corner beckons,” he said, setting aside his glass.
Catherine felt a shiver run through her at his words, and she turned to face him, her heart beating fast at the prospect of what was to come. “We are in the drawing room of some grand house after dinner?” she asked, and he nodded, his hand touching her leg and tracing a line across her skirt.
“And I have charmed my way to your company. I have asked you to dance – twice – I have sat opposite you at dinner, and you have deigned to allow our foot to touch mine, I am quite enamored of you and now I have joined you in the drawing room, eschewing the company of the gentleman with their cards and cigars in favor of an audience with the woman who has quite captured my heart,” he said, and Catherine laughed.
“But what if I am caught up in the company of some dreadful woman who insists on my hearing her play the pianoforte, or examining her album of pressed flowers?” Catherine replied.
“Ah, but you are too skilled to allow yourself to be caught in such a web. No, you have extracted yourself and come to take a little air here in the far corner of the room by the window. Night has fallen, and the candles are lit, but here we find ourselves unobserved in a dim corner of the room, the anticipation is quite unbearable, and the gentleman has taken his chance,” he said, still with his fingers tracing a trail over her leg.
“I suppose I would be quite flattered. You have evidently made a terribly great effort throughout the evening,” Catherine replied, enjoying entering again into the game.
“But do you allow me my fun, or do you spurn me as one whom you have led along like a puppy at play,” he asked.
Catherine blushed. She could not imagine behaving in such a way. In real life, she did not like playing games, and believed in straightforward behavior. Games were for silly women who titivated behind their fans and gossiped into the early hours.
“I would not have arrived at such a moment if that was my intention, sir,” she replied, and he smiled at her, slipping his hand into hers.
“Then what do you intend? Am I to have my little piece of fun, or are you to keep me at arm’s length, desperate for something more?” he asked, raising his eyebrows as Catherine looked ponderous.
“I suppose it would depend on my feelings for the gentleman, though I think I have already made them clear by a second dance and the touching of a foot at the dinner table. I would not spurn him now,” she said, as Ian edged a little closer.
“And you would not rebuff him at the final moment, even when he slipped his arm around you?” Ian asked, doing precisely that, and sending a shiver of delight running through Catherine, who gazed up at him with wide and hopeful eyes. “There would be no rebuttal,” she gasped, and he smiled at her, drawing her close to him.
“And what about now?” he asked, their lips meeting in a kiss.
