The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Seventeen

“Iwill not deny liking it,” Catherine said, as Rebecca and Samantha looked at one another and giggled.

“Goodness me, Catherine, do you really mean that he…?” Samantha said, and Catherine laughed.

“Do not play the prude with me, Samantha. After all, you are the one who fooled around with a pirate on board his ship,” she said, and Samantha laughed.

“But there was genuine feeling, there. We were in love, and we are married now,” she replied.

Catherine felt quite hurt by these comments, and she scowled at Samantha, who developed a sudden intense interest in the contents of her teacup. The three women were taking tea in Catherine’s salon, and Catherine had just finished explaining some of the details of her encounter with Ian the day before.

“And there is genuine feeling here, too. How could we possibly have done these things if there was not?” she asked, as though challenging her friends to contradict her.

“He did say he was in love with you. But do you believe it?” Rebecca asked.

“I… I do not know,” Catherine admitted.

She had been pondering this since the previous day. She and Ian had shared so much. They were behaving like a couple betrothed, to any observer they were just that, and yet their bond was built not on the declaration of love, but on a deception, a ruse which, though of great benefit, was simply that.

“Surely, he has given some indication, even in the throes of passion?” Samantha asked, and Catherine thought back to the way in which Ian had held her, the tenderness of his touch, the manner in which he had kissed her. If that was not sincere, then she wondered what possibly could be. How else did a gentleman show his affection, she wondered?

“He has behaved as surely any many would if he were in love, and yet he has not uttered those words, nor given any indication of his actions as anything other than part of our game,” she admitted, feeling thoroughly confused.

“The time has come to set the matter straight, Catherine. You must speak to him, tell him how you feel,” Rebecca said, and Samantha agreed.

“Rebecca is entirely right, Catherine, otherwise this pattern of tea and tragedy will only continue,” Samantha said, taking a sip from her cup and fixing Catherine with a firm gaze.

“I would have spoken with him yesterday, but things became… heated,” Catherine replied.

“It certainly seems. Will you see him today?” Rebecca asked, and Catherine shook her head.

“Not today, no, but tomorrow I will. We are to take a walk together in the park,” Catherine replied.

“Will Lady Millicent be joining you in the rhododendron bushes?” Samantha asked, and Rebecca laughed.

But Catherine did not find the matter amusing. Quite the opposite, in fact, it was deadly serious. She simply did not know whether Ian felt the same way for her as she did for him. The actions had been those of lovers, the words they had said in jest, but there was something missing, something which would secure Catherine’s happiness, a happiness she now realized she was missing.

“I hope she will not, for I hope he will say the words I so long to hear,” she replied, and Rebecca and Samantha glanced at one another with concerned looks.

“And what words are those?” Samantha asked, and Catherine looked at them both and sighed.

“I love you, that is all I want to hear,” she replied, hoping soon she would be told precisely that.

* * *

Ian was late in arriving at the park the next day. Catherine had performed her usual routine and made her excuses for leaving the house. Her father had not believed her, and neither had Rickard, even though she had assured them she was merely visiting with Rebecca.

A chaperone had been suggested, and Catherine had accepted, instructing Jenny to make herself scarce for a few hours and meet her later that morning. Thus, the carriage had brought her to the gates of the park, where now she waited eagerly for Ian. She looked from left to right, excited at the prospect of catching his eye.

She had thought a lot about Rebecca and Samantha’s words. Now was the time to make her own feelings known. She would tell Ian how she felt about him. It was surely all part of the seduction. She was looking in the opposite direction when she heard his voice, turning to find him striding toward her with a smile.

“Plotinus escaped,” he explained, and Catherine laughed, as he offered her his arm.

“Did you catch him?” she asked, and he nodded, showing her his hands, which were still dirty from the dog’s coat.

“I left him with Redbrand. He shall not be allowed out except on a lead from now on,” Ian said, shaking his head.

“The poor creature, it must be terrible to be so confined,” Catherine remarked, but Ian only laughed.

“There is nothing poor about him. Fed and watered, lying in front of the fire in luxury. No, Catherine, you should not feel sorry for him, not in the least,” he said, as they walked arm in arm through the park.

“I have no chaperone today,” she whispered, as they came in sight of the rhododendron bushes, and Ian paused, a strange expression coming over his face.

“Ah, well… you see, I rather thought we might walk by the lake today,” he said, and Catherine’s face fell.

She had been excited at the prospect of some fresh moment of seduction, to feel that same sense of excitement as she had done in his arms before. Her feelings were aroused, but now it seemed they were dampened, and she sighed, gazing longingly at the rhododendrons as they walked along the path toward the lake.

“It is a pleasant day,” she remarked, and he nodded.

“The sun is warm, and has brought out all manner of people,” he remarked, pointing across the lake to where ladies and gentlemen promenaded together, and children were playing on the grass.

There was a formality about him, quite different from their previous encounters. He seemed distant, as though not entirely comfortable in her company, and she wondered what had happened to cause such a change of heart.

“Are you all right?” she asked, wondering if perhaps he were distracted by a matter of business, or some other difficulty preventing him from being truly at ease in her company.

“Yes, it is… well, I think we should stop seeing one another for a while,” he exclaimed, and she looked at him in astonishment.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and he shook his head and looked embarrassed.

“It is just that I think we have gone too far in our deception,” he said, and Catherine’s heart skipped a beat.

Her question was answered there and then. This had all been a game to him, and now he believed it had gone too far. He was nervous of falling in love. Those words to Rebecca had merely been part of the ruse, and now that he had had his pleasure his true character would emerge. She was upset, but also angry at having been led such a merry dance, though one she could only admit to having enjoyed and played her part in.

“But surely that is the point of the deception?” she said, slipping her arm from his and turning to face him with a hurt and puzzled expression on her face.

“But we have gone far beyond what was expected of us. We need not continue with such intensity. The deception will still be maintained. Our betrothal is known of across the ton, and no one can doubt its sincerity. I will continue the ruse, as will you, but too much has already passed between us, and I fear it is… too much,” he said, as Catherine fought back the tears rising in her eyes.

How fortunate it had been that she had not yet had time to speak those intractable words, to tell him how she truly felt when all the while he had intended this course of action, his words cutting through her like a knife. They had shared such intimacies, and she knew more about him than perhaps anyone else with whom he had ever grown close. But it seemed even that was not enough to break down those last barriers which lay between Ian Bennet and true happiness.

He seemed incapable of seizing such a moment, of allowing himself to even know something beyond mere seduction. Catherine could not find it in herself to be so hard-hearted. She had fallen in love. Thoughts of spinsterhood were cast aside in favor of Ian and all that he could offer her. She loved him, and had she told him so, then what came next would have been even harder for them both.

“Then you do not wish to see me again?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“I did not say that, and we must still keep up the pretense for your sake. I will not allow the Earl of Westwood to think that he might still find opportunity to marry you. Do not fear, I will behave honorably in this matter. But I do not think we should continue to see one another, not with the same intensity. It would… not be good for either of us,” he said, and Catherine felt her anger flare.

“For you, perhaps, but not for me,” she exclaimed.

“But Catherine, please, I care very much for you,” he replied.

“Then show it to me, prove to me how much you care?” she cried, no longer interested in their game, her feelings not a ruse but real and raw.

He had broken her heart in one swift move, and now she felt only emptiness and sorrow, cursing herself for allowing her own feelings to run away with her. She had been a fool, and now she was paying the price for it, having allowed herself to become caught up in a fantasy from which the only possible outcome was sorrow.

“I have proved it, have I not? Did I not say I would stand by you and support this ruse? I will do so, but not at the expense of my own well-being. Come now, Catherine, neither of us wish to be carried away in a fantasy,” he exclaimed, and Catherine sighed, knowing that what he said was right, though the fantasy he spoke of had for her become the truth.

“But this is not what we agreed on? What about your help? The lessons?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“I think you have already proved that you are more than capable of seduction. You can have any man you choose,” he said, and Catherine pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

She did not like to admit that he was the man she wanted, not some fantasy of a gentleman with whom she had shared a dance, a dinner, and the corner of some mythical drawing room. That gentleman did not exist, but the man who had so effectively played him did, and it was with the actor, not the character, that Catherine had fallen in love and was now paying the price for a love unreciprocated.

“Perhaps I do not want any man,” she said, drawing herself up angrily.

“Some time apart will do us both good, Catherine, of that I am certain. Now, allow me to escort you back to your carriage, and we shall arrange to meet soon so that the deception may continue,” he said, offering her his arm.

But Catherine did not take it, and she would gladly have dismissed him there and then. He had led her a merry dance, and she wondered if this was how he treated every woman who crossed his path. She knew of his reputation, and it seemed that only Cassandra had called his bluff, a deception which had resulted in him experiencing what Catherine herself was now to know – a broken heart, and a feeling that she would never trust any man again.

“Do you still intend to help me find a husband?” she asked, when they came in sight of the carriage a few moments later.

“I will do all in my power to help you, Catherine,” he replied, opening the carriage door for her.

“Perhaps you have already done enough,” she retorted, and climbing inside, she slammed the door behind her, calling out for the driver to move off as tears rolled down her cheeks.

* * *

Ian watched the carriage leave with a heavy heart. He had not wished to upset Catherine, but he had known the inevitability of his words. There had been much pondering on Ian’s part, but he was too proud to admit that his feelings – his self-imposed rules – had been so easily overcome. He had fallen in love with Catherine, a love he could not bear to make known. It would only lead to hurt, of that he was certain, and the thought of living through such hurt again was unbearable.

He had thought a lot about Cassandra and his brother in the time since he and Catherine had shared their passion. It would be all too easy to give into his feelings, to run headlong into an affair of passion and romance. But he had discovered to his detriment how easily such things could be thrown away. Ian had given everything to Cassandra, trusting her with the most precious gift of all – his heart. But she had shown her true colors and led him to believe he could never again trust a woman with his heart.

Now, he walked ponderously back to Westwick Manor, his heart heavy at the thought of having hurt Catherine, but knowing he had surely done the right thing. It was best for both of them, if only Catherine would at last come to realize that. He pictured her in the moment of passion they had shared, the sincerity of her feelings, the delight in their union. It could all have been his, but something still held him back, a sense of what might be, of the loss he might endure, or the hurt which might be caused.

“I will not allow it,” he said to himself, as much for Catherine as himself.