The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams
Chapter Twenty-One
“Practicing?” he asked her, and she smiled.
“Is that not what one does during such occasions as this?” she asked, glancing over his shoulder to where the captain was already striking up a lively conversation with a young lady whom Catherine remembered from the Duchess of Sinclair’s salon.
“I am sure it is your prerogative to do so,” he replied, but Catherine could see the tops of his ears turning red, a hint of jealousy in his eyes.
“Was that not the purpose of our lessons? Am I not to attempt such a thing? I have no choice but to seek a man, for my father still intends to see me married to the Earl of Westwood, and the thought is quite unbearable,” she said.
“But the ruse will buy you some time. He believes we are to be married. That is all that matters, surely,” Ian replied, but Catherine sighed and shook her head.
“He believes it – for now – but it will soon become apparent that though betrothed, we have no intention of marriage, and then what am I to do? Say the whole thing was a misunderstanding? I am sorry, Ian, but I did not think this through. I led you into something which was foolish,” she said, and he smiled.
“I was easily tempted into it,” he replied.
They had stepped away from the terrace doors to a place by the windows where they would not be overheard. A dance was about to begin, and Ian offered Catherine his arm, pointing toward the throng of dancers now assembling.
“Am I to offer you my favor?” she asked, entirely forgetting the lessons he had taught her.
“Or am I to offer you mine?” he said, and she smiled.
“I had hoped you would come,” she said, and he nodded.
“I wanted to,” he replied.
The music was striking up now, and they joined the dance, twirling and whirling their way across the dance floor, caught up in the delights of one another’s company. All of Catherine’s misgivings had disappeared, and she was left feeling entirely at ease in his company, to all the world appearing as the betrothed couple they purported to be.
“I succeeded, you know,” she said, as they passed Lord Ardley with another woman.
“In seduction?” he asked, and she nodded, his face flushing red as though unable to hide his jealousy at such knowledge.
“At least to the first point you taught me. I made two gentlemen believe that my agreeing to dance was entirely a matter of their own making, when in fact it was entirely of my own,” she said, and he smiled.
“I am glad I was able to teach you something. Though I am glad to have arrived before you reached the second lesson,” he replied.
“And how do you know I am still not intent on it?” she asked.
There was something different about him that evening. Gone was any sense of stiffness or formality, replaced by a sense of openness. She wondered if he had discarded his own rules, and certainly he seemed more open and amenable to her words.
“Perhaps you are. I would not know,” he replied, “though I did not care to see you with those other men, and the eyes of others on you,” and she felt the blush rise in her cheeks.
“Why did you come this evening? Was it because you knew I would be here?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Was the entire thing not arranged for our benefit? I came because… I wanted to see you, and I did not want those others to be the ones to see those rules broken with,” he said, and she smiled.
“Samantha is well intentioned, and I am grateful to her for this chance,” she replied.
Gone were her nerves, her fears of their encounter, and gone was her anger and frustration at him for his previous comments. There was evidently something he wished to say, and her hopes were rising that it would be the very words she wished to hear more than anything else.
“To see me?” he asked, as the dancing came to an end.
“To practice my skills of seduction,” she replied, raising her eyebrows, and he slipped his hand into hers.
“Might we go somewhere more private?” he asked, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought of that second lesson they had so enjoyed together.
“There is a library here,” she whispered, and the two of them slipped out of the ballroom and along a corridor which Catherine knew led to the library.
The library was empty, and Ian closed the door behind them, drawing the catch across so they might be alone. It was dark now, a fire blazing in the hearth, and candles lit in sconces around the room, casting their shadowy light across the books.
“You look very beautiful this evening, Catherine,” he said, and Catherine blushed.
“I visited the modiste with Samantha. We both have new dresses,” she replied, and Ian laughed.
“And what possible use could Samantha have for a new dress? She does not need to attract or is her husband waning?” he asked.
Catherine had no doubt that Samantha and Norman were as in love as on the day they were married, if not more so, and she told him as much, causing Ian to smile.
“I am merely teasing you, Catherine. But you, you have caught the eye of every man in the room, I am sure of it,” he said.
“But which of these eligible men should I approach?” she asked.
She was teasing him, for she knew it would make him jealous to think of her in the company of other men, and she allowed the words to hang in the air, an invitation for him to make his move, if that were his intention.
“I think they all lack merit,” he replied, and she smiled.
“You do not think a lord or a captain, or a man of wealth and business, or a member of parliament is right for me? But surely one of them will rescue me from the Earl of Westwood,” she said.
“Perhaps one would, but would he really be any different? Would you not be his trophy? The fruits of his supposed labors?” he asked.
“Not if the seduction were mine. That is why I ask you again which one I should approach next?” she asked, still dangling the possibility in front of him.
She was playing a game, they both were. The entire thing was a game, but one with serious consequences. Her feelings for him were growing stronger by the moment, and she was convinced his own for her were, too. But something still held him back. Perhaps the memory of Cassandra, or the thought that once again he could be hurt. He looked uncomfortable.
“I do not think you should approach any of them. None of them could match a woman like you, not for wit or charm or conversation or intelligence. There is not a man in that ballroom worthy of you,” he said, and Catherine’s heart began to beat faster, a shiver running through her.
“One of them knew of our betrothal. He thought it odd I should be looking elsewhere,” she said, and Ian blushed.
“You need not look elsewhere. assuredly you need not. You are betrothed to me and… well, I love you,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.
The force of his words – though longed for – caused her immense surprise. She had not expected him to be so forward in his declaration. It was a feeling she shared, one she could not deny, but to hear him express those words, too, was quite remarkable, and she gasped, her eyes wide, delight spreading over her face.
“No ruse?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I have no need to pretend such a thing. I mean it, Catherine. I am in love with you, and there is no point in denying,” he replied, taking her in his arms and bringing his lips to hers in a kiss.
