The Virgin in the Rake’s Bed by Ava MacAdams

Chapter Seven

Ian had risen late that morning. It had been a long night at the Somerset residence, and he and Rickard had stayed drinking with Nicholas into the early hours. The Duke of Sinclair had joined them, along with several other gentlemen, though Ian had offered no acknowledgement of him. As far as Ian was concerned, the duke was merely an acquaintance, one with whom he wanted as little to do as possible.

Now, he was reading in his library, a pot of coffee at his side, and the periodicals of the day spread out on the floor in front of him. One of his dogs was dozing by the crackling fire, and Ian was stretched out on a chaise lounge, enjoying the benefits of bachelorhood. The events of the previous evening had really been as nothing, and he was content with the memory of the kiss and happy to be of some assistance to Catherine, whose predicament he had sympathy with.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” his butler, Redbrand, asked, as he set a glass of brandy next to the coffeepot.

“Nothing, thank you, Redbrand, I will be quite content here for the rest of the morning until luncheon. It is surely one of the benefits of bachelorhood that a man may lie undisturbed the whole morning,” he replied, and the butler bowed.

“As you say, sir,” he replied, and bowing, he left the room.

The dog rolled onto his back, and Ian leaned down to rub his stomach, smiling at the animal, who lolled back and forth, barking, before getting up and running to the window. “Oh, not a visitor, is it, Plotinus?” Ian asked, rising from his place and going to the window.

Ian’s home, Westwick Manor, was a sprawling pile set behind high walls, a little out of the hustle and bustle of the city. The gardens were extensive, and Ian had fond memories of his father telling him how no other than Capability Brown himself was responsible for their design. A wide drive led across a fishing lake, surrounded by tall oak trees, the landscape blending into the woods which surrounded the estate, giving the illusion of countryside, when beyond the walls lay the sprawl of the capital on one side and the River Thames on the other.

The house was a refuge from the outside world, a place where Ian could forget his troubled past and indulge in his scholarly pursuits. He was not used to being disturbed and now he wondered who it was who could be calling on him and had caused such excitement to arise in Plotinus.

But it was to his great surprise – and somewhat trepidation – that he now saw Catherine hurrying up the steps. She must have walked from Mayfair, for the hem of her dress was dirty with the mud of the streets, and now, Ian straightened himself up, waiting to receive her, and wondering what it was she wanted.

“Miss Catherine Ferguson, sir,” Redbrand announced, as he entered the library with Catherine’s card on a silver tray.

“Very good, Redbrand. You may show the lady in,” Ian replied.

The butler raised his eyebrows. He was well aware of Ian’s rules regarding women and must have thought it odd to find his master so willing to receive a lady into his private domain. Usually, Ian would have no qualms in sending a visitor away, or of dismissing any attempt at contact from a woman such as this. But her intentions intrigued him, and besides, she was Rickard’s sister, and it would hardly do to treat her badly.

A moment later, Catherine appeared in the drawing room, accompanied by a woman who was introduced as her maid and who took a discreet seat at the far end of the library. Catherine really was very pretty, and Ian’s mind turned immediately to the events of the previous evening. The thought of the kiss they had shared rousing the most delightful memories. He imagined their lips meeting again and wondered if she too was thinking the same thing. But it would not do to break his own rules, though perhaps they might be stretched a little if circumstances allowed.

“Catherine, I was not expecting to see you,” he said, after Redbrand had been dismissed, and the two of them sat opposite one another by the fire.

“I had to come,” she blurted out, and now Ian realized that there was a look of anguish in her eyes, a pain even, and he wondered what could have upset her so.

“What is wrong? Has something happened? Is it the Earl of Westwood? He should leave you alone. He cannot force you to marry him,” Ian exclaimed, but Catherine shook her head.

“No, it is my father, and I feel terrible for I fear I am to drag you into a muddy quagmire and cause a terrible mess for you,” she said, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing at her eyes.

Ian was surprised to see tears there. He had thought her to be a strong and determined woman, not easily upset by anything, and yet this morning her demeanor had entirely changed. She seemed terribly agitated, and he rose from his place opposite her and came to sit next to her, taking her by the hand and fixing her with what he hoped would be a reassuring look.

“Do not worry, Cath… Miss Ferguson. I am sure it is nothing. You are not having second thoughts about our little deception, are you? Believe me, I am very happy to be a part of it, for it seems you have avoided a terrible fate at the hands of the Earl of Westwood, I would not wish marriage to such an ageing aristocrat on any young lady,” he said, but she shook her head.

“It is not the Earl of Westwood, though he was certainly not happy at our deception. No, it is my father who intends to present a problem, one that I cannot help but think will be to your downfall if we do not act immediately,” she said.

Ian sighed. He had feared as much, even though he did not yet know the full details. Catherine’s father had seemed so surprised by the revelation of their betrothment that he had hardly uttered a word of protest the evening before. But they say that to sleep on a matter is to clarify one’s thoughts, and Ian was not surprised Catherine’s father should object. The two of them were on sociable terms, but in matters of business they were bitter rivals. That jealousy ran deeper than even Catherine’s father himself knew, for he was mixed up in the affairs of the Duke of Sinclair, which immediately placed him in opposition to Ian.

“I am sure such a thing can be dealt with,” Ian said, though in his mind he was worried.

“But he intends to discover some way of discrediting you. He would gladly find a piece of scandal to reveal, something from your past, some woman willing to speak of past encounters,” Catherine said, shaking her head in despair.

“And all to ensure that you are not married to anyone but the man he thinks is suitable for you?” Ian replied, and Catherine nodded.

“Precisely,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief.

Ian was hardly concerned with any woman from his past who might like to cause a scene. He could happily weather any storm like that, for he cared nothing for such rumors; they meant nothing to him, nor did they worry him. But there was something which did concern him: the possibility of Catherine’s father somehow discovering the truth of his lineage. If it were known that the Baron of Westwick was not his father, then his name and reputation would be ruined, and his business interests worth little more than the paper they were written on.

“I am sure he will not discover anything untoward,” Ian said, as much to himself as to Catherine.

He had always been good at keeping secrets, even from those closest to him. He was a private man, and since his father’s deathbed revelation, he had become more secretive, still. He did not know the identity of his father and whilst he could assume that his mother knew, he had no desire to ask her. It was a secret better left unrevealed and it would be to no one’s advantage to reveal the truth, though very much to Catherine’s father’s advantage to discover it.

“But I fear for your reputation. It is such cruelty on the part of my father to seek to discredit you in such a way. I feel entirely responsible for it,” Catherine said, shaking her head sadly.

“But look, I was a willing participant. I did not think your father would agree so lightly to the proposal, and now it has become clear that he will not. It is only for a few weeks and in that time, perhaps a true suitor will emerge, one you may happily marry and whom your father will not try to discredit. He does it only because we are rivals in business, that is all. The important thing is that you are no longer subject to the attentions of the Earl of Westwood and surely that is a merciful thing, indeed,” Ian said, smiling at her.

Catherine nodded. His words seemed to cheer her somewhat, and he rang for Redbrand to bring them tea and refreshments. Despite himself, Ian found Catherine’s company a welcome distraction and was not entirely against the idea of using the ruse to his advantage. They spent a pleasant morning together, though Ian could not help but be concerned by the possibility of Catherine’s father discovering the truth about his past.

The Westwick family was an old and noble line, and though his father – the man he thought was his father – had ensured the succession was his, the question of his rights still hung in the balance. Ian’s entire reputation hung on his legitimacy as the Baron Westwick and to think that it might be revealed that he was the product of an illicit affair did not bear thinking about. He consoled himself by reminders of the lengths he had gone to conceal the truth, and he was confident that Catherine’s father would find only the scandal of past lovers to titivate the gossip sheets.

“It does feel like such a burden has been lifted from me,” Catherine said, taking a sip of tea, and sitting back next to the fire.

“And for that, I am glad. No lady deserves such a fate, though many must suffer it,” Ian replied, stooping down to ruffle Plotinus’ ears.

“I just think it is so unfair when a woman is forced into a marriage she does not wish for. Granted, it is possible to fall in love, just like my friends Rebecca and Samantha, though their own circumstances were far from straightforward. I just think that marriage is not a necessity for every woman, whatever her circumstances,” Catherine replied.

Ian smiled. Her assertiveness had returned, and there was no doubting that Catherine knew how to speak her mind. It had been a bold intention to seduce Hamilton Asquith, and a bold move to visit Ian that morning and explain her father’s intentions. Ian liked such qualities in a woman. They spoke of confidence, self-assuredness, and all the things which most men found detestable in the fairer sex – it was no wonder Catherine had scared away so many suitors.

“You certainly have bold opinions, and you are not afraid to share them,” Ian said, causing Catherine to blush.

“I do not think it is a bad quality, though perhaps you do,” she said, and he shook his head.

“I am not interested in women who throw themselves on one and entertain fickle romantic notions,” he said, thinking back to Cassandra and the many sweet platitudes she would whisper in his ear, sentiments which made the discovery of her infidelity even worse.

Cassandra had been an expert in saying precisely what Ian had wanted to hear. She had had him wrapped around her little finger, and he had been oblivious to her intentions, so caught up had he been in his love for her that he had failed to acknowledge anything to be amiss. He would not make such a mistake again, determined as he was to remain guarded with his emotions.

“I would be the same, I cannot abide men who fawn over women and think themselves ingratiating. The number of calls I have endured from gentlemen who believe themselves attractive due to their position, or think that because of it they possess a right to one’s attentions… it makes me quite angry,” she said, taking a sip of tea, as Ian began to laugh.

“Well then, it matters not anymore, for you and I have sailed past all that to matrimony, whatever your father might say,” he said, raising his teacup to her in a toast.

“Oh, but I do hope he will not make life difficult for you. If it is easier, we can call the whole thing off, and I shall take my chances with whatever fortune awaits. Perhaps the announcement of another man as my betrothed will be enough to put him off,” Catherine replied, but Ian shook his head.

“I would not hear of it. I have made a decision to help you and help you, I shall. Besides, there is no danger of your father discovering anything,” he said, though the bitter thought of possibility remained.

“Well, if you are sure. It really is very kind of you, and I can hardly do anything to repay you,” she said, blushing a little as he caught her eye.

“I do not want anything in return, only… well, your company is a delight,” he said, and she smiled.

“As is yours. I was thinking about the kiss we shared last night. Was it merely a game on your part to ensure the truth of the scandal, or did you mean it?” she asked, and now it was Ian who went blushed red.

He had not meant to kiss her in the library at the Somerset residence. But then, he had not intended to be betrothed by the time he left the Duchess of Sinclair’s ball. Ian followed his rules, and the kiss had been a mere flight of pleasure, rather than an intention for anything more. His passions had got the better of him, and though he had found the act a pleasurable one, he was loathed to allow it to become anything more. He could hear his rational side telling him to be wary, his heart stirring with old and familiar feelings, feelings which would not do to further develop.

“It was… a pleasure, and had we been observed then there would be no doubting our intentions toward one another,” he said, smiling up at her from the floor, where he now kneeled ruffling Plotinus’ stomach.

“I suppose it was the first lesson in seduction,” she replied, but Ian laughed.

“I think you will find you already knew the lesson well enough. It was you, not I, who caused the seduction. Was it not your dress that was disheveled, your shoulders that were exposed, your ankles alluring?” he asked, feeling himself aroused by the mere thought of what they had shared.

Catherine smiled, twirling her finger through her hair, and laughing. “When you put it like that, I suppose you are right,” she said.

Her dress that day was modest by comparison. The only flesh that could be seen, other than her face, were her wrists, alluringly exposed above the rim of her gloves, and beneath the cuff of her sleeve. Ian imagined himself trailing a finger across them, his touch sending a shiver running through her as their eyes met and their lips touched in a gentle kiss, their passions arousing.

“I shall teach you a little more,” he said, and she looked at him with bemusement.

“So, I am to have further lessons in the art of seduction?” she said, and he nodded.

“It is different for women, though. Seduction is not necessarily appropriate…” he began, but she scoffed at him.

“Oh, really, is that to say I am not capable of it? You said yourself that I seduced you last night. I must have some skill at it,” she said, and he nodded.

“You certainly have some skill, though you must be careful not to be so blatant, if you wish to maintain your reputation,” he replied, and now she laughed.

“I have no desire to maintain a reputation. I do not see why a bachelor is permitted to seduce any woman he wishes, but a spinster must be prim and proper at all times. I think I could be rather good at it. After all, you were taken in,” she said, and he smiled, enjoying this mischievous side to her.

“Are we to say that you seduced me, or I seduced you?” he asked, rising from the floor and coming to sit back next to her.

“Perhaps we are both skilled in such arts, though I would welcome the chance to practice further,” she said, and he nodded.

“Well then, we must meet again, if we are to keep up the pretense of our betrothal,” he replied.

To even suggest such a thing seemed anathema, given that the suggestion of such a meeting flew in the face of his avowed following of the rules. But rules could be broken, and, in this instance, he thought it reasonable to do so. After all, he would keep his feelings in check, as, he believed would she.

“A walk in the park, perhaps. That way, we would be seen but not overheard,” she said, and he nodded.

“Shall we say tomorrow afternoon?” he asked, and she smiled.

“I would like that, I would like it very much,” she replied, and rising from her place by the fire, she took her leave of him, promising to meet at noon by the entrance to Regent’s Park the next day.

Ian watched her leave, standing at the window, as her figure retreated along the drive accompanied by the maid, whom Ian could only hope had been sworn to discretion, and disappeared into the trees. He gotten carried away, and he knew it. It was far too easy to do, especially with a woman like her. Throughout their interview, he had been thinking of kissing her, imagining their lips meets again, the way she had smelled – of lavender and rose water – the gentle touch of her hand against his, the allure of the forbidden fruit.

“I must be careful, Plotinus,” he said, patting the dog on the head, “I must be very careful, indeed.”