Page 12 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“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.
