Page 17 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“I say it would suit me very well,” she replied, and taking her by the hand, Ian suddenly darted off the path, pulling her with him as she gave a cry of delight. They plunged into the shrubbery, through the rhododendrons in their full bloom, and emerged into a clearing where birch trees grew up tall around them, startling a pair of blackbirds who were feeding on the grass.
“This way,” Ian said, beckoning her further away from the path.
Catherine was quite breathless, her dress covered in streaks of green stain and seeds from the birch trees. It was all very exciting, and she allowed herself to be caught up in the fantasy of their being lovers, escaping the eyes of the world to share a kiss, stolen in the seclusion of a garden. She had always dreamed of such encounters, even if she reminded herself she had no intention of anything more.
“She will not follow us,” Catherine said, glancing behind her at the seemingly impenetrable rhododendron bushes.
“I have come here before,” Ian said, looking around the clearing as though recalling some fond memory.
“With a lady?” she asked, and he laughed.
“I would not call her a lady,” he said, a slight smirk coming over his face, and Catherine blushed. She did not like to think of Ian’s past, though she knew very well of his reputation. He was a rake, albeit a pleasant one, and his past was littered with women who had come and gone like ships passing in the night. Should a woman behave in such a way she would be called a harlot, but for a man to do so meant only accolade and bravado, if perhaps something of a reputation.
“But you are to be married now. Your actions must be honorable,” Catherine said, smiling at him and wondering what was to come next.
“But then how am I to teach you the art of seduction if you are already seduced?” he asked, and Catherine felt her face flush red with embarrassment.
“Did I say I was seduced?” she asked, and he raised his eyebrows at her.
“I thought I had you in the library, but perhaps we should try again,” he replied, reaching out and taking her by the hand, as their lips moved close into a kiss.
Chapter Ten
“You kiss very well, Miss Ferguson,” Ian said, as their lips parted a moment later.
Catherine blushed, a shier of delight running through her at his words and his touch. Their hands lingered together, their faces almost touching. She could smell his cologne, a sweet and musky scent, alluring and inviting. She would gladly have kissed him again, and allowed her passions to take over, but instead, she stepped back, reminding herself that to him this was all a game.
“And I suppose you would know a good kiss from a bad kiss?” she asked, and he laughed.
“I would know it very well, and I can assure you there is no criticism I could give of your own efforts,” he replied.
Catherine had not kissed many men, and certainly so passionately as she had kissed Ian. There had been suitors who had offered a chased kiss to the cheek, and the Earl of Westwood had brought his lips to hers on several snatched and unpleasant occasions. But a real kiss, a kiss of passion and, dare she say, of love, had thus far alluded her. Until now.
“Then I am pleased, but surely one does not simply offer oneself to be kissed without first making the proper moves,” she said, and he laughed again.
“I suppose not, though we ourselves had only the merest of introductions the other evening before our lips met,” he replied, causing Catherine to blush even further.
How lucky she had been that it was Ian Bennet she had encountered in the library, and not some other man who might have used her surprise to his advantage. She had wanted to cause a scandal, there in the heat of the moment, determined to extract herself by any means from the Earl of Westwood and her father’s devious matrimonial plans. But now, having had time to reflect, Catherine was glad not to have caused quite the scandal she intended.
Her reputation was, though a little tarnished, still intact, and with the ton believing her to be betrothed, she could hold her head high and dismiss those silly women who muttered behind their fans. There was no scandal in her association with Ian Bennet, even if he did have a reputation of his own. She liked him, though she could not decide how he felt about her. Certainly, he played the game well, but was there something more?
“That was a unique situation,” she replied, turning her face away from him, and glancing back through the shrubbery for any signs of Jenny, her maid and chaperone.
“But one which has gladly worked out well,” he replied.
“But it can only continue for so long, can it not? I must find someone to marry – genuinely – otherwise the Earl of Westwood will still be waiting,” she said, shuddering at the thought.
“Then the art of seduction becomes even more pressing,” he replied, taking a step back and clearing his throat. He was like a tutor, imparting a lesson to an unruly schoolboy, and Catherine decided to play along, delighting in the continuation of their fantasy.
“And you are to teach me?” she asked, stooping down to pick a cornflower which was growing on a bank of wildflowers which bordered the clearing. She touched it to his chest, smiling at him, waiting for him to speak.
“Perhaps the kiss first,” he said, straightening up.
“But we have not arrived at that moment, yet. Is there not to be a seduction? Have we danced? What have you said to me or am I to say something to you?” she asked, as though falling effortlessly into her role.
“We have danced, yes, we have met at a ball, much like the other night. I have seen you across the room, our eyes have met, we have eyes only for one another the whole evening long, and then I come to speak with you again, less formally, now,” he said, clearing his throat again.
“And you ask me to dance a second time?” she replied, and he nodded.
