Page 19 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
Catherine spun around, startled by the sound of an intrusion into the clearing. Her lips had been pressed to Ian’s, arousal coursing through her, delighting in the very real moment of seduction she had found herself engaged in. Now, she found herself face to face with Lady Millicent Fotherely, one of the silly, tittering women who had so plagued her at the ball with her whisperings and scandalmongering.
She was accompanied by another young woman, a companion, carrying a large wicker hamper. They were evidently on a picnic and had made their way into the clearing through the trees, no doubt expecting to find it quiet and secluded. Catherine stepped back, her face flushed red with embarrassment, as Ian stepped to one side, clearing his throat, the two of them attempting to appear as though nothing had happened.
“We were just…” Catherine began, but Lady Millicent smiled.
“Oh, do not mind us. You just do as you wish. Come along Harriet,” she said, and the two women marched off through the trees, tittering to one another as they went.
“I give it a day,” Ian said, shaking his head.
“A day?” Catherine asked, still looking at the retreating figures of the two women.
“Before this incident is known across the ton. I am sorry, Catherine, it was foolish to bring you here. Even a betrothed woman should not be seen with her betrothed in such a compromising manner,” he said, but Catherine shook her head and smiled.
“Oh, let them talk. It does not trouble me. I am happy to be a betrothed woman, very happy, indeed,” she replied, reaching out and taking him by the hand.
“Then I am happy to be a betrothed man,” he replied, pointing through the rhododendrons, “shall we return to your chaperone?”
“Who needs a chaperone? Even when we try to hide, we are discovered,” Catherine replied, delighting in the mischievousness of it all and wondering what her father would say when he discovered all that she had been doing…
Chapter Eleven
“Abrandy, sir?” Redbrand asked, when he entered the library that afternoon.
Ian had been reading by the window, trying to forget the many complications which life now seemed to present him with. His excursion in the park with Catherine had seemed fun at first, but being caught by Lady Millicent had left a sour taste in his mouth. It was all becoming rather serious now, his feelings for Catherine growing strangely stronger by the moment.
“And something to eat, Redbrand, I am quite famished,” he said, laying aside his book.
The butler put a log on the fire, which crackled and spat with red sparks, before nodding to Ian and leaving the room. Ian closed his book and sighed. He could not stop thinking about Catherine, caught up as he was in feelings which were rapidly spiraling out of control. He had never meant his passions to be so aroused, but earlier that day, he had been almost unable to control himself.
It seemed ironic that he had spoken so vehemently of the rules surrounding seduction but had himself been seduced. Catherine was enchanting, and what had begun as a simple pleasure – a game, even – had now become something more. He had wanted to prolong the kiss they had shared in the clearing of trees behind the rhododendron bushes that morning, he wanted to kiss her again.
There was something about Catherine, something more than merely an attraction. She fascinated him, perhaps because she was so very much like himself. Was she too playing a game, he wondered? She had spoken of seduction, of tempting him, but there was surely more to it than that. He was pondering all this when a knock came at the door, and he leaned over to peer out of the window, spying Rickard on the steps.
The look on Rickard’s face was angry, and Ian wondered if already he had discovered from Lady Millicent what had occurred in the park just a few hours ago. He did not have long to wait. A moment later, the library door opened and Redbrand entered, announcing that Rickard desired an audience with Ian, who had now risen from his place by the window and prepared himself for the onslaught.
“He is most insistent, sir,” Redbrand said, and Ian sighed.
“Show him in then, and bring the whole decanter of brandy, will you, Redbrand? I fear it will be a testing few minutes,” he said.
But before the butler could return to the hallway, Rickard himself appeared, an angry expression on his face, and dismissed Redbrand with a wave of his hand. “So, this is where you are hiding, is it?” he demanded, and at these words, Ian could not help but smile.
“Westwick Manor is my home. I do not think I can be accused of hiding here,” he said, and Rickard faltered.
“Well… but you were with Catherine this morning, in the park. The rumors are all across the ton. It is scandalous, Ian. Think of my sister’s reputation,” he said, and Ian rolled his eyes.
“We are betrothed,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“You told me it was a matter of mere convenience, and yet here you are cavorting in a park. Did you think you would not be caught?” he demanded, as Ian pointed to a chair opposite the fireplace.
“I did rather, yes,” he replied, slumping down in a chair opposite, just as Redbrand returned with the decanter of brandy and a plate of bread and cheese.
“But… you were. I heard about it from Lady Millicent, and now the rumors are rife,” he said, snatching the glass of brandy which the butler proffered him.
“And I am sure she is taking great delight in telling everyone. But what scandal is there? Catherine and I are betrothed, are we not? Will a kiss do any harm? I think not,” Ian replied, taking a sip from the glass he now held in his hand.
“You lied to me about the marriage being mere convenience. Are you in love with my sister?” Rickard demanded.
Love was not a word which Ian liked to hear. To love someone meant attachment, entwinement, a meeting of emotions. It meant an investment, for where there is love, there can also be pain. Ian was well aware of his own rules, rules he had taken great pains to explain to Rickard only the other night at the ball. But here he was, breaking them and breaking them in a most spectacular manner.
