Page 20 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“I… I told you, it is a matter of convenience,” he said, and Rickard laughed.
“Certainly, a convenience to find yourself in such a position of compromise. I hope you do not intend to break off the engagement and leave my sister with nothing,” he said, and Ian shook his head.
“Why would I wish to do that? If I did, she would be left only with a most unfortunate proposition,” he replied.
Ian could see straight through Rickard’s veneer. His friend was no different from his father – each was ambitious, and they had intended Catherine’s marriage to the Earl of Westwood to serve as the beginning of their own societal climb. To be married into the family of an Earl was to gain something which no amount of business dealings could do. It offered status, opportunity, privilege, and reputation.
“I am the brother-in-law of the Earl of Westwood,” were words that Ian could imagine Rickard enjoying saying, far better than “the brother of a Baron.”
“The Earl of Westwood was not an unfortunate proposition,” Rickard snapped, but Ian only smiled.
“Not for you, perhaps, but for your sister, most certainly he was. I could not help but feel sorry for Catherine in the face of a betrothal she had no desire to see through. She is happy now, is that not enough?” he asked, and Rickard was forced to agree.
“She is happy, that much is certain,” he said, taking a sip of brandy.
“Then why should anything more concern you?” Ian replied.
“There is the matter of our business interests,” Rickard replied, and now Ian saw the full extent of Rickard’s hand.
He really was as bad as his father, a man interested only in profit and maintaining his own status – or increasing it. He, too, saw Ian’s betrothal to Catherine as a threat, one which might affect his profits or cause his business interests to fail. It was an unpleasant way to view one’s sister – a commodity to be bought and bartered with, given away to one’s own advantage. Ian was glad to have helped Catherine, and he cared not one bit for Rickard and his father’s profits.
“Ah, now I see,” Ian replied, and Rickard appeared uncomfortable.
“Your dealings are in direct competition to our own. I would not see you take advantage of my sister for your own profit,” he snarled, and Ian laughed.
“And what pray are you doing when you seek to marry your sister to some frightful old earl? Are you not taking advantage of her, too?” he asked, knowing that Rickard could give no adequate response to such a challenge.
“That is entirely different. I want my sister to be happy, and she must realize that her happiness will be best served by marrying the Earl of Westwood,” he said, folding his arms and scowling.
“That is the furthest thing from securing happiness as could be imagined,” Ian retorted.
He was growing angry with Rickard, who was behaving merely as his father’s lapdog. Ian had no interest in serving the interests of his business rival, nor in appeasing Rickard’s wishes. To hear such talk made him only more determined to help Catherine in whatever way he could, and if that meant marrying her, then so be it.
“But it is all so sudden. You made no mention of your intention, you asked no one’s permission, you merely made an announcement, humiliating my father in front of the Earl of Westwood. And now, the two of you cavort together in the mot distasteful manner. Whatever happened to your rules? It seems they are discarded when you decide to follow more base desires,” he said.
Ian was not about to be insulted in his own house, but he could not deny that Rickard had a point. To the outside observer, Ian had broken his rules spectacularly. He had ignored every one of them, and whether by jest or intent at first, he now found himself the victim of his own haste. He was falling in love with Catherine – not by design, but by force of nature, a force he could have no hope in overcoming.
“Rules are made to be broken, and I never said I was entirely averse to meeting the right woman,” Ian said, though he himself would admit that it did all seem rather hasty.
In the arousal of his passions for Catherine, Ian had quite forgotten the pain which Cassandra had caused him. But is that not so often the case? Pain can be pushed aside, its searing freshness replaced by dull memory. When one is in pain, one never wishes for it again, but when the rawness of that pain is passed, it is all too easy to risk it again.
“But you sneered at my attempts on that very evening and made no intimation that you intended the object of your own affections to be none other than my own sister,” Rickard said, shaking his head.
“Because I knew precisely how you would react. Come now, I am growing weary of this. Do you accept the betrothal or not?” he demanded, and Rickard scowled.
“I do not wish to fall out over it. I accept it well enough, yes. But if you take advantage of my sister for your own gains, then… then I shall challenge you to a duel,” he said, straightening himself up.
These words made Ian laugh, for the idea of Rickard ever challenging anyone to a duel was quite absurd. His friend possessed neither the physical skill, nor the intellectual cunning for such a fight, and should a duel be proposed, Ian knew that victory would easily be his. It saddened him, though, to realize that their friendship – once the closest of bonds – should have come to this, that they were arguing over something which was not even real, a ruse which Ian had agreed to without entirely realizing the consequences.
“I admire you for your chivalry,” Ian replied, as Rickard got to his feet.
“And what do you intend now?” he asked, finishing the last dregs of his brandy.
“To marry your sister, Rickard, and for the two of us to be very happy,” he said, showing his friend to the door.
“Do you intend the marriage to be soon?” he asked, and Ian smiled.
“Well, if I am to take advantage of your business interests, then yes, it must be,” he said, winking at his friend, who scowled.
