Page 28 of The Virgin in the Rake's Bed
“That was certainly a risk, yes, but I mean the sort of risk that asks a question, or passes a comment, one which will allow the gentleman to know the other’s feelings,” he replied, and Catherine smiled.
“You mean a question like, “do you love me?” and then I await the response?” she asked, fixing him with a searching gaze.
A slight blush came over his cheeks, and he looked at her and smiled. “That would be a bold question, and a gentleman may not be immediately in love, even if he finds himself somewhat enamored,” he replied, and Catherine felt her heart fall.
She could not ask him outright how he felt, or declare her own feelings, either. She did not wish to make a fool of herself, or cause Ian undue embarrassment. “Has a woman ever told you she is in love with you?” Catherine asked, deciding to be bold in her questioning.
“One has, yes,” he replied, and a sad look came over his face, one which caused a pang of guilt to run through Catherine at the thought that her words had stirred unwelcome memories.
“Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you,” she said, but he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.
“It is quite all right. I suppose I should tell you the truth, for there are enough rumors about the matter to make it pertinent to do so. I rather assumed you know, for Rickard has long known the truth,” he replied.
Catherine was somewhat taken aback. She had not expected him to share such intimacies with her, let alone hold nothing back. But she was curious to know the truth – not rumors – and she smiled at him and reached out to offer him her hand.
“If you wish to tell me, then I shall listen. I know than an actress named Cassandra broke your heart, and that she died in a carriage accident with your brother, but anything else would be mere speculation on my part,” she said, and he sighed.
“The reason they were in the carriage together was because they were lovers. That was the part of the puzzle I have tried hard to keep a secret. It is humiliating enough to know that one’s betrothed has sought satisfaction elsewhere, but an even greater humiliation to know that it is in the arms of one’s brother,” he replied.
His words were quite shocking, and Catherine gasped at the thought of what it meant. No wonder Ian had little desire for marriage after such appalling treatment at the hands of his brother and lover.
“And you had no idea that this affair was taking place?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“I knew nothing of it, though I suspected some deception on Cassandra’s part. But I had believed it was a fellow actor, someone from the theater, and certainly not my own brother,” he replied, and Catherine nodded.
“I can understand how hurtful it must have been. And for them to both die in such tragic circumstances, that in itself is a further sorrow,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“There are some who might call it poetic justice. Had my brother survived, I would have been left with nothing. This house was his, and Cassandra would have been, too. They were laughing at me, making a fool of me, but still their fate seemed a harsh and unfortunate one. I would not wish such a thing on anyone,” he said, and Catherine gave him a weak smile.
“You have proved yourself the magnanimous one,” she replied, and he sighed.
“And learned to mistrust women in the process. That is why I have lived by my self-imposed rules for so long. Rules which prevent me from growing close to any woman, rules which I must follow if disaster is not to beset me,” he said.
At the mention of his rules, Catherine felt her heart sink. She knew how closely Ian guarded his emotions, never allowing himself to grow close to anyone. His words to Rebecca must surely have been a front, a part of the deception in which he was to play his role, ensuring that Nicholas believed their betrothal to be sincere. He could not have meant that he loved her, for that would go far beyond anything expected of him.
“I can understand that you would not wish to be hurt again, and that you would find the idea of intimacy difficult. You were treated quite appallingly, that much is certain,” she said, and Ian nodded.
“And not only by Cassandra,” he replied, though he did not elaborate further, and Catherine thought it best not to ask.
“There is no shame in being hurt, the shame comes in being one who hurts another,” she said, imagining that such words might be what her mother would have said in such a situation.
“There is embarrassment, though. For a man is not meant to allow himself to be fooled in such a way, not ever. That is why I have worked so hard to prevent myself from falling into such a trap again. I will not be caught out twice,” he replied, shaking his head and rising to pour himself a brandy.
Catherine was silent for a moment, wondering again what his intentions toward her might be, and what he meant by speaking of twice being caught out. It was clear he had been terribly hurt by Cassandra’s actions, and those of his brother. She could only imagine his humiliation, and it was no surprise that his attitude to women was so guarded.
“Twice?” she asked, and he waved his hand dismissively.
“My mother. She betrayed my father, she took lovers,” he said, and Catherine nodded, feeling ever sorrier for him, and understanding further why it was he found trusting other women so hard.
But it was this revelation, too, which made it so surprising that he had allowed himself to grow close to her. She could not decide if it was all an act, a game, or something more – his kiss had seemed sincere, his touch as real as any she had ever imagined, and she could not believe that every intimacy they had shared had merely been to satisfy their onlookers and make it believed that their betrothal was real.
“And you are happy in such a state?” she asked, and he took a ponderous sip of his brandy, and shrugged.
“It is hard to know what I want, Catherine,” he replied, coming to sit down opposite her again.
Catherine could understand that. Her experience of men was limited to the Earl of Westwood and a string of ill-matched suitors, each as odious as the last. Such experience had entirely disavowed her of any desire for male companionship and made her quite adamant that the life of a spinster was for her.
“I am sure you will realize it when you do,” she replied, and he nodded, glancing at her with a somewhat embarrassed expression.
