Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

When he cleared his throat, she jumped.

"I can only apologize again, Mrs. Waterstone for my inconsiderate chattering. I only hoped to amuse, but I fear I've kept you from your bed."

Elizabeth rose from her seat and just managed to smother a yawn behind her hand before Sir John bowed and raised her fingers to his lips in a punctilious salute. When he released her, she curtsied and headed for the door. The urge to do or say something shocking would surely take hold of her if he continued to be so dull.

Elizabeth closed her own door with a relieved sigh and found a maid laying out her nightdress on the cream silk canopied bed. She allowed the maid to help her undress and brush out her hair, then climbed into bed, leaving a single candle burning on her night table.

After the clock had struck the hour twice more, she sat up, pulled her long braid of hair over her shoulder and hugged her knees to her chest. Despite being bone weary and glad to be free of the rocking motion of the carriage, she couldn't sleep. Whether it was the thought of the duke's return or the puzzle of Sir John's book that kept her from slumbering, she couldn't decide. She punched her pillow and sighed.

"This is ridiculous."

She looked around the bedroom but there were no books to be seen. With a sigh, she pulled on her dressing gown and decided to investigate the duke's library. She was halfway down the oak-paneled stairs before she realized that her feet were freezing and that she had neglected to put on her slippers.

No one awaited the duke's return in the marbled hallway. Moonlight helped to illuminate her path as she slipped through the shadows thrown by the massive sculptures and unlit chandeliers. A welcoming red glow seeped from under the door of the duke's study. Elizabeth enjoyed the warmth of the room and the thickness of the carpet as she found her way through the study and into the library beyond.

For a long while she wandered through the library shelves, admiring the duke's vast collection of books and enjoying the thrill of being able to borrow and read whatever she desired. The allure of a wingback leather chair drew her toward the glow of the fire and a single lit candle in a stuccoed alcove. Unwilling to leave the warmth, Elizabeth curled up in the chair and started to read.

A coal shifting in the fire woke her, as did the faint murmur of voices in the study beyond. Elizabeth slowly came awake to the sound of the duke's familiar low-pitched accent and the stodgier tones of Sir John Harrington. Reluctant to attract attention, she pulled the trailing ends of her nightdress close around her body and drew her bare feet up under her. The back of the wing chair faced the duke's study. It was possible that if she kept still, she might remain undetected.

The duke's melodious laughter rang out and Elizabeth stiffened in the chair. It appeared that her arrival was of so little importance that he had spent the night out carousing rather than attend to her. She leaned forward and strained to catch the low-voiced conversation between the two men.

It struck her that Sir John sounded nothing like the boring man she had suffered through dinner. His answers to the duke's rapid fire of questions were swift, confident and self-assured. Puzzlement tinged with a hint of annoyance threaded through her. Why had he pretended to be quite a different man for her benefit?

The book she was reading fell from her slackened fingers and slid to the floor despite her frantic efforts to catch it. She cursed under her breath in an unladylike manner--culled from her soldier brothers-as the book came to rest beside the right leg of the chair in the full glare of the candlelight. She refused to look at it and tensed her shoulders, waiting for discovery.

It didn't come.

Just as she let out a long suppressed breath, the duke said.

"I hear that you had dinner with Mrs. Waterstone, Sir John?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Sir John had the effrontery to laugh. "She was younger than I anticipated and not quite in your usual style, but she seemed a nice enough woman. Her conversation and understanding were fairly limited. I tried my hardest to keep to topics she might respond to. I shouldn't think she will bother us much."

The study door opened and Elizabeth sensed Sir John had left the room. She stared down at her hands, which seemed to have balled into fists. The patronizing prig! How dare he write her off as a nonentity? She had merely been responding to his lack of charm and to his ready-formed asinine assumptions about her character!

"Good evening, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth stifled a shriek as the duke came down on one knee in front of her and held out the book she had dropped. He glanced at the title and shook his head. "Feather-headed? I doubt it, if you are reading The Iliad in its original Greek." He tossed the book onto her lap and sat back on his heels, pulling the fabric of his fawn breeches tight against his thighs.

Elizabeth swallowed hard as her gaze noted every line and curve of the duke's muscular body. He wore no coat and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, displaying a goodly amount of soft, dark hair. He had loosened his cravat and a thin gold-rimmed pair of spectacles, similar to her own, perched on the end of his nose.

On closer inspection, he didn't look as if he had spent the night in the gaming hells of Piccadilly. He looked like a man who had been working hard on something more cerebral. His eyes were shadowed with tiredness and a frown creased his brow. Without thinking, Elizabeth tapped the bridge of his nose where his glasses rested.

With an annoyed grunt, the duke reached up and removed the glasses, burying them deep in the pocket of his breeches. He caught her hand before she could withdraw and laid it, open palmed, against his unshaven cheek.

"You haven't told me that you are glad to see me."

On an impulse, Elizabeth leaned forward to put her other hand on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his skin through the linen of his shirt. She breathed in the smell of fine brandy and Spanish cigars. With slow deliberation, she brought her face toward his and kissed his mouth.

"Welcome home, Your Grace," she whispered.

His eyebrows rose. "Welcome indeed."

His hand slid behind her neck and urged her even closer, as if he demanded that she deepen the kiss. She shut her eyes and complied, exploring his mouth with the tip of her tongue until his response overwhelmed her. She gasped as he pushed her back into the chair and leaned into her, his hands at her waist, his mouth demanding her surrender.

"Your Grace? There is another messenger from the Foreign Office. Shall I send him in?"

Sir John's voice filtered through the open doorway. Elizabeth moaned as the duke tore his mouth from hers and went still. He stood up, running his fingers through his now-tousled hair and turned back to the study.

"Go to bed, Elizabeth. I will see you in the morning."

His quiet command galvanized her into action. She slid from the chair, aware of her bare feet and the heat in his eyes as he shielded her from the light in the study. He pointed to the far end of the library where Elizabeth assumed there would be another exit. She nodded and skimmed her tongue over her lower lip where the duke had nipped her.

His breath hissed out as he watched her slow backward retreat. "Merde, stop biting your lip unless you wish me to bite it for you! Go to bed."

Elizabeth closed her mouth, turned, and ran as Sir John entered the study and the duke moved away, closing the door behind him and shutting off the light.

"Ah, Mrs. Waterstone." The duke rose to his feet and bowed. "I'm so glad that you decided to join us on this fine morning."

Elizabeth cast a bleary eye out of the window of the pristine breakfast parlor where a fine drizzle obscured the garden and the leaden skies. She accepted a cup of tea from Standish and brightened considerably when he pointed out the row of lidded silver dishes from which emanated the heavenly smells of a cooked breakfast.

After swallowing the tea and working her way through a hearty meal, she managed to focus on the duke, who had resumed his place at the head of the table. From the look of his dress and his rain-dampened hair, he had already been out. There was no sign of Sir John, but a young man, also dressed for riding, occupied the seat next to the duke.

The duke gestured to his companion. "Mrs. Waterstone, I would like you to meet another relative of mine, Nicholas Gallion. He assists Sir John with my correspondence and all manner of useful things."

The red-headed man stood up and bowed, a smile in his whiskey-colored eyes. His complexion was fair and freckles sprinkled the bridge of his nose. He reminded Elizabeth of an elegant greyhound, full of suppressed energy and intelligence. She guessed his age to be similar to her own.

"Yes, indeed, Your Grace." Nicholas said.

To her surprise, he had a distinct French accent.

"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Waterstone. His Grace tells me that our ancestors coexist on the far corners of the mighty Diable Delamere family tree." A dimple played at the corner of his mouth as he shot a glance at the duke. "As the duke says, my duties are indeed varied. Last week I had the pleasure of fending off the dukes latest discarded mistress. She certainly had a very interesting vocabulary for a lady."

The duke poured himself another cup of coffee. "Despite his complaints, Nick has a way with the ladies. I'm sure that he will be honored to escort you around town when I'm unable to."

"Of course, Mrs. Waterstone. Consider me at your service."

Elizabeth drank more tea and had just started to feel alive when Sir John Harrington strode into the room. After a quick glance in her direction, he began to converse with the duke in rapid French. After listening for a minute or two, Elizabeth cleared her throat.

"Your Grace, would you please tell Sir John that I speak French far better than he does?" She smiled, showing her teeth. "And if you don't mind me saying so, his accent is atrocious. If he doesn't wish me to understand what he is saying, he should try another language."

Nicholas gave a snort of laughter that he tried valiantly to suppress. The duke's lips twitched, but he seemed unperturbed as he continued to gaze at Elizabeth.

"Before you open your mouth again, John," the duke said smoothly, "Might I suggest that you also avoid Latin and Greek?" The duke raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth and she nodded. "Is there anything else you wish to add, my dear?"

"I speak Spanish too, Your Grace, but not particularly well." Elizabeth couldn't help but smile as she looked into Sir John's red face and then modestly down at her plate. "I've a remarkable ear for languages."

"So it would seem," the duke said.

Eventually, Sir John's rigid countenance relaxed and he cleared his throat. "I should have known that any woman you took an interest in, Your Grace, would be an unusual one. I can only beg your pardon, Mrs. Waterstone and trust that we can become better acquainted."

In some confusion, Elizabeth turned to the duke who regarded her with his usual calm expression.

"He misjudged you, my dear." The duke wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, rose to his feet, and bowed to Elizabeth. "Perhaps you might be gracious enough to accept his apology and leave the no-doubt complicated explanations until later. I wish you to attend me in the study."

Elizabeth considered Sir John carefully. She didn't believe his attempt to placate her for a second. But she accepted his hand and the kiss he brushed over her knuckles with all the graciousness she could muster.

She followed the duke into his study and shut the door behind her. He was already seated behind his desk, his head bent over a pile of official-looking documents. His riding coat was black and cut by a master. An ebony pin surrounded by diamonds lay buried in the depths of his elaborately arranged cravat. The whiteness of his linen contrasted strongly with his raven hair and deep set silver eyes.

He spoke without looking up. "Did you enjoy your travels, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth smoothed her dark, serviceable skirts over her knees.

"Yes, indeed, Your Grace. Although I was sorry to lose the companionship of your daughter." She hesitated. "I promised to write to her. I should have asked for your permission to do so first."