Educating Elizabeth

Chapter 9

Elizabeth curled up on the chair in the duke's library and waited in the comforting silence for his return. Although he had informed her that he intended to visit her bed, she had been too nervous to await him in the confines of her bedroom.

As was his custom, the duke had disappeared after dinner. Elizabeth watched his departure from her elevated position at the top of the stairs. He had worn his finest black coat and evening pantaloons with his usual elegance. Like a child stealing a forbidden glimpse of her parents departing for an evening's entertainment, Elizabeth pictured him at the opera or at some grand ball, his dark head bent solicitously over a beautifully gowned woman.

She shook the lingering images from her mind and snuggled deeper into the chair. The heat from the fire didn't make up for the loss of her thick woolen nightgown under her dressing gown. But, as instructed, she had dressed in one of the silk bed gowns the duke had purchased for her and it was not meant for warmth. The clock in the duke's study struck twelve and was echoed by the thunderous boom of the new fangled grandfather clock in the entrance hall.

In a way, Elizabeth mused, she was glad the duke had decided to continue her education in the more proper surroundings of her bed. He seemed more inclined to seduce her when she least expected it. She frowned and touched her fingertips to her lips. She had never imagined that something as simple as a kiss could bring so much pleasure.

Her skin flushed as she remembered where else the duke had kissed her. Perhaps she was learning more than she had thought. She hadn't expected to experience the first whisperings of desire when she had made her bargain with the duke. She had seen herself more as a sacrifice.

Elizabeth rose to her feet, suddenly restless and wandered back into the duke's study. She paused by his desk to stare at the huge collection of books, parchments and rolled up scrolls that obscured the oak surface. For a man of acknowledged indolence, the duke seemed burdened by a huge amount of work.

She turned to listen as a carriage rattled across the cobbled paving stones of the square, but it didn't stop. When she stepped back from the window, her elbow caught a pile of precariously balanced books that crashed to the floor. Elizabeth came down on her knees and gathered the books with frantic haste. What would Standish say if he came in and caught her groveling on the floor by the duke's desk?

She replaced the books in a neat pile on the corner of the desk. A scrap of parchment had drifted behind the chair and she bent to retrieve it. To her delight, it appeared to be a word puzzle that someone had left unfinished.

Elizabeth clicked her tongue disapprovingly. The person who tried to complete the puzzle had made several mistakes judging from the number of scrawled and crossed out answers. With a sigh of pure happiness, she settled in the duke's chair, extracted a fresh sheet of parchment from the drawer and began work on the intriguing conundrum.

Gervase stole softly into the study, his dueling pistol primed and ready in his hand. He came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Elizabeth sitting behind his desk, apparently deep in thought. Her brown hair had broken free of its braid and it revealed glints of gold in the candlelight. Her spectacles, which were perched on the end of her nose, made her look like an inquisitive little owl. Her dressing gown had fallen open to reveal the subtle flesh tones of her creamy skin and the hint of an ivory silk-clad breast.

Gervase shut the door and leaned against it. His initial wariness dissipated into a warm appreciation of the studious yet unconsciously seductive picture his novice mistress made.

He cleared his throat and she looked up at him. Guilt-mingled with triumph--flashed plainly across her face, but she made no move to hide what she was doing. Gervase uncocked his pistol and laid it on the desk with deliberate care. Elizabeth's gaze flew to pistol and she hurriedly put down her quill pen.

"Your Grace. I forgot the time. Were you waiting for me?"

Gervase came around the desk to stand over her. He almost cursed out loud when he saw what she had in her hand. It was his fault for leaving it out on the desk, but what in God's name was she doing with that particular piece of parchment?

"I knocked over a pile of books and when I was putting them back, I found this." She waved the grubby, almost illegible puzzle at him and gave a complacent smile. "I love puzzles and I decided to try my hand at it."

His expression must have warned her that something was amiss because her smile faded and her voice became less certain. She gestured at a second sheet of parchment. "I don't think I've done any harm. I had more sense than to scribble on the original."

Gervase barely glanced at her neat penmanship before he slipped both pieces of parchment beneath his blotter. His mind worked furiously for a way to distract her. He caught her elbow and pulled her out of the seat in one easy motion.

"I expected you to be in bed, waiting for me." He kept his tone mild but she was quick to detect his censure. She blushed, pushed her spectacles further up her nose and tried to pull out of his hold.

"I was waiting for you, Your Grace. I just chose to wait in here."

He tightened his fingers on her arm until he drew her hard up against him. Then used the tip of his index finger and thumb to remove her spectacles. He dangled them in front of her and then dropped them onto the desk where they came to rest on top of his pistol.

"Ah, but you are supposed to be my mistress and it is for me to say where you should wait, is it not?"

He half smiled when she refused to meet his stare and instead studied the silver buttons on his waistcoat. He repeated, "Is it not?"

He swore he heard her teeth grind together as she mustered a reply. "Yes, Your Grace. Of course, you are right. I can only apologize."

He placed his fingers under her chin and made her look at him. "Do I detect a note of sarcasm, Elizabeth? Have you decided that you wish to be in charge of our liaison?"

"No, Your Grace, I was simply..."

She seemed unable to complete the sentence as he rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. He wondered if she could taste the residue of gunpowder on his fingers. He had used his gun to wound a suspected spy earlier that night.

"You are still an innocent in many ways, my dear, and occasionally I'm quite glad of it." He bent and kissed her cheek. "In truth, you thought to avoid my presence in your bed by meeting me here."

She nodded, her chin pressing into his fingers. With a swift movement, he dragged the robe from her shoulders until she stood before him clad only in her ivory silk nightgown. She made an ineffectual attempt to cover herself but he would not allow it. He gathered her into his arms and turned her until her back was against his chest. He wrapped one long arm around her hips, pressing her against him from chest to toe.

Her warm, womanly scent curled around his nostrils and he buried his face into the side of her neck. For some reason a brush with death always made him think of more carnal matters, of burying himself inside a woman's warm, wet body, of giving and receiving pleasure until he was so sated he could forget the horrors of death.

"I could lie you down on my desk and ravish you there." He rotated her toward the library. "We could even make good use of the chair you so recently vacated."

He released her as suddenly as he had captured her and bent to pick up her robe. His desire to add to her education had intensified to a point at which he was sorely tempted to pull her down onto the carpet and show her exactly what he meant. He grimly reminded himself that lust never made a good master and that he'd made a bargain with Elizabeth not to bed her.

He tossed the robe to her.

"Put this on and go to bed. I will join you in a moment."

She ran like a startled fawn, her bare feet soundless in the corridor and on the stairs. Gervase drew in a deep breath and strove to gain control of his lust. What was it about Elizabeth that made him want to ravish her? She was no match for his sensual games. With that thought severely in mind, Gervase followed Elizabeth up the stairs and into her room without pausing to knock.

Elizabeth discarded her dressing gown, unbraided her hair and sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded primly in her lap. Her breathing was still a little unsteady when the duke strolled over to the bed and drew her upright.

In her bare feet, she hardly reached his shoulder.

"I want you to undress me. As my mistress, you will need to become adept at this."

She looked up at him and nodded briskly, her hands already reaching for the buttons of his black coat. He caught hold of her wrists.

"I'm not a little boy to be helped out of my clothes as speedily as possible. Your aim is to heighten my desire and to make me want you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Elizabeth whispered and he released her hands. She took her time easing him out of his superbly cut coat, allowing her body to brush against his at will. His embroidered silver waistcoat had three buttons, which she undid as slowly as possible, and then she hesitated.

"Do you wish me to remove your boots first, Your Grace or your cravat?" She kept her voice calm, although she was a little breathless as she waited for his instructions. He obliged her by helping with his boots and removing his cuff links, leaving her to deal with the intricate folds of his cravat.

His fine linen shirt fell open at the throat, revealing the dark, curling hair on his chest. She hesitated as she inhaled the unique scent of his skin and her fingers stilled on his cuffs. A memory of the first time he touched her stole into her head. She tried to block out the unwelcome image but her hands remained locked on his wrists.

"Pull my shirt over my head, cherie."

His soft, yet compelling voice recalled her to her duties and she managed to release her grip on his wrists. She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to slide down to his waist. She discovered his shirt was tucked into his breeches. He took hold of her hand and guided it to the buttons. With a stifled sound, she fumbled to unfasten them.

Gervase watched her intently as her fingers brushed against his hard cock. She blushed and tried to pull away.

"The shirt, my dear," he reminded her, one eyebrow raised, as if he thought she had forgotten what to do. He lifted his arms to help her pull the shirt over his head. With that off, her hands settled on his naked chest as though they belonged there. He took advantage of her temporary unsteadiness and sank down onto the bed with her.

He steadied her against his chest and drew her into a kneeling position opposite him. At first, she tried to look everywhere but at his body. To her great embarrassment, her gaze kept stealing back to his muscled arms, broad chest, and flat stomach. His right shoulder was still a little bruised from its encounter with the clock.

The duke did nothing to cover himself and allowed her to look until she no longer felt the need to hide her interest.

"It is not so difficult after all is it?" he said quietly. "Do you think you have succeeded? Do you think you have aroused me?"

Elizabeth glanced at his half-opened breeches and nodded.

The duke followed her gaze. "Yes, you are right. I'm hard for you." He took hold of her fisted hand and she tensed as he uncurled her fingers and laid her palm flat on his chest. His skin pulsed with warmth and she could feel the steady pounding of his heart beneath her fingertips.

"I wish you to touch me now," he said. "You may do anything you want. You will soon learn what pleases me."

Something in her expression must have given away her unease and he continued to talk. "Women need to be caressed gently and aroused with tenderness and care." He leaned forward and palmed her silk-covered breast, bringing the nipple to life with the soft brush of his thumb. He glanced down at his handiwork and smiled. "You see? Men like to be touched as much as women do, but they tend to respond to a firmer caress. Are you feeling brave enough to try?"

"Yes, Your Grace," Elizabeth replied. In some strange way, her anxiety had lessened simply because she had more clothes on than the duke. She wondered if he knew that.

"You must call me, Gervase when we are alone. 'Your Grace' is a little formal in these circumstances, don't you think?"

Elizabeth couldn't manage to reply. How could he joke when she was afraid her heart would leap out of her chest with nerves? She almost recoiled when he reached across and took her hand again. Her cold fingers dropped onto his thigh as her curious gaze fixed on the opened buttons of his breeches and the shadows within.

After a deep, steadying breath, she leaned closer and placed both of her hands on the duke's shoulders. His skin felt hot beneath her fingers. Greatly daring, she ran her hands down his arms and back up again, enjoying the flex of his muscles and the quiver of his response. She traced an old scar that ran from the base of his throat to his shoulder.

Intent now on his interesting reaction to her touch, she reached around and stroked his back. He groaned in apparent enjoyment and, emboldened, Elizabeth drew circles on his skin with her fingernails until he captured her mouth in a deep kiss. He tasted of brandy and the rain. When he released her, she placed her hands on his chest and experienced a whole new set of intriguing sensations. His nipples tightened under her stroking fingers and he murmured her name.

"Yes, that feels very good. Now tell me how you feel."

"I, I'm enjoying myself." Her confession caught her by surprise. "I like the way you feel. Such soft skin over such hard muscle."

He smiled, his eyes a smoldering silver. "See how I taste, my dear, I dare you."

Caught up in his sensual mood, Elizabeth remembered how it felt when the duke, no, when Gervase had kissed her breasts. She bent to nuzzle his nipple with her tongue. He growled low in his throat and with surprising speed, she found herself flat on her back, Gervase on top of her, one hand cradling her face whilst his mouth fastened onto her breast.

She was the one who began to gasp then, as he suckled her breasts and his hand inched up her thigh. By the time she had realized where his fingers were heading, it was too late for her to shut him out. She trembled as he cupped her between the legs and murmured in French, his tone darkly reassuring, even if his actions were not.

A clock chimed in the distance and there were sounds of urgent knocking on the front door. With a muttered curse he went still and pulled away. Elizabeth rolled onto her side and watched him get dressed with speedy efficiency. His practiced movements gave her pause as a pang of jealousy shot through her. How many women had he bedded and then left as quickly as possible?

She cleared her throat. "I wasn't frightened, Gervase."

"I know," he said briefly as he wound his cravat around his neck and secured it with a diamond pin. "Unfortunately, I have work to do. We will leave this part of your education until we have more time." He shrugged into his coat unaided. "Somehow it is always easier to shed one's clothes than it is to put them back on again."

"Well, as an acknowledged rake, you should know, Your Grace," Elizabeth snapped and then bit her lip as the duke stared at her.

"You sound a little out of sorts."

"I'm becoming used to being touched, and then discarded. Why should I care?"

His gaze narrowed and became thoughtful as he observed her flushed cheeks and the slight irrepressible quivering of her body.

"Surely you have described the dilemma of any man's mistress? You are here for my convenience, Elizabeth, not your own."

Elizabeth opened her mouth and then shut it again as the hard truth of his words sunk in. He continued to regard her, his face unmoved as a painful blush spread upwards from her throat to her face. She dropped her gaze to his still-unbuttoned waistcoat.

His hard fingers tapped demandingly against her cheek. "I promised to teach you how a man requires his mistress to behave. I told you that you would not enjoy it and that it wouldn't suit you. A man will put up with tears and sulks from his wife because he has no choice, but from his mistress, a man pays for and requires other things."

She thought about that for a long painful moment. "Then I still have a lot to learn, don't I?"

For a brief second his hard face softened. He kissed her cheek.

"Yes, ma belle, you do, but please don't imagine your response to me is anything more than the awakening of your sensual nature. You must learn to control any other emotions you think you feel in my presence." He walked toward the door, boots in his hand, and paused to look back at her.

"I will not put up with a mistress who demands an emotional commitment that I will not even give to a wife."

Pride made Elizabeth sit up, her hands fisted at her sides. Did he really think she was that foolish? "I have not asked you for anything."

He shrugged then, his expression sardonic. "But you will. In my experience, women are incapable of separating love from lust."

He turned to leave and Elizabeth blurted out, "And why should they have to? Shouldn't a man expect lust and love from his wife?"

He stilled. "Of course he should, my dear. I offered my love to my wife and watched her reject it again and again." He drew in a breath. "Let me make myself clear. Life is far better without the illusion of love. And there is no love available in this house, so don't be foolish enough to attempt to manufacture any. I bid you good night."

She stared at the door he slammed behind him, raised her arm, and threw the book from her bedside table at the paneled wood, half-hoping he'd hear and half-dreading his reaction. How dare he assume she had feelings for him! She dropped her hand to her side and curled up on the bed.

The problem was...she feared he might be right.