Educating Elizabeth

Chapter 16

Elizabeth bit the end of her quill pen and observed Sir John's bent head. He had been hard at work all morning and she had nothing to do. She had written to Eloise and her brother Hugh and couldn't think of anyone else with whom she wished to communicate.

Rain sheeted down, obscuring Grosvenor Square. She had finished her translation of the first three coded messages and they had been rushed away to the Foreign Office. Now she sat idly, waiting for another to be delivered.

She studied the man. Sir John hardly seemed to care whether his clothes fitted him or not, as opposed to the duke, who was meticulous in his demands for the most fashionable cut and style. The duke's muscular body reminded her of the apparently scandalous Greek statues on view at Carlton House.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. She was not in her boudoir but in her other place of work and Sir John would be scandalized if he could read her mind. Sometimes it was hard not to confuse her two professions, especially when the duke was around to distract her.

The door was flung open and Sir John barked out a warning as, despite his best efforts, several of the papers on his desk floated into the air. Nicholas breezed in and headed for Elizabeth's cramped corner of the room. He held an envelope in his hands, which bore an official looking seal.

"Good morning, Mrs. Waterstone. Compliments of His Grace, the Duke of Diable Delamere." He grinned at her, his dimples dancing on his flushed cheeks, his red hair damp and in disarray. "I think this is another intercepted message from Le Fleur."

Elizabeth opened the envelope, which bore the duke's scrawled signature, and pulled out a small piece of parchment covered in the now-familiar spiked script.

"Indeed it is the same."

"What is the same, Mrs. Waterstone? The code?" Sir John asked, his expression eager.

"I will not know until I attempt to translate it, sir. But it is definitely the same script."

"Is that good?" Nicholas asked.

"Well it helps," Elizabeth said absently, her mind captivated by the fascinating puzzle in front of her. She shut out their excited voices, sharpened a fresh quill pen, and drew a clean sheet of parchment toward her.

"Elizabeth, how in God's name can you see what you are doing?"

Elizabeth blinked several times as a blaze of candlelight cascaded over her untidy desk. She raised an ink-stained hand to rub at her eyes. Before she could besmear her face, the duke caught her fingers and pressed a clean handkerchief into them.

She thanked him as she wiped her hands and blew her nose. When she became accustomed to the light, she saw Sir John was no longer at his desk. She risked a covert glance at the duke's face. With a sigh, she dropped her quill pen and sat back.

"Well?" demanded the duke. "You have been working on that damned piece of code for over six hours." He frowned as he noticed her unsuccessful attempt to straighten her fingers. "Have you eaten?"

Elizabeth became aware of an empty feeling in her stomach and the headache between her eyes. "It will be in London."

"The assassination attempt?"

"Yes. I think he is speaking about the summer months, although I can't be sure at this time." She tapped the parchment with her pen. "The code is very similar, but several key words have been altered. I will have to work harder to discover them."

Gervase walked around the desk and pulled her to her feet. She swayed against him, enjoying the novel sensation of being supported and cared for, even if it was only for her code-breaking abilities.

"You will stop now," the duke said in a voice that brooked no argument. "After you have eaten, I intend to take you out to the opera. Put away these documents and come with me."

After a hearty meal, eaten under the duke's gaze, Elizabeth hurried upstairs to change. Her maid had laid out a dress for her and it took little time to make herself presentable.

She paused to admire her reflection after her maid re-styled her hair into a soft cloud of ringlets. Her gown of lavender-colored jaconet muslin fell in sleek, elegant lines from beneath her high, lace-trimmed bodice to the tip of her matching kid slippers.

With a playful kiss to her mirror, Elizabeth gathered up her long, hooded cloak and made her way down to the marbled entrance hall. The duke, dressed in stark black and white, stood beneath his portrait, his arrogant stance in direct competition with his painted self.

He pulled on a pair of gloves as he came toward her. His enigmatic gray gaze swept over her gown and he smiled as he took her cloak from her hands. "I always forget how well you look under the ink stains and tightly braided hair, my dear."

He gestured for her to turn around and he drew her heavy cloak around her shoulders. She sighed as his fingers lingered on her throat while he tied the ribbons. When he stepped away, she was conscious of the lack of warmth, a feeling reinforced by the stiff breeze coming through the front door Standish held open.

Just as Elizabeth straightened her skirts and the duke settled opposite her in the carriage, the door flew open and Nicholas got in. "Sorry, Your Grace. I couldn't find my best coat and I had to bully Jacques into lending me one of yours."

The duke shifted in his seat and observed Nicholas through his quizzing glass. "I'm amazed that such an unfashionable garment ever graced my wardrobe. That coat is at least three years out of style and everyone will know it, Nick. Please don't be offended if I claim not to know you this evening."

Nicholas winked at Elizabeth. "Wait until he sees what a mess I've made of my cravat. He will probably start dressing me before I'm allowed to leave the carriage."

It was a cloudless, clear night when the duke assisted her from the carriage and she was glad of the warmth of her cloak. The duke had arrived fashionably late and by the time they were escorted to their box, the theater was almost full and the orchestra had commenced tuning up.

Elizabeth scarcely had time to gaze around her before the lights were dimmed and the dulcet tones of the overture to Mozart's 'The Marriage of Figaro' began. With a sigh, she relaxed, aware of the duke's arm along the back of her chair and the lingering warmth of his citrus scent surrounding her.

When the lights came on at the end of the first act, she was almost displeased to be shaken from her comfortable half-dreaming state. The duke asked her to excuse him and moved toward the door. With nothing better to do than watch the seething mass of humanity below the box, Elizabeth rested her elbow on the velvet-lined edge and leaned slightly forward.

Without meaning to, her eyes followed the duke as he made his way across to the other side of the theater. He was easy to observe. The severe cut of his black and white garments made him stand out from the pretty pastels of the ladies and the more muted tones of the men.

She caught a glimpse of the duke's dark head bent over the hand of a beautiful red-headed lady in a box directly opposite her own. Without taking her eyes away from the chatting couple, she reached behind her for the opera glasses the duke had left on his seat. Then she could clearly see the deep, bejeweled cleavage of the titian-haired lady and the way she clasped the duke's gloved hand to her bosom. With a disgusted sound she focused on the other occupants of the box and discovered Angelique, aglow in peach satin, pearls and diamonds flashing in her beautifully styled hair.

The strange tension coiled within her relaxed as the duke turned to Angelique and kissed his way up her bare arm to her shoulder. Elizabeth almost dropped the opera glasses as the duke murmured something and Angelique winked in her direction. Flustered at the duke's discovery of her perusal she hastily swung around and stared into another box.

As her vision cleared she realized she was looking at her half-sister, Mary, and her mother. Mary was dressed in a simple white muslin frock with a blue sash that matched her eyes. Elizabeth's throat constricted as Mr. Forester leaned forward and patted Mary on the shoulder, his face the picture of paternal pride.

They looked like the perfect family. Elizabeth struggled with the familiar feeling of being unwanted that had plagued her since her mother's remarriage. With a determined effort, she looked over the other occupants of the box, wondering if any of the gentlemen clustered around her stepfather were suitors for Mary's hand.

Her hands locked on the opera glasses as she recognized Sir John Harrington's best drab olive green coat and severely tied cravat.

"Mrs. Waterstone...Excuse me, Mrs. Waterstone. Would you like some wine?"

Nicholas's question jerked her away from her puzzled imaginings and she dropped the opera glasses like a guilty child. She accepted a glass of wine and allowed Nicholas to settle beside her. She encouraged him to talk as she tried to think of a way to introduce the topic of Sir John into the conversation.

When Nicholas ran out of things to say, he refilled her glass from the bottle in the ice bucket. She thanked him and said idly, "Is Sir John not able to join us this evening? He told me that Mozart was his favorite composer."

Nicholas clinked his glass against hers and downed the contents in one enthusiastic swallow. "Sir John is here, but I believe the duke asked him to sing for his supper."

Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and Nicholas grinned. "Excuse the dreadful pun, Mrs. Waterstone, but the duke asked Sir John to ingratiate himself with some of the more prolific gamblers of the ton. I believe that is where he is now. Why, have you seen him?"

"I believe I saw him on the other side of the theater when I was looking at the crowds."

"Ah, yes, I sent him after young Lord Molyneux."

The duke's calm voice intruded on their conversation and Nicholas hastily relinquished his seat. After a swift glance at Elizabeth, the duke picked up her fan and plied it with great dexterity in front of her flushed face.

"Molyneux is only twenty, but he seems to have decided to drag himself and his esteemed family into debt and disgrace before he even reaches his majority. His father is a minister in the war department and I fear he might be a valuable contact for the French."

Despite the duke's languid tone, Elizabeth's heart thudded so painfully against the confines of her corset that she was surprised the duke couldn't hear it.

"Where exactly did you see Sir John, Mrs. Waterstone?"

She pointed to the box where her mother sat and waited, her hands clasped together in her lap, while the duke directed his opera glasses onto the occupants.

"It seems as if you were correct, my dear. I can see Lord Molyneux making sheep's eyes at an insipid blonde and Sir John conversing with your step-father at the back of the box."

"The blonde is my half-sister, Mary Forester, Your Grace. Most people think her a diamond of the first water," Elizabeth snapped.

The duke studied her. "I stand corrected. You, of course, would know far more about female beauty than I ever could."

Nicholas stifled a laugh and the duke turned to him. "Nicholas, I spoke to your sister, Hortense, earlier and she wants to know why you didn't honor her with a visit after the first act."

Nicholas went as red as his hair and his face assumed a sulky expression. "What does she want with me? Did you not tell her I was well and happy?"

The duke stared at Nicholas for a long time as the warning bell sounded for the start of the second act. When Nicholas dropped his gaze to his scuffed shoes, the duke spoke again, a compulsive edge to his voice.

"I did indeed tell her that you were well." He paused as Nicholas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Perhaps she would prefer to hear the words from the ungrateful wretch she helped raise?"

The duke turned his back on a clearly crushed Nicholas and returned to his perusal of Elizabeth. "Is everything all right?" he murmured as the music swelled and rose from the orchestra pit. "Have I set your mind at rest?"

Elizabeth stared at the stage where the female chorus stood, arranged in graceful circles, ready to perform. "Why should you think I was troubled, Your Grace?"

The duke leaned forward and settled his mouth over the pulse that throbbed at the base of her throat. "Because I'm beginning to learn how your mind works, my dear. The magnificent lady whom I visited at the interval is Nicholas's oldest sister, Hortense. Did you see the likeness?"

Elizabeth attempted a shrug and then froze as the duke bit down on her raised shoulder, sending a thrill of heat straight to her stomach. "I was not aware of your movements, Your Grace. I was too busy enjoying the scenery."

"Liar..." the duke breathed against her ear and then gently nipped it. "And I did not send Sir John after your stepfather. You may rest easy on that score as well." His fingers slid down the curve of her throat and shaped her breast. "It was just a coincidence that he happened to visit your step-father's box."

Elizabeth said nothing as the duke sat back and fixed his attention on the stage. She stared blindly at the colorful blur of figures as a hint of unease stayed with her. It was unlike the duke to bother to explain anything. Was he beginning to care about her feelings, or was he trying to allay her suspicions?

By the time the opera finished and Nicholas was dispatched for a scolding by his sister, Elizabeth still hadn't made up her mind. She almost jumped when the duke touched her elbow and held out her cloak in silent invitation. They didn't speak as they made their way down to the carriage. It was not until they were well under way that Elizabeth realized that Nicholas was not with them.

"Where is Nicholas, did we forget him?"

Gervase smiled and reached forward to kiss her gloved hand. "He has gone to have a late supper with his sister and Angelique. I don't expect him back until they have soundly abused him and made him feel like an ignorant clod, which is only what he deserves."

He contemplated Elizabeth's averted profile. It worried him when she went quiet as it usually meant she was thinking too hard. He suspected that his glib explanations of the comings and goings in the theater had failed to address her concerns. How much more would she worry if she knew Mr. Forester was indeed the object of Sir John's attentions?

Enough to damage the whole of his delicate operation, he feared, and hid a sigh. "I don't want you attempting to crack the code this evening, Elizabeth. I want you to go straight to bed."

"Alone, or with you, Your Grace?"

Gervase held his breath as his body came alive at her shy invitation. Having sampled her delights on the previous night, his lustful nature craved more. He pictured her naked in his arms, offering herself to him. He could almost feel the slick heat of her against his hardened flesh as he slowly slid inside her, inch by pleasurable inch. His fingers tightened on his cane.

"Alone."

Her face colored at his rejection and when the carriage drew to a stop she fumbled with the door latch as if eager to escape him. With a lack of his usual finesse, he helped Elizabeth down the steps and into the arms of one of his footmen before he retreated into the carriage.

He glimpsed her startled face as he banged on the roof with his cane and the carriage moved swiftly away. He frowned down at his lap and willed his unwanted arousal to subside. If he was not careful, Elizabeth would consume his thoughts, and he might make the mistake of beginning to care for her. He could not allow that to happen. He didn't think he could bear the pain again.

His carriage drew up at the discreet and expensive brothel he normally favored with his custom. He stared at the front door through the carriage window for a long time. Yes, he ached for womanly flesh but the thought of touching anyone other than Elizabeth held no great appeal. He shouted out his orders to the coachman and the horses swept around in a wide circle and began the journey home.

Gervase drew in a deep breath, determined to resist the temptation the plain-speaking, far too intelligent Miss Elizabeth Waterstone offered him. He had to remember that she was but a small, insignificant cog in the workings of his master plan. They had made a bargain and he intended to honor it. Making a more permanent place for himself between her thighs was definitely not part of their agreement.

He smiled at his own arrogance as his carriage turned into the cobbled square and slowed down. Elizabeth might have a few things to say about his assumption that she would be glad to bed him. He should take a lesson from history and remember not to underestimate the importance of his own wonderfully annoying little cog.