Educating Elizabeth

Chapter 24

Elizabeth opened one eye as the door snapped shut behind the fluttering apron ribbons of one of the maids. She licked her lips as the fragrant aroma of breakfast tantalized her senses.

A shadow loomed over her and the duke dropped a Chinese silk dressing gown onto her pillow. He wore a similar robe of black silk embroidered with silver dragons.

She shrugged into the robe and pulled her tangled hair over one shoulder as the duke beckoned her toward a table crammed with covered silver dishes. With a greedy moan she knelt and began to load her plate with the crisp delicacies. After she quieted her worst hunger pangs, she turned to the duke, who sat at his ease in a chair beside her.

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to order something else for you, my dear? A plum pudding or something more substantial? I would hate for you to go into a decline."

She pretended to frown as she poured him a cup of coffee and then sipped at her own. "Thank you for the offer, but there is still some toast and preserves to finish."

The duke leaned forward, snagged a piece of toast and waved it in front of Elizabeth's nose. "Would you like me to butter it for you?"

He leaned across her and picked up the silver tray that contained the condiments. His hand hovered over a pot of strawberry jam and then alighted on the honey. He cast a speculative glance back at Elizabeth. "Do you like honey, ma belle?"

Elizabeth nodded as he straightened and began to butter the toast. After a moment he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. He placed the piece of toast on her open palm and Elizabeth watched in fascination as he dug the silver spoon into the pot, held the spoon high in the air and then tilted it. Elizabeth gasped as a gilded stream of honey descended like a silken spider web. She frantically tried to maneuver the piece of toast into the correct position to avoid having a lapful of honey.

The duke gave a soft laugh as he watched her attempts and her cry of triumph when she finally bit into the overflowing piece of toast. He waited until she devoured the last particle and then opened the honey pot again.

She stilled as he held up the spoon and smiled into her eyes. "Shall we try it without the toast? I'm quite willing to lick up any spillage."

As the first sticky droplets attached themselves to her bare skin and slid between her breasts, Elizabeth gave a sigh and relaxed against the duke's broad shoulders. It would be a shocking waste of honey if she didn't allow him to lick it off her. Her eyes closed as his mouth slid down the column of her throat and headed for her breasts. And if she felt peckish herself, she was sure the duke would allow her to dribble some honey over him as well.

After bathing, the duke excused himself to consult with his steward and left Elizabeth to wander the extensive gardens at her leisure. When she came upon a yellow painted door that led into a high brick-walled section of the garden, she couldn't resist opening it. A lone gardener stood hoeing a row of carrots with steady, slow grace whilst the fragrance of herbs and flowers rose into the warm scented air.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled the mingling bouquet of smells. She recognized mint and lavender and the rusty smell of recently watered geraniums. She took off her bonnet and lifted her face to the sun as a sense of peace surrounded her.

"Good morning, miss." She opened her eyes to see the gardener in front of her. His face was as gnarled as tree bark and his eyes were a sharp, spring blue. "Did you come down with the duke, then?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, indeed and I was just admiring this beautiful kitchen garden. Do you see to its upkeep yourself?"

"Aye, I do. I'm not as sprightly as the rest of the gardeners and I'm quite content with my little patch." He took off his misshapen hat and scratched his head. "It's grand that you managed to persuade the lad to come back. From what I hear he's likely to kill himself up in that ungodly city."

Elizabeth tried not to smile as she imagined the duke as a boy. "You mistake my influence. In truth, I didn't even know the house existed until I arrived at the gates."

The old man nodded. "And that's just as it should be. Every man needs somewhere private to call home, especially the master." His blue eyes twinkled. "But I wouldn't be questioning your power over him, my girl. You're the first lady he's ever brought here since his wife died. The female staff are all in a twitter over it."

Elizabeth blushed and looked down at her serviceable boots, suddenly afraid to meet his gaze. A posy of flowers appeared under her nose and she laughed in delight.

"These are for you miss, for making the master smile again."

Elizabeth buried her nose in the fragrant blooms. "Thank you. I will try to make the duke smile more often." After another wave of thanks, she picked up her skirts and headed for the kitchens, her mind busy with the gardener's intriguing remarks.

"I thought you might like to stroll with me in the family portrait gallery."

Later that evening, Elizabeth smiled up at the duke as he draped her paisley shawl around her shoulders. She shivered as her skin heated and leaned back against his chest. He made a satisfied sound and ran his fingertip along the edge of her bodice. Her nipples obligingly peaked as though begging for his touch.

When they reached the cavernous entrance hall, the duke paused to speak to his butler and then picked up a candelabrum and led her through a series of grand withdrawing rooms until they reached a set of double doors. The fading sunlight struggled to penetrate the irregular diamond-shaped windowpanes that adorned the rear of the house.

The duke struck a flint and lit the candles. Light flared in the darkness, illuminating his face. "The gallery runs the length of the east wing."

He gestured for Elizabeth to precede him into the room. Someone had obviously been in before them. The shutters were open and the thick, velvet curtains drawn back to reveal the floor-length windows. Wall sconces were lit at strategic intervals along the long gallery, bathing the walls in a soft, welcoming glow.

Elizabeth paused to appreciate the view. The room had a high ceiling decorated in ivory and gold. Rose-patterned white silk brocade covered the walls and the carpet was an indistinct swirl of gold and blue. Elizabeth drew her shawl around her shoulders as the duke came up alongside her.

"It is a beautiful room." She hesitated as he set the candles down on a small table. "But don't you think it would be better to wait until the morning? I fear I will not be able to distinguish the pictures very clearly."

"Unfortunately, we will not have time in the morning. I've always found that seeing the pictures in the twilight makes me concentrate on the details more carefully."

Elizabeth moved toward the first picture on the left. "This must be one of the oldest in your collection."

The duke came up behind her and looked over her shoulder. "Yes, this is the first Gervase. He made his fortune fighting with the usurper Henry Tudor at the battle of Bosworth."

Elizabeth leaned closer to inspect the features of the man in the portrait as the duke trailed his fingertips up and down her bare arms. She shivered as he pressed closer and tried to read the signature scrawled in the corner of the portrait. "It is a Holbein." She turned to stare into the duke's amused face. "I've never seen a picture of his held in a private collection before."

He placed her hand on his arm and drew her toward the next portrait, which depicted a family group. "This is his wife, Matilda and their seven children."

Elizabeth laughed and her shawl slithered down her arms and fell to the floor. "Matilda doesn't look very happy, does she? But I should imagine that having seven children would make most women miserable."

The duke bent to pick up her shawl. His dark hair gleamed in the candlelight and Elizabeth resisted an urge to run her fingers through it. He rearranged the shawl around her shoulders and then turned her to face him. She swallowed hard as he proceeded to tie the fringed ends into a bow, which sat just below her bodice. As he worked, his fingers brushed the undersides of her breasts.

He turned her back to face the portrait and kept his hands on her bare shoulders. His warm breath tickled the curling hairs at the nape of her neck. "I understand from the family records that poor Matilda bore fifteen children to the first Gervase. She was lucky so many of them survived."

Elizabeth bit her lip. "Now I feel badly about saying she looked sad. She has every reason to be."

The duke placed his hand in the small of her back and directed her toward the next portrait. "What do you think of this one?"

Elizabeth got as close as she could to the small portrait of a lady astride her horse, her flaming red hair streaming down her back, her expression one of challenge. "She seems a little unusual for her time. Modest women were supposed to keep their hair covered unless they were maidens." She examined the portrait again. "But this lady doesn't look like a maiden. She is far too...worldly."

"This is the Lady Marguerite de Villas. She was Gervase's mistress for most of her life."

Elizabeth snorted. "How did he find the time to have a mistress when he was busy begetting fifteen children on his poor wife?"

The duke's mouth quirked and he bent to plant a kiss on her lips. "My family has always displayed remarkable stamina when it comes to finding and keeping women." He kissed her again, this time allowing his tongue to dip into her mouth. "You of all people should know whether my family's reputation is well earned."

He continued to kiss her until her arms twined around his neck and she leaned against him. With a satisfied murmur, he took her hand to lead her to the next picture. He brought the candelabra closer. "This is the first Gervase's oldest surviving son. It was he who began to build this house."

Elizabeth angled her head to one side to observe the smug face of the second Gervase. He sat in a high-backed chair, two hunting dogs at his booted feet. His outstretched hand pointed imperiously to a map of the New World on the right of the picture. Elizabeth frowned as she tried to make out the details of the map.

After examining it and trying to ignore the feeling of Gervase's hard fingers circling her waist and nudging her breast, she wriggled to be set free. She closed her eyes as Gervase allowed her to slide intimately down his body. He kept his hand splayed over her stomach as he held her tightly against his hardening cock.

"You were saying, my dear?"

"Was your ancestor involved in the sea trade?" She sounded breathless and she feared Gervase would know why.

His fingers shifted upward and tightened over her breast as he bent his head to nuzzle her neck. "Yes, I believe he was."

Elizabeth watched his finger and thumb rotate around her nipple. When she tried to move, her knees refused to cooperate. "Gervase," she whispered as he continued to nibble his way up to her ear. "I cannot concentrate on the paintings if you do this to me."

"Well, I suggest you try harder, ma belle, for I've no intention of stopping."

Elizabeth cast an anguished glance at the long wall of portraits and wondered how she would survive. With the determination worthy of a highly educated woman she managed to walk the few necessary steps to the next portrait. A woman dressed in the Elizabethan style gazed out at her. She wore a highly starched ruff around her long swan-like neck and a low square-cut bodice edged with precious jewels. Despite her youth, she seemed remarkably self-possessed. The cat-like slant of her gray eyes was identical to the present duke's.

Elizabeth bit her lip as Gervase caged her again, one arm across her hips and the other across her breasts. A wave of desire swept through her, urging her to rub herself against the steel bands of Gervase's arms. His fingers slid inside her bodice and she went still.

"This is the second Gervase's oldest daughter. If you can guess what her name is, I will give you a kiss."

"I would assume she was called either Mary or Elizabeth after one of the Tudor queens."

Gervase turned her to face him. "Clever girl. She is my other Elizabeth." He paused to rub his thumb over her mouth. "May I claim my kiss now?"

Her lips parted and he took possession of her mouth. She allowed the rising heat of her passion to spill over into her kiss and felt his body tightening in response. When he pulled away she almost screamed. He stared down into her stormy eyes and smiled.

"I know what you want, Elizabeth, but you have not yet earned it." He gestured at the remaining portraits. "I'm so looking forward to your intelligent remarks about my other ancestors."

When they reached the end of the room and were about to turn to view the remaining portraits, Elizabeth was having great difficulty in finding anything at all to say. But whenever she stopped talking, Gervase withdrew his attentions from her needy body. Only her increasingly distracted comments about the paintings were rewarded by the sure touch of his hands and his mouth.

She gazed blankly at a portrait of King Charles the Second arrayed in a monstrous black wig, cradling a Diable Delamere godchild. She tried to think of something to say as Gervase's hand stirred beneath her skirts, inched up her thigh, and settled over her mound. He spread his long fingers and cupped her, pulling her slightly up onto her toes and back against his chest.

"That is King Charles the Second," she managed to gasp as his fingertip stroked back and forth over her sensitive bud. "He was known as the merry monarch."

Gervase increased the tempo of his fingers his voice a mere whisper in her ear. "Why was that, Elizabeth?"

"Because," Elizabeth was reduced to balancing on her toes as Gervase thrust his fingers inside her, "Because he had so many mistresses...please, Gervase, please..."

She didn't know whether she was pleading with him to stop or to continue, she only knew that she would start to scream if he didn't do something to end her plight soon.

He turned her around and kissed her hard. She barely repressed an unladylike desire to climb his breeches and wrap her legs around his hips. She was panting by the time he pulled back and studied her face.

"If you would only listen to me, ma belle," he said patiently. "I've told you before that anticipation is a major part of the fulfillment of passion. You are always in such a hurry."

His calm voice set her teeth on edge and she backed away from him, her hands behind her back, her fists clenched. "I do apologize, Your Grace, I'm obviously far too inexperienced for you to bother about." She gave him a curtsey. "I will relieve you of my presence."

His hand shot out and he hauled her back against him. "That is exactly what I'm talking about, Elizabeth. Rather than think about the merit of my words, you immediately fly into alt."

She pressed her forehead against his waistcoat and went still. He could not discover that she feared to give him any more of herself. She knew in her soul that if she allowed him to seduce her completely then she would be lost. She didn't want to turn into one of the no-doubt legion of women who had begged the duke to love them.

"I'm sorry, Gervase. Maybe I don't have the necessary passion to become a good courtesan."

"Passion? You have passion in abundance, ma femme." His voice deepened and he speared his fingers through her hair before kissing her again. "Give it to me," he commanded. "Give me all of your passion."

He drew her in front of an ornate mirror that hung on the end wall of the picture gallery. Elizabeth scarcely recognized herself in the tumultuous, tousled, sensual woman who stared back at her.

"Lean forward, Elizabeth, and put your hands on either side of the table and keep looking into the mirror."

Mindlessly, Elizabeth obeyed the duke's command and bent forward. She watched him reposition the candles until her face was illuminated and his remained in the shadows. The soft whisper of silk reached her straining ears as he lifted her skirts and petticoat and folded them neatly at her waist.

She shivered as the cold air hit her naked skin and Gervase made a sound of approval. She inhaled the hint of citrus from his cologne mixed with the scent of his arousal and relaxed against the supporting table. He ran his hands from her hips to her ankles and then sank to his knees. She could no longer see his intent face in the mirror, only the top of his head. She tensed as he grasped her ankles and began to kiss his way up the insides of her legs.

When his mouth closed over her most intimate flesh she moaned but he held her still, his tongue a flicking, probing torment that made her arch her back and brazenly seek the devilment of his touch. Pleasure consumed her and she started to tremble as he gave her one last lascivious lick and slowly rose to his feet.

He held her gaze in the mirror as he unbuttoned his breeches and leaned over her. "Watch me, Elizabeth and let me watch you."

He filled her slowly, keeping his gaze locked to hers, allowing her to see the blatant lust that colored his expression. She sighed as his flat, furred stomach pressed against her back and he was completely buried inside her. He held still, waiting for her to relax and accommodate his cock. When her tight grip eased a little, he withdrew and then repeated his long, smooth drive inwards. He brought his hand up from her hip and ran his fingers down the side of her throat until they settled over her breast.

"Watch me touch you, ma belle." He rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb and eased his hips into the same light, tantalizing rhythm.

Elizabeth tried to endure his shallow, incomplete thrusts as best she could. His silvered eyes caught hers in the mirror as his hand slid around to cup her between her legs.

"Do you know why men like this particular position so much, my dear?"

Goaded well beyond her normal politeness, Elizabeth hissed. "So that they don't have to look at a woman's face and make conversation?"

He laughed. "That is highly amusing, ma belle, but not what I had in mind. And not what we are doing at all." He leaned into the small of her back, pushing her sex forward into the palm of his hand. "No, it is because a man has control. He can control the depth of his thrusts and his partners' movements."

"I can vouch for that," Elizabeth muttered as Gervase continued moving against her with his infuriatingly slow pace and frustrating, light rhythm.

"Ah, but you will glad that I made you wait in the end, Elizabeth, trust me on that."

As she hovered uncertainly on the brink of another climax, Elizabeth clearly heard the distant clanging of the front door bell and the sound of a carriage being driven around the side of the house toward the stables.

"Our guests are arriving, my dear. I wonder if my butler will send them down here to find us or make them wait in the receiving rooms?" She gasped as he drove deeply inside her. "Who would you prefer to find us like this? My butler or my mother?"

"Your, your mother is here?" She squeaked.

His fingers pressed once, twice urgently against her swollen flesh and she shattered for him. He quickly muffled her scream with his hand as he joined her in the fiery climax.

Before she could begin to breathe normally, let alone speak, he refastened her bodice, shook out her skirts and hurried her to the far corner of the huge room. He opened a concealed door and pointed up a narrow flight of stairs.

"Go up two levels and then look for a door on your right. You will find yourself in my bedchamber. You have ten minutes to make yourself presentable and meet me in the formal entrance hall, now go!"

Gervase shut the door behind her and returned to the mirror to attend to his own disheveled state of dress. He smoothed a hand through his disordered hair and drew in several deep breaths. As far as he knew, his mother was in Brighton. He was expecting a selection of local residents and vague relations whom he was duty-bound to entertain.

He smiled as he straightened his cravat, recalling Elizabeth's dismayed expression and hasty retreat. He wondered if she would have the courage to come back down and hoped that she would. His little brown bird had all the nerve of a fighting cock. He grimaced as his own particular cock responded to that notion far too well.

With a final glance at his now-immaculate reflection, Gervase pasted on a welcoming smile and strolled down the corridor to greet his guests.