Educating Elizabeth

Chapter 3

Money. Didn't it always come down to that? Gervase frowned as he tried to calculate how much financial compensation a well-brought-up young lady might require for the loss of her reputation. Despite Dennis Forester's atrocious lack of breeding, it was obvious Elizabeth Waterstone had been sired in a different stable.

He stretched his shoulders, wincing at the slight ache in his upper arm, and stared up at the ornate gilded ceiling where a luscious naked goddess beckoned to a coy-looking centaur. If only life were so simple. Gervase scowled at the besotted painted faces above him.

He hated any situation that hinted at disorder in his private life. He had enough problems maintaining a rakish reputation without dealing with the complicated emotions of a female. The sexual escapades of his late and unlamented wife, Imelda, had provided enough gossip for the courts of both England and France. He had no intention of allowing his recent mistake with Elizabeth Waterstone to escalate into another messy scandal. He sighed and glanced at the mountain of papers on his desk. The timing could not have been worse.

But Miss Waterstone refused to quit his mind. She seemed a symbol of all that he hated about his current existence. It had come as something of a relief to discover that he still had a conscience where a woman was concerned. His smile disappeared as he refocused on the letter and its generous financial offer.

His housekeeper had already informed him that Miss Waterstone was awake and had partaken of a hearty breakfast. Had he expected her to fall into a maidenly decline overnight? Gervase recalled her determination when she faced him with the clock and knew he would have been disappointed if she had failed to recover.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in an effort to halt the suggestion of a headache and glanced at the figure he had scrawled on the letter to Childes, his banker. As a knock came on his door, he scratched out the figure and doubled it. He did not have the patience to negotiate a settlement. He wanted her gone from his newly-activated conscience and out of his life.

He stood as Elizabeth Waterstone entered and returned a short bow to her more elaborate curtsey. She looked less like a wax doll today, although the rainbow colors of a bruise still disfigured her cheek. She was dressed in an unflattering woolen gown and had braided her nut-brown hair tightly to her head.

To his immense relief, she seemed calm. Yesterday he had sensed she was close to breaking point. Experience had taught him the cost of becoming involved with hysterical females and he had endeavored to keep her at a distance. He was not known for his sweetness of will or for the length of his patience. As he studied Miss Waterstone's unflustered countenance, his hopes for a speedy conclusion to their discussions rose.

"Miss Waterstone, I trust you are feeling better?"

She inclined her head and he continued. "I've given a great deal of thought to the predicament in which you find yourself and your claim for financial remuneration."

Gervase drew breath and checked to see if Miss Waterstone was attending. She nodded politely as if to encourage him to proceed.

"I'm willing to settle a lump sum of money on you if you promise to leave me in peace."

He frowned. He hadn't meant to say that. It sounded as though she were an unwanted nuisance or as if he were trying to buy her off. He held out the letter he had struggled to draft for the past hour.

"I intend to settle five thousand pounds on you." He paused for her reaction but there was none. He raised his eyebrows, quill poised over the inkwell. "That is not to your liking? I promise you that the money will be held in your name and cannot be touched by your stepfather. Surely, it is sufficient for your needs."

Miss Waterstone bit her lip and gave a small shake of her head. Gervase lowered his pen and drew in a slow breath.

"Miss Waterstone?"

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I don't feel that any sum of money, however generous, will give me back my ruined reputation."

Gervase went still as visions of blackmail and deceit flooded his senses. "Go on."

She leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped. "As you have already remarked, too many people will know by now that I've spent at least one night in your house without adequate chaperonage."

Gervase shrugged. "So?"

"So, if I appear with a dowry at my disposal, people will talk. You are known as the biggest rake in London-"

"And Paris." Gervase couldn't help himself.

An answering smile flickered across Miss Waterstone's face. "And Paris. I apologize for underestimating your renown, Your Grace."

He bowed and let her continue, his interest piqued.

"I imagine you will next suggest that I pose as a widow. I'm four and twenty and it would not be unreasonable to suppose that I had been married before." She made a face. "But I'm such a poor liar and I would hate to begin a new life based on a deception."

She raised her lovely, candid eyes to his. "How would I face a man I loved and wished to marry without telling him the truth? And how would any honorable man feel about taking on one of your cast-offs?"

Gervase had nothing suitable to say to that. He suspected his belief that for most men the size of her dowry would definitely outweigh her possible lack of virginity would fail to convince her.

"Anyway," Miss Waterstone took in a deep breath. "I don't want your money, I want your expertise."

Gervase stared at her, his quick mind for once caught unprepared. "My expertise?"

"I can't go home, I won't take your money without earning it, and I refuse to end up walking the streets. I wish you to teach me how to become a high flyer." She wrinkled her brow and looked at him a trifle anxiously. "Is that the correct term for a courtesan or a high class mistress? Forgive me; I'm lamentably ignorant on the subject."

Gervase could only stare at her until she began to blush. "You wish me to instruct you in the role of a prostitute?" He gave a short humorless laugh and pointed down into the square. "My dear, if you wish to learn that trade, go and loiter in the back streets behind my house for ten minutes. I can guarantee some man will be willing to enlighten you."

He allowed a few seconds of absolute quiet to elapse, broken only by the ticking of the Sevres clock on the mantelpiece.

He slammed his palm on the desk. "You are a lady! Don't be such a fool."

She colored a little but her gaze remained on his. "I don't understand your hesitation, Your Grace. We are agreed, are we not, that you are the greatest rake in two sovereign nations? Who better to instruct me than you?" She sat back in her chair, hands folded in her lap and waited, the picture of propriety.

Gervase got up and walked to the window. He stared down into the windswept desolation of the square. Was she mad? Despite his instant refusal, a worm of interest slithered into his mind and beckoned him with all its unsavory possibilities. If any man could turn the shy, uptight Miss Waterstone into a courtesan, it would be him.

He swung around to face her. "And what of your relatives, Miss Waterstone? Don't you think that they might object to having a prostitute, high flying or not, in the family?"

"I've very little family left, Your Grace. My father's relatives refused to have anything more to do with us when my mother remarried and it is not as though I've made my debut in society."

Gervase wondered why she hadn't had a London Season. Had the family's finances always been precarious? Was that why Mr. Forester was involved in so many dubious activities? It might be in his best interests to keep Miss Waterstone close.

He continued to stare at her as his fertile brain worked on several schemes to manufacture her a new past. She had no idea how easily he could grant her wish. He crossed the room, pulled her to her feet, and placed his fingers under her chin.

"Elizabeth." He used her first name in an intimate attempt to undermine her. "I almost took your virginity. I forced you. How in God's name do you expect me to believe you are not afraid of me?"

She met his gaze head on. "Of course I'm afraid of you, but I'm more afraid of allowing you to buy me off as if I've somehow disgraced myself. I would rather work for my money."

He brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb and her lips parted as she swallowed. With deliberate intent, Gervase took possession of her mouth, his tongue thrusting deep. He waited for her to recoil but although she didn't respond, she didn't fight him either.

He gentled the kiss, using his years of expertise to draw her into his mouth, to make her react. He curved his hands over her hips and drew her close until he could feel the frantic pounding of her heart. When he released her, she tried to move away, but he caught her elbow.

"You are either very brave or very foolish. I'm damned if I know which."

She rested her forehead against his waistcoat. "Don't you understand? If I can learn to bear your touch, after what you did to me, then I believe I will be able to bear any man's."

Gervase breathed in the sweet smell of her skin and fought the temptation to explore how far she would bear his touch before she panicked again. He retreated behind his desk to cultivate a more business-like manner.

"I need to think about this. If you are set on this madness, I will expect complete obedience from you, do you understand?"

Elizabeth almost smiled as she dropped into a stately curtsey before she headed for the door.

Gervase waited until her hand rested on the door handle. "This is far from being settled. I will require your presence at dinner tonight and we will discuss how we wish to go on."

Elizabeth paced the luxurious bedroom the duke had allotted her, scarcely aware of its sumptuous comforts and warmth. She bathed and a maid appeared and arranged her hair in an artful knot of curls that tumbled around her shoulders. The silent maid also laid out an evening gown that Elizabeth knew was not hers. Before she could question the girl, she retreated with Elizabeth's patched underclothes and only other gown over her arm.

Elizabeth's tension mounted as she walked an endless square around the border of the fine Turkish carpet. What had she done? It had seemed a fine and heroic thing, to offer herself on a platter to the duke. But now, after hours of lonely contemplation, her certainty had disappeared.

She picked up the ice-blue gown and held it against herself. The ripple of silk felt light and supple under her fingers compared to her homespun woolen dress. Her reflection showed that the gown was the right length. She almost smiled. Trust the duke to have accurately gauged her measurements.

After a moment of indecision, she stepped into the dress and slipped her arms through the tiny puffed sleeves. The bodice fastened at the front in a series of delicate mother-of-pearl buttons. Despite tugging and pulling, her unrestrained bosom overflowed the embroidered blue bodice. She searched for a shawl or lace fichu to cover her exposed skin but found nothing.

"It will have to do."

With a sigh she put on her worn kid slippers and straightened the small golden cross her brother Michael had brought her from Portugal. Michael was the source of all her worries and the reason she had to go through with her plan.

Elizabeth stroked the ruby in the center of the cross. Her stepfather had sworn to her that if she returned to the duke and stayed until the debt was paid, he would continue to care for Michael.

Elizabeth could scarcely remember Michael before he had been injured. He'd left to fight in the Peninsula with Wellington's army, a dashing hero in his sister's eyes, and returned a broken gray-faced wreck, crippled from the waist down.

If it weren't for Elizabeth, Michael would have been left to die in the claustrophobic prison of his bedroom. Despite Elizabeth's pleas, her mother had found herself unable to care for the son she no longer recognized.

As the clock struck six, Elizabeth got to her feet. She had no choice. With the duke to teach her, she would be able to earn her own way in the world. With money, and the duke's protection, she could be assured of Michael receiving the best care and attention for the rest of his life.

Her resolve strengthened as she came down the grand staircase and followed the butler along another interminable corridor toward the dining room. The butler bowed and left her.

There was no sign of her host.

Some of her misgivings trickled back as she explored the huge, paneled room. Despite her brave words to the duke, if either of her brothers ever found out how she planned to earn her living, they would be horrified. Another doubt assailed her. Maybe she should have taken the duke up on his first offer of five thousand pounds. She and Michael might have been able to manage on the income from the interest. Maybe it was not too late to change her mind.

"Good evening, Miss Waterstone. Are you admiring the portrait of my scandalously-departed wife?"

Elizabeth refocused her gaze onto the huge oil painting above the fireplace where she had come to an abrupt stop. The black-haired woman in the portrait was depicted as Diana, the goddess of the hunt. She wore a swathe of white silk that bared a shoulder, most of her voluptuous breasts, and her plump left leg. The painter had caught a hint of wildness and arrogance in his subject's expression that reached out beyond the canvas to challenge Elizabeth.

The duke smiled and advanced toward Elizabeth, two wine glasses in his hand. "It was painted just after our marriage. The painter and I had a devil of a job trying to persuade her to wear any clothing at all." With a slight bow, he handed her one of the glasses. "Of course, the painter got to see her naked on more than one occasion during their sessions. My wife was a great believer in patronizing the arts."

Elizabeth sipped hastily at the contents of her glass as the meaning of his deliberately flippant comments sunk in. How could she hope to deal with a man who treated his late wife's infidelity as a slightly boring joke? She took another gulp of champagne and sneezed as the bubbles crowded up her nose.

The duke patted her on the back, his palm warm against her exposed skin. "I've embarrassed you. Please forget about my wife and let us enjoy our dinner." He took her hand and led her toward the table. "I thought we might serve ourselves."

With supreme disregard for any protest Elizabeth might have made, the duke began to ladle soup into her bowl. The alluring aroma of turtle caught at Elizabeth's nose and she obediently picked up her spoon.

The candlelight picked out the silver threads that ran through the duke's embroidered waistcoat. His coat was molded to his broad shoulders like a well-made piece of medieval body armor. Elizabeth blushed as she realized she was staring and that the duke watched her.

He carved her a slice of duck and she sought vainly for a topic of conversation. He seemed supremely unaware of her tension as he refilled her wine glass and handed her a linen napkin.

"The blue of that gown doesn't really suit you, but I didn't know of anything else in the house that would fit."

His eyes lingered on the low cut bodice and Elizabeth blushed and hunched her shoulders. She'd forgotten her breasts threatened to overflow the skimpy fabric. He frowned and reached across to trail his finger along her shoulder blades. "You should not hunch your shoulders like that. Good God, woman, do you not realize how fine a pair of assets you have there?"

Elizabeth choked on her duck. To make him stop, she said the first thing that came into her head. "Whom does the gown belong to, Your Grace? One of your mistresses?"

The amusement fled from his face, replaced by something she couldn't interpret. "You did not know? The gown belongs to my eighteen-year-old daughter. My dear wife blessed me with a child four months after we married."

"Your daughter is eighteen?" Elizabeth gaped at him as her mind struggled with the ramifications of his remark. "I don't understand. You could scarce have been old enough to ..." She stopped talking, mortified by her blatant curiosity and appalled by her lack of manners.

His fingers whitened as he gripped his glass and brought it to his lips. "I was fifteen when I married and, though perhaps old enough to have produced a child, my wife was already pregnant--unbeknownst to me." His mouth twisted. "Imelda was eighteen when we wed, and at the peak of her beauty." He shrugged and refilled his glass from the decanter. "I was as naïve then as you are now, but even I realized I had been cuckolded and that the child could not be mine."

His gaze hardened as his eyes met hers through the candlelight. "My family betrayed me by wedding me to that promiscuous bitch." He leaned forward and took her hand. "If you decide to stay with me, it will be on my terms. Don't make the mistake of falling in love with me, or feeling sorry for me. I will never love you. I will indulge you for as long as it amuses me and then you must leave."

The food in Elizabeth's mouth took on the consistency of thick porridge and she struggled to swallow. "That will suit me perfectly, Your Grace. I've no intention of hanging on your apron strings, bemoaning my fate for the rest of my life. I intend to keep this a business arrangement."

He squeezed her fingers, drew them to his lips, and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. "Good. Now, shall we finish this excellent duck while I explain how things will progress?"

Elizabeth picked up her fork, bemused by the sudden business-like tone of his voice.

"I agree to your bargain. I will teach you the skills necessary for your new profession."

Elizabeth gave a relieved smile, but the duke held up his hand. "However, I'm not convinced you will see this ridiculous arrangement through. I will teach you how to please a man but I don't intend to bed you. We will attempt to keep this arrangement relatively civilized, which will allow you to return to your real life when you come to your senses."

"I don't intend to return to my old life, Your Grace. I truly meant what I said." He sat back and his skeptical expression goaded Elizabeth to continue. "This bargain is hardly fair to you though. What will you gain from it, if not a new mistress?"

"What will I gain?" he said idly, his attention fixed on her face. "The opportunity to make sure that at least one woman in England knows what a man truly wants in bed and the pleasure of bestowing such a gift onto one of my companions." His eyebrow shot up. "What more could a man ask?"

Elizabeth looked down at her plate. She felt herself begin to blush and prayed that the duke would end the embarrassing conversation.

"My daughter, Eloise, arrived in London today from France. I've decided that you can pose as her companion, a recent widow and a poor relation of the Diable Delamere family whilst she is in London. I will provide you with all the necessary documents and background information to substantiate your story if anyone should ask."

Elizabeth went to interrupt and he frowned. "You wished to speak?"

No, Your Grace, you seem to have thought of...everything."

"My daughter is staying at Grillons hotel. You will meet her there and assume your new duties. You will travel with her to Bath where she will be attending school for the next year to improve her English." He sipped at his wine. "When you return it will seem perfectly natural to the ton for you to take up residence here."

"I know little of society. How can I possibly teach your daughter when I haven't the slightest notion myself?"

The duke smiled and raised his glass to her. "I don't expect you to teach Eloise a thing. You will only be with her for a few days." He clinked his glass against hers. "Your education will begin when you reside in my house and I, my dear, will be the only teacher you ever need."