Educating Elizabeth (7 page)

Having ascertained that the duke was not at home, Elizabeth spent a happy afternoon trying on her new clothes until her stomach, and the gentle chime of the porcelain clock on the mantelpiece, reminded her that it was well past her normal dinner hour.

She dressed in the black evening gown she had worn to the theater and wondered what to do next. Should she find her own way to the dining room or was she supposed to wait for the duke to invite her? She drew her new paisley shawl around her shoulders. And how was she to behave, like a widowed member of the family or the duke's latest lover?

She had returned from her trip determined to do her duty by the duke and learn as much as he could teach her. His sensual caresses had transformed her dreams and, truth be told, encouraged her to think that she might succeed in her chosen profession. If only she could learn to imitate the duke's detachment and restrain her unexpected appetite for his kisses.

Hunger and hard-won bravado made her leave the comforts of her room and slip down the stairs. Luckily, before her courage deserted her, the butler stepped out of the shadows and inclined his head.

"Mrs. Waterstone? I was just about to come up and see if everything had been arranged to your satisfaction."

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes indeed, my accommodation is excellent in every respect. Thank you...?"

"It's Standish, ma'am. Would you care to dine now?" He proceeded in his stately manner down the hall toward the dining room, which blazed with light. "His Grace sends his apologies. He has been regrettably detained and does not anticipate returning this evening."

To her annoyance, Elizabeth felt a small stab of disappointment. She had been looking forward to crossing swords with the infuriatingly enigmatic Duke of Diable Delamere. Deep in thought, she allowed Standish to usher her into the dining room. There was a flurry of movement and a tall, brown-haired man pushed back his chair and struggled to his feet. He looked almost as surprised as Elizabeth did as he managed a makeshift bow in response to her elegant curtsey.

She smiled as she noticed the book he had tossed face down on the table perilously close to his spilled glass of wine.

"I apologize for interrupting you, sir. Did the duke not inform you that I would be staying here for a while?"

"You are Mrs. Elizabeth Waterstone?"

The man's shrewd hazel eyes held a hint of surprise. Elizabeth refused to look away as he continued to stare at her. She judged him to be in his early forties. His severe demeanor and well-cut but deliberately unfashionable clothing hinted at a personality ruthlessly repressed.

"I'm Sir John Harrington, the duke's private secretary."

Sir John held out a chair for her and after a moment's indecision, Elizabeth sat and waited for him to re-seat himself opposite her. As Standish glided forward to remove the offending wine glass and set another place setting, Elizabeth wondered why the duke needed a secretary at all. She pictured the rather stern Sir John organizing the duke's mistresses in an endless line outside the duke's bedroom, making sure his gambling debts were paid on time, and generally keeping his employer out of gaol.

Her lips twitched. She stole a glance at Sir John's profile and realized that it was not a joke she could share with him. In an effort to be sociable, she picked up the book Sir John had cast down at her unexpected arrival. She tried to read the title on the spine but the gold lettering had faded into the red leather cover and she could not quite make it out. Inside she glimpsed an unfamiliar script covered in handwritten notes.

Before she could ask, Sir John plucked the book from her grasp. "Excuse my abysmal manners, Mrs. Waterstone. I thought to dine alone." He glanced briefly at the book, marked his page, and then slipped it into his coat pocket.

Elizabeth gave him her most encouraging smile. "I could not help but notice that the book appeared to be written in a different language and that you had translated it. How terribly clever of you to be able to read another tongue as well as your own."

"I read several languages, Mrs. Waterstone, and I enjoy the challenge of translation. This book," he patted his pocket. "Is Homer's
Odyssey
in the
original
Greek."

"How fascinating!"

Sir John's cheeks took on a faint blush whilst her mind worked furiously. She read Greek and Latin perfectly well and the book had been written in neither. Did Sir John treat all women as though their heads were full of air or did he assume that she was as stupid as all the dukes' previous mistresses?

Before she could address the matter, Standish served a delicious leek soup and she forgot her indignation as she savored every mouthful. Sir John continued to talk to her as though she had the mind of a three-year-old. She wondered anew how the duke put up with him, and whether Sir John dared to treat the duke in the same patronizing manner.

By the time they reached the third and final course, Elizabeth's hunger was appeased and she had formed an unflattering opinion of the duke's secretary. His pomposity and over-inflated view of his own importance was unbearable. Her eyes began to close as he meandered on about the weather, the propagation of violets, and the botanical specimens being gathered by the Royal Horticultural Society.

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.