Educating Elizabeth

Chapter 25

Elizabeth paused on the landing above the medieval hall and looked down upon the assembled guests. She patted her hair, pushed in an errant pin, and checked that the three flounces of her lavender silk dress were straight. Assuming a gracious smile, she made her way down the stairs, murmuring greetings to those near enough to hear her.

It took her only two minutes to find out from the helpful butler that the duke's mother was currently residing in Brighton and had not decided to honor her only son with a visit. She lifted her chin and, head held high, went in search of the duke. She found him in the gold drawing room, sleek head bent over a diminutive lady of indeterminate age who clutched determinedly at his sleeve.

Elizabeth smiled as she curtsied and let the duke see the retribution in her eyes. He inclined his head an indolent half an inch, a suggestion of smug satisfaction in his expression that made Elizabeth long to hit him.

"Ah, Mrs. Waterstone, there you are."

She winced as the duke raised his voice and shouted into the shell like ear of the elderly lady beside him. "Aunt Agnes, this is my guest, Mrs. Waterstone. I was telling you about her earlier."

"Mrs. Waterstone, this is my great aunt, Lady Cottlesmore. She lives in the dower house on the estate with her three unmarried daughters."

Elizabeth glanced over the duke's shoulder at the three drably dressed ladies clustered by the window. She nodded politely and they twittered to each other behind their hands as though she had said something daring.

The duke smiled winningly at Elizabeth and transferred his aunt's hand to her gloved fingers. The duke's aunt looked up at her, avid interest in her shrewd brown eyes.

"Mrs. Waterstone, the duke has told me that you are related to the Diable Delamere family." Her old and quavery voice sounded worse than a badly played violin. "Was your mother one of Matilda's girls?"

Elizabeth lightly fluttered her fan and glared at the duke over the top of it before striving for an airy laugh. "I married into the family, ma'am and cannot consider myself well acquainted with all the branches."

The duke bowed and stepped back. "I shall leave you two ladies to reminisce. I'm sure you will have a lot to talk about."

Elizabeth resigned herself to an uncomfortable half an hour as she led Lady Cottlesmore to the nearest couch and sat down with her, an attentive smile fixed on her face. While the old lady debated family history, mainly to herself, Elizabeth observed the duke as he circled the room, making himself pleasant to his guests.

He seemed more at ease here than he ever did in London. She wished she had a similar refuge and suppressed the unbidden yearning that her refuge could also be his.

With gentle patience, Elizabeth allowed Lady Cottlesmore to talk herself into accepting Elizabeth's relationship with the family before she gracefully made her escape. The duke stood alone by the door after having showed two of his guests outside.

Elizabeth stormed up to him and gave her best curtsey.

"Thank you, Your Grace, for a most stimulating half an hour. I feel as though I'm indeed part of your family now."

"You are quite welcome, my dear. I knew you would enjoy flexing your admirable wits."

Before Elizabeth could answer, a footman appeared and opened the series of connecting doorways that led through to the picture gallery. Several of the guests wandered past them and the duke glanced down at her. "Shall we finish our tour?"

She allowed him to lead her into the picture gallery and stopped dead when her eyes focused on the end table where the duke had abandoned the extra candelabrum. His quiet laughter stirred the soft curls at the nape of her neck and other unmentionable areas.

"It is all right, ma belle. No one would guess you had been made love to in front of that very mirror not an hour ago. You look perfectly respectable, not even a ruffled feather on my little brown bird."

"Your behavior was inexcusable, sir. How dare you pretend I was about to meet your mother?"

The duke spun her away from him and dropped a light kiss on the back of her gloved hand. "I've told you before, Elizabeth, it is one of my ambitions in life to silence you. I can only congratulate myself that my strategy worked so well."

Unable to contain her agitation, Elizabeth moved sharply away from the duke and almost collided with the butler. Her abrupt movements brought her up against the family portraits that she hadn't seen on her previous visit. She stilled as she stared at a wistful young Gervase clutching a puppy, his father's protective hand on Gervase's shoulder.

Elizabeth almost missed the next portrait, which was half hidden in the shadows. In it she recognized the duke and his wife, Imelda. Between them stood a little boy of maybe two or three. Drawn by a strange compulsion, Elizabeth moved closer to study the family grouping. Gervase's son was dark-haired and his eyes slanted up at the corners.

Elizabeth jumped when the duke's hand touched her shoulder. "That is my son, David. I'm told he bore some likeness to me."

She glanced back at the duke but his expression was as devoid of emotion as his voice. "He was a beautiful boy, Your Grace. A credit to his name and his father."

Something flickered in the depths of the duke's silver eyes and his grip on her shoulder tightened for the merest instant. "Thank you, Elizabeth. He was my soul."

"Your Grace?"

The butler stepped up to the duke and Elizabeth turned away to gather her shattered defenses. She had a strange yearning to draw the duke into her arms and comfort him. Instead, she kept out of his way and circled the portrait gallery, stopping to exchange opinions on a family likeness to an old portrait or listen to stories about the duke's parents.

By the time the duke came to find her, she had regained her composure and was able to lay her hand on his arm with calm assurance. He led her back to the dining room where a buffet awaited the guests. He helped her fill her plate and brought her a glass of wine. As she looked around for a place to sit, he gestured toward the opened windows.

"Would you care to sit out on the terrace? It is quite mild."

With a bow, the duke allowed her passage onto the marble-floored terrace. There was no mist this evening and scarcely a breeze to ruffle the leaves on the trees or the skirts of the ladies.

Elizabeth sat and the duke took the chair opposite her. She studied his face in the half-light as he toasted her with his glass.

"You like it here, don't you?" she asked as she sampled one of the delicate lobster patties the duke had heaped on her plate. At his reluctant halfnod, she continued. "Then why do you come here so rarely?"

"Because if I stay here, I begin to regret the man I have to be in London. I begin to doubt that I can continue the masquerade."

"And when does the masquerade stop? When can you simply be yourself?"

His face grew shuttered and he sat back in his chair. "It is not something that needs to concern you, my dear. You are, after all, only here on a temporary basis."

Elizabeth rose and put her wine glass down onto the table with a sharp click. "I hate it when you do this, Gervase. I hate it when you shut me out."

The duke shrugged one elegant shoulder and tilted his head back to look up at her. "My dear Miss Waterstone, hate is such a strong word to use for the emotions than run between us."

"Is it, Your Grace? Then let me bid you goodnight." Elizabeth bobbed him a curtsey and turned to leave. He made no effort to follow her. She walked inside and bade a distracted good night to the remaining guests before retreating up the stairs to her own bedchamber.

The tranquility of the room reached out and embraced her as she closed and locked the door. She kicked off her slippers, walked across to the diamond paned window, and closed the curtains against the darkness of the night. Deep in thought, she drifted her fingers through the dried flower petals in the shallow bowl on her dressing table and breathed in the scent of a long-dead summer.

After a long while, as she listened to the murmur and bustle of the departing guests below her, she undressed. The duke's cutting words reverberated in her head as she tried to consider how to deal with them. She had already glimpsed the man beneath the smooth, harsh façade he presented to the world. She knew that he always regretted her seeing his vulnerabilities and struck back hard to remove all traces of her interest and concern.

She paused before struggling out of her corset. Was she willing to be snubbed again? And when had it become so important for her to break through the duke's reserve? As was often the case, the duke's barbed comments held an element of truth. She had never intended to stay with him forever.

By the time she managed to rouse herself to get into bed, it was past midnight. She pulled out the pins from her upswept hair and arched her spine as her hair rippled down her back. How could Gervase make love to her with such passion and then cut her dead when she ventured to inquire about his future?

She had to decide whether to follow his unspoken command and retreat or risk all in an advance that might prove fatal to her very soul.

As she contemplated her options, the door to the duke's suite opened and the duke appeared, clothed only in his black silk dressing gown. She'd known he wouldn't leave her to sulk, had even anticipated it.

Suddenly afraid of what he might see on her face, she turned away and walked to the window. He came up behind her on silent feet and placed his hands on her shoulders.

After a long, slow, deliberate breath, Elizabeth turned to face him. She parted his robe and stroked his muscled chest. His stomach tightened as she traced a subtle weaving path around his navel and then up to his tangled black chest hair. She found his nipples and touched them with her tongue, then angled her fingers downwards.

"No harsh words for me then?" he murmured.

"No, Gervase. Only this."

His hand clenched on her shoulder as though he would draw her back up but she shrugged away his demand and sank to her knees. Only then did she venture a glance up at him as her hands came to rest on his thighs. His eyes were closed and his face held a wary blend of anticipation and apprehension that delighted her.

Gervase stared down at Elizabeth's bent head as her fingers trailed up his inner thighs and gently cupped his balls and cock. Her low murmur of pleasure as his shaft thickened made his throat dry. Words became impossible when she took him into her mouth, her tongue skimming his heated flesh, drawing him into the welcoming warmth. He hadn't allowed her to service him in that fashion before.

His hand clenched in her hair, not sure if he could stand it.

He struggled to breathe as her untutored mouth brought him to a peak of pleasure he had never experienced before. Why hadn't he felt like this with any of the other women who had sexually satisfied him and been so easily discarded in his past? Growling low in his throat, he forced Elizabeth to release his cock.

"Enough..." he grated. "Come to bed."

She took his proffered hand and rose gracefully to her feet. With infinite slowness, she untied her robe and stepped closer until her whole body pressed against his. Her hands slid up his chest and pushed his robe from his shoulders. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He almost rocked back on his heels as her kiss intensified, offering him everything he hadn't asked for, drawing his body into an ever-tightening spiral of need.

She pushed him toward the bed and he fell on his back, allowing her to crawl on top of him. His instincts roared to roll her beneath him and possess her but something held him back.

She reached down, framed his face with her hands, and kissed him again. He lay back, ruthlessly harnessing his desires, eager to see where Elizabeth's would take them as he smoothed his hands over her silk-clad back.

He couldn't fault the view. She was naked under her robe and fully exposed to his lustful gaze at the front and yet her back was still covered by the luscious silk of her dressing gown.

He tried to capture her hips and bring her down over his aching cock but the thin silk of her robe slid through his fingers and she slithered away from him. He spread his legs in a wordless command as she moved down the bed and then groaned as she licked the bottom of his feet. His hands clenched on the linen sheets as she continued her slow exploration of his anklebone and gently bit down.

She caressed his toes and murmured his name, luxuriating in the very sound of it, as if she was drowning in her own sense of power. For once, he let her hold him in thrall. For this night and in this bed, he was hers, hers to torment and love to her heart's content.

With a sigh of pure wantonness, she knelt between his outstretched legs and allowed her hair to cascade over his groin. He shuddered and moved restlessly against the sheets as she laid her cheek against the curve of his naked hip. She trailed her fingers up his thigh until they met the magnificence of his thickening cock.

He was close to begging by the time she rose over him and lowered herself, inch by careful inch, down onto his aching shaft. He planted his feet flat on the mattress and surged upwards as wild and unfettered as an unbroken horse. She met him and matched him, drawing him into the cauldron of her body, melting into his bones, melding with him into one flesh, one body, and one aching desire.

He had to roll her beneath him as he started to climax in a gesture that eluded his reasoning but seemed blatantly obvious to his newly woken dominant, possessive side, not the worrying echoes, lies, and deceits that surely awaited him in London.