Educating Elizabeth

Chapter 2

Mr. Forester tightened his grip on Elizabeth Waterstone's upper arm as he knocked on the door of the Duke of Diable Delamere's London townhouse. The brass knocker was designed to resemble a writhing fish. Its greenish patina added life to the sinuous casting and echoed the faint color on Elizabeth's face. A sharp breeze swirled around the square, dislodging the few leaves that clung to the tree branches and fluttered the limp ribbons on Elizabeth's bonnet.

"Thank God," Mr. Forester muttered. "It's already noon and the house isn't hung with black crepe, so we can safely assume the duke still lives despite your efforts."

Elizabeth drew in a hard-won breath as the door of the mansion opened to reveal a silver-haired butler. Her stepfather managed to insinuate his foot inside the door.

"We wish to see the duke. Is he available?"

Elizabeth cringed at Mr. Forester's arrogant tone and tried to put as much distance between them as possible.

The butler inclined his head. "His Grace is not receiving visitors this morning, sir. May I take a message or do you wish to leave your card?"

Dennis Forester frowned and fumbled in his pocket before handing the butler a dog-eared card. After a quick glance at the card, the butler surprised her by moving aside and motioning them in.

"Mr. Forester, I believe that His Grace will make an exception in your case. Please follow me."

The black and white marble hall was horribly familiar and twice as overwhelming in the harsh daylight. Elizabeth found it difficult to believe she had fled down that very staircase not ten hours earlier. An image of the duke's horrified expression as he tried to push her away from him burned in her mind.

She came to an abrupt halt as the butler bowed and opened the door into the duke's library. The carpet was so thick that her feet sank into it and made no sound. It took a great deal of her remaining courage to raise her eyes and look at the man behind the desk.

Her breath caught at his stillness. Sea Devil, the English translation of his French family name, suited him well this morning. His skin was pale and in startling contrast to the blackness of his hair and the cat-like slant of his gray eyes. He wore no coat. Her gaze flew to his right arm and the sling that protected his shoulder.

Elizabeth sank into the nearest chair and looked down at her half boots. Her head pounded from the incessant arguments and accusations her stepfather had flung at her since her unprecedented return home the night before. In her mind, her mother's tears and lamentations dueted with his threats in an endless circle of despair.

She silently raged as she listened to her stepfather apologize for her behavior to the duke, who sat back in his chair, apparently bored by the whole affair. She hadn't realized she had been sent into the home of an infamous rake until her stepfather had told her this morning. Elizabeth clenched her jaw and winced.

The duke's cold eyes flicked in her direction and he slammed his hand down on the desk, making her jump. "Mr. Forester, I don't wish to speak to you. I wish to speak to Miss Waterstone. Get out. I will inform you when I require your assistance."

As a set down, it was masterly, and if Elizabeth hadn't been so steeped in misery she might have applauded the sight of her stepfather silenced and evicted in a few curt sentences.

The duke waited until Mr. Forester backed out of the room and then came around to sit on the front of his desk. His booted foot swung close to Elizabeth's skirts and she struggled to take her eyes away from the rhythmic movement. She remembered the muscled strength of his arm around her hips, the surprising heat of his fingers on her skin.

"What services have you provided for your stepfather's debtor's in the past?"

His question lacked all emotion and bore no hint of an apology, but somehow it helped to steady her shredded nerves. She made herself meet his cool gaze.

"I...I've aided their wives, usually in a social capacity," she struggled to explain. "Many of my stepfather's acquaintances have recently become wealthy. I helped them with cards of invitation, note writing, advice on etiquette ..."

She licked her lips as the subtle hint of his citrus fragrance stole toward her. She tried to breathe through her mouth and eased back in her chair. His faint French accent was less pronounced in the daylight. Probably because he wasn't in his cups.

Unwillingly, her gaze shifted to his mouth. Her unguarded response to his open-mouthed kiss had led to her undoing. By the time she'd regained her wits, he'd moved on to more carnal matters and taught her far more than she wanted to know about a man's brutal desires. She hoped her bonnet shielded the blush that rose unbidden to her cheeks.

"Perhaps that explains why you came with me so willingly last night." The duke paused. "You did not expect to share my bed, did you?"

Elizabeth shook her head, beyond speech now, as the horror of her predicament flooded her anew. Her mother and stepfather had given her to this man to pay a debt.

"Then why in damnation did you come back here this morning? Did you expect your stepfather to insist that I marry you, or for him to call me out?"

He didn't wait for her to respond. Instead, he walked across to the window, which overlooked the square, his back turned to her, his shoulders rigid. Without a coat, Elizabeth could clearly see the tight fit of his buckskin breeches and the elegant length of his legs. After a long moment he looked at her over his shoulder.

"You are sadly mistaken, if you think that scoundrel wishes to protect your reputation. The wretched man is probably beside himself with glee. He assumes the price of your virginity will cancel his debt to me."

"You did not take my virginity, you..."

He silenced her with a gesture. "I hesitate to correct you, but by the rules of polite society, I dishonored you." He swung around. "If you had heeded my advice and not taken a pot shot at me with the clock, we might have stood a chance of repairing the damage. Unfortunately, by running home to your stepfather, you've given him the opportunity to ruin us both."

Elizabeth tried not to cry at his contemptuous statement and forced herself to remain calm. As she stared into the abyss her life had become, a sudden recklessness claimed her. "I will throw something else at you if you give him money."

The duke's eyes narrowed as he considered her.

Elizabeth stood up; no longer content to be towered over. "If anyone deserves to benefit from your despicable behavior, it is me."

Appalled by her own daring, Elizabeth bit her lip. If she wasn't careful she would blurt out her desperate need to find a way to support herself and her invalid brother, and that would never do.

The duke nodded and resumed his seat behind his paper-strewn desk. His long fingers toyed with a quill pen as he continued to study Elizabeth.

Unable to understand his silence, Elizabeth started to shiver. Her normal good sense seemed to have deserted her. The duke thrust a glass of brandy into her hands and closed her fingers around it.

"Drink this, it will calm you."

She repressed a hysterical desire to laugh and obediently sipped at the strong spirit. It raced into her empty stomach, warming her body, making her cough. The duke patted her back, his strong fingers stirring the soft hairs at the nape of her neck. He took the glass and placed it on the desk.

"Miss Waterstone, may I ask you yet another favor? Will you take off your bonnet? It is most fatiguing to converse with a bunch of faded yellow primroses and a threadbare green bow."

She removed the offending bonnet and tossed it aside. She flinched as the duke's breath hissed out. Elizabeth closed her eyes as his cool fingers touched the purple bruises that covered her right cheekbone and eye.

"Your stepfather did this?"

Her eyes flew open at the iciness of his tone and the harshness of his expression. Fearing she had stirred the devil, panic swamped her senses and she struggled to breathe.

He moved away. "So you did not tell him the truth very easily." He took a deep breath and resumed his position behind the desk. "Miss Waterstone, your association with Mr. Forester led me to make certain assumptions about your character, assumptions which proved to be false." He paused. "Be assured that I shall do everything in my power to remedy the situation."

Elizabeth stared at him, surprised by his unexpected explanation and unsure of how to deal with it.

"Do you wish to return home with Mr. Forester?"

The duke's soft question caused the remainder of Elizabeth's stored courage to crumble. "My mother has forbidden me the house. She fears I might tarnish my half-sister's reputation."

The duke stood and crossed to the fireplace. He tugged on the bell. "You need to rest. For the moment, consider my house your own. When you awaken, we will talk again, I promise you."

She nodded, too weary to resist him and too weary to care. As they waited for the summons to be answered, the duke returned to his desk, took up a sheet of parchment, and began to write.

Elizabeth stared at his bent head. In repose, he had long eyelashes and high cheekbones Elizabeth wished were her own.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't know what else to do."

His pen stopped moving and he raised his head. For the first time, his eyes met hers without a hint of disdain.

"You did nothing I did not deserve. And that, my dear, is why I'm prepared to help you."

Elizabeth allowed herself to be escorted from the room by his housekeeper. Her stepfather waited in the hall, hands clasped behind his back, as he studied an immense portrait of the present duke. His shrewd eyes sought Elizabeth's, an anxious question in them, but she swept past him without a word. She would take the duke's offer of a refuge and pray that some solution would present itself to her troubled mind by the calm light of morning.

Gervase lounged in his chair, his fingers drumming on the armrest, as he awaited the return of Mr. Forester. His first instinct was to beat the man half to death for his treatment of his stepdaughter. Hard-won maturity and wiser counsel prevailed as Gervase admitted that his own treatment of Miss Waterstone had been nearly as brutal.

The clock struck the hour as Mr. Forester strolled into the library to stand before the duke.

Gervase nodded him to a seat then sat back, fingers steepled in front of him. He let the silence lengthen until beads of sweat sprang out on Mr. Forester's forehead.

"Your stepdaughter is of the opinion that you should call me out for my... how did she put it? Ah yes, for my despicable behavior."

Mr. Forester's confident smile froze on his face.

"Your Grace, you must have misunderstood her. I wish no such thing." He hesitated. "However, if you wish to compensate my family for your grievous mistake, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

Gervase gave a harsh laugh. The man was irrepressible. He shook his head and leaned across the desk in one sudden, threatening movement. Mr. Forester clutched the arms of his chair.

"My mistake? I beg to disagree, Mr. Forester. You sold her to me like a common trollop." He dipped his quill in the inkwell and scratched his signature onto the document in front of him. He pushed the parchment across his desk.

"These are the terms for the repayment of your debt. But mark me well, if I hear a single whisper about Miss Waterstone's reputation, I will demand payment in full. In return for my leniency, you will allow Miss Waterstone to visit with her mother and half-sister once a week. Is that clear?"

Mr. Forester nodded, his eyes transfixed by the promise of the letter. "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace."

Gervase held out the quill and Mr. Forester signed. Gervase reclaimed the document and nodded a dismissal.

"I will send you a copy of this on the morrow." His brows rose as Mr. Forester headed for the door. "Are you not interested in the fate of your stepdaughter, Mr. Forester?"

Mr. Forester shrugged. "I'm sure that you will find some use for Elizabeth, Your Grace. And quite frankly, I'm relieved not to have the care of her."

Gervase stared at the closed door for several minutes after Mr. Forester's departure. His wounded arm throbbed in time to the pulse of his headache and he suspected he had a fever. With a soft curse he rang the bell and awaited the appearance of his secretary.

Elizabeth. The name of a great queen and somehow a suitable one for a woman who had the courage to outwit him. She deserved better than the life of deception Mr. Forester offered her.

He stretched and caught his breath as pain rippled through his arm. He would cancel his visit to Emilia's tonight. A short note and a large diamond should placate his rapacious mistress until he was well enough to perform to her satisfaction.

Gervase sat up as his secretary as Sir John Harrington entered the room. He turned his mind to the business of the day and refused to consider what the hell he planned to do with the prim and proper Miss Elizabeth Waterstone when she finally came to her senses.