"Mama, it is Elizabeth," Mary said slowly.
"You are mistaken. We must go, Mary."
Mrs. Forester's fingers tightened on Mary's arm and she began to turn away. In desperation, Elizabeth reached out to touch her mother's shoulder. Her hand was shaken off and Mrs. Forester hissed between her teeth.
"I don't know how you have the nerve to show yourself in here. What do you think it will do to Mary's reputation if she is seen conversing with the likes of you? You know she is to make her debut this Season. Have you no shame?"
Elizabeth recoiled as though her mother had slapped her and she bumped against the solid form of Nicholas Gallion.
With one hand pressed to her heated cheek, Elizabeth watched her mother's hurried withdrawal. Waves of humiliation made her wish the ground would open up and swallow her. She cast a hasty glance around, convinced everyone was staring at her.
"Mrs. Waterstone, are you all right?"
She barely made out Nicholas's concerned voice through the roaring in her ears. His arm came around her waist and the next thing she knew she was outside in the cold air propped against the windowsill.
"Wait here," he commanded.
She didn't bother to reply, being too busy trying not to cry. Nicholas returned in an instant and she allowed him to escort her into the carriage. She made no effort to converse with him on the journey back to the duke's house and instead stared out of the window, seeing nothing. She struggled to keep her lips from trembling as she pictured her mother's disgust and Mary's confusion. Was she really such a pariah? If only she could explain...
As the carriage drew to a halt, she didn't wait for Nicholas to assist her out. She bolted up the steps, past a surprised Standish, and into the house, seeking her bedroom and the privacy to cry.
*** *** ***
Gervase knocked softly on the door of Miss Waterstone's bedroom and, receiving no reply, knocked again, harder. The door opened a crack and he pushed it inward, letting himself fully into the room and closed it behind him.
Elizabeth was a pitiful sight. Unlike most of his previous mistresses, she didn't posses the ability to cry beautifully. Her nose was red, her eyes puffy and all the color had leached from her face, leaving her a little wan ghost in her sophisticated black gown. She lifted her reddened eyes to his, swallowed convulsively, and went to rub her nose on her sleeve.
With a sigh, for he had many urgent matters to attend to, Gervase handed her his large linen handkerchief. She blew her nose loudly and defiantly and then attempted to pass the crumpled fabric back to him. He waved her offer aside.
Keeping her in his sights, he crossed the room, poured a glass of water, and brought it back to her. "Nicholas said that something happened to upset you."
Her slight nod confirmed his statement. Gervase sat down and pulled her onto his lap. She wrung his handkerchief between her fingers.
"It was my mother??she gave me the cut direct." Gervase said nothing and kept his face politely blank until she continued, her voice harsh with unshed tears. "She would not allow my half-sister to acknowledge me, either."
"You must have known this might happen. Your mother denied you the house as soon as she found out." He paused as her knuckles whitened on the handkerchief. "So why are you crying about it now?"
She got to her feet, wrapped her arms around her waist and presented him with her straight back. "Because I didn't think she meant it. I thought she spoke in anger or in fear of my stepfather." She turned around, the devastation in her eyes unmistakable. "But she didn't. She really doesn't want to acknowledge me."
Gervase felt an unexpected pang of sympathy, which he ruthlessly suppressed. It made him speak more harshly than he had perhaps intended to.
"I told you that your family might find your choice of profession unacceptable. If you had listened to me before you embarked on this ridiculous scheme you might have avoided all this unnecessary weeping."
Her chin came up and he silenced an impulse to applaud her returning courage.
"I'm not asking you to feel sorry for me, Your Grace." She sniffed. "In truth, I don't remember asking you for any help at all."
Gervase stared back at her. "That's good because I'm not offering you any. You made your choices, now you must live with them. 'In truth,'" he mimicked her precise tone, "the old English proverb fits you well, does it not? You have made your bed and now you must lie in it." He shrugged "My bed, your bed, or any other place that I deem fit."
Her gray eyes flashed fire then and for a fleeting moment he wondered where his dueling pistols were. He tensed, ready to repel any attack, but to his relief, she merely drew in a deep breath.
"You are right. I'm a fool." She blew her nose hard and wiped away all traces of her tears. "I've no reason to complain about her treatment of me. She is only doing what any mother would to protect her remaining daughter."
Gervase wondered about Mrs. Forester's reasons for treating Elizabeth so. Nick had told him that the younger girl was to enjoy a Season. It seemed Mr. Forester had suddenly come into enough money to pay for it. For the first time in a long while, Gervase's instincts were at war with his conscience. Part of him wanted to keep Elizabeth away from the Foresters at any cost and yet he knew she might be able to get valuable information for him. But he could not allow his emotions to rule him. He placed his hand in the small of Elizabeth's back and guided her into the chair opposite his.
"You must calm yourself, my dear. All is not lost. You still have your mother's invitation to visit her for tea."
"Do you really think she will honor it after our unfortunate meeting?"
Gervase was sure of it. He hoped Mr. Forester was aware of the obligation too, or Gervase would be demanding payment of his debt in full. "Of course she will. If you doubt your welcome, I will accompany you."
A faint trace of alarm crossed Elizabeth's features and Gervase stiffened. Did she fear his intrusion into her former life?
"Thank you for the offer, Your Grace, but I think I would rather go alone. My mother is already embarrassed by me and perhaps, by bringing my..." she blushed and looked away, "...by bringing you with me, it might make matters worse."
He nodded and rose to his feet, willing to accept her explanation for now and anxious to convince her to attend her mother. If she were determined to go by herself it would probably be for the best. In truth, he admired her for it. Despite his bracing words and her apparent acceptance of the situation, Gervase knew firsthand how a family could wound a person in ways too deep to heal. To his surprise, his little brown bird was proving to be both resilient and full of courage.
He took her hand in his and kissed her palm, open mouthed. "May I suggest you change your clothes and bathe? You will surely feel better then." He allowed the tip of his tongue to circle her warm skin. "If you don't wish to dine downstairs, a tray can be brought up to you."
She slipped out of his grasp, her composure firmly in place again. "I will be perfectly fine, Your Grace." She moved toward the door in a subtle invitation that he should leave. "I'm sure that you have a thousand more important things to do than bother yourself with me."
She halted, her hand on the door, and looked back at him hopefully.
"Oh no, my dear. For you, I've all the time in the world. Come here." He smiled as she obediently returned and stood in front of him. "Let me help you out of your gown." As he spoke, his fingers unlaced her bodice and her gown slid to the floor. Her breathing grew faster and he stopped to enjoy the rise and fall of her breasts as they fought the constraints of her corset.
He led her toward the dressing table and urged her to sit, then began the complicated process of removing the pins from her hair. Her shoulders relaxed and she gave an odd sigh as he picked up the brush and combed out her long, golden-brown hair. He smiled down at her unprotected head.
She didn't seem to realize that every time she allowed him to touch her he was continuing her education. Every seemingly innocent contact brought her closer to accepting him as a man and as a potential lover. He put down the brush and used his fingers to untangle a snarl. His knuckles touched the nape of her neck and she didn't pull away. After a long while, her gray gaze met his in the mirror.
"Thank you," she whispered, as he laid the brush down and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her thick hair descended almost to her waist. He picked up a long, curling strand and wound it around his palm, easing her head back to meet his mouth. Her kiss tasted of her tears and a hint of the lily of the valley perfume she often wore. His hand clenched on her hair and he drew her even closer as his body grew hard with unexpected desire.
He released her mouth with the greatest of reluctance and shook her slippery, clinging hair from his fingertips. He bent to drop another kiss between her breasts. "I will come to your bed, tonight. Be ready for me."
He turned to leave before he gave in to his desire to stay and take what he needed from her. He closed the door with a decisive snap and let out his breath. There were always women who could satisfy his basic needs, but Elizabeth was different. He was experienced enough to know that it was better to wait until the prey was truly cornered before springing the trap. And, he smiled up at a portrait of his roguish Cavalier ancestor, Elizabeth was hardly even aware that she was being hunted yet.
Elizabeth curled up on the chair in the duke's library and waited in the comforting silence for his return. Although he had informed her that he intended to visit her bed, she had been too nervous to await him in the confines of her bedroom.
As was his custom, the duke had disappeared after dinner. Elizabeth watched his departure from her elevated position at the top of the stairs. He had worn his finest black coat and evening pantaloons with his usual elegance. Like a child stealing a forbidden glimpse of her parents departing for an evening's entertainment, Elizabeth pictured him at the opera or at some grand ball, his dark head bent solicitously over a beautifully gowned woman.
She shook the lingering images from her mind and snuggled deeper into the chair. The heat from the fire didn't make up for the loss of her thick woolen nightgown under her dressing gown. But, as instructed, she had dressed in one of the silk bed gowns the duke had purchased for her and it was not meant for warmth. The clock in the duke's study struck twelve and was echoed by the thunderous boom of the new fangled grandfather clock in the entrance hall.
In a way, Elizabeth mused, she was glad the duke had decided to continue her education in the more proper surroundings of her bed. He seemed more inclined to seduce her when she least expected it. She frowned and touched her fingertips to her lips. She had never imagined that something as simple as a kiss could bring so much pleasure.
Her skin flushed as she remembered where else the duke had kissed her. Perhaps she was learning more than she had thought. She hadn't expected to experience the first whisperings of desire when she had made her bargain with the duke. She had seen herself more as a sacrifice.
Elizabeth rose to her feet, suddenly restless and wandered back into the duke's study. She paused by his desk to stare at the huge collection of books, parchments and rolled up scrolls that obscured the oak surface. For a man of acknowledged indolence, the duke seemed burdened by a huge amount of work.
She turned to listen as a carriage rattled across the cobbled paving stones of the square, but it didn't stop. When she stepped back from the window, her elbow caught a pile of precariously balanced books that crashed to the floor. Elizabeth came down on her knees and gathered the books with frantic haste. What would Standish say if he came in and caught her groveling on the floor by the duke's desk?
She replaced the books in a neat pile on the corner of the desk. A scrap of parchment had drifted behind the chair and she bent to retrieve it. To her delight, it appeared to be a word puzzle that someone had left unfinished.
Elizabeth clicked her tongue disapprovingly. The person who tried to complete the puzzle had made several mistakes judging from the number of scrawled and crossed out answers. With a sigh of pure happiness, she settled in the duke's chair, extracted a fresh sheet of parchment from the drawer and began work on the intriguing conundrum.
*** *** ***
Gervase stole softly into the study, his dueling pistol primed and ready in his hand. He came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Elizabeth sitting behind his desk, apparently deep in thought. Her brown hair had broken free of its braid and it revealed glints of gold in the candlelight. Her spectacles, which were perched on the end of her nose, made her look like an inquisitive little owl. Her dressing gown had fallen open to reveal the subtle flesh tones of her creamy skin and the hint of an ivory silk-clad breast.
Gervase shut the door and leaned against it. His initial wariness dissipated into a warm appreciation of the studious yet unconsciously seductive picture his novice mistress made.
He cleared his throat and she looked up at him. Guilt-mingled with triumph--flashed plainly across her face, but she made no move to hide what she was doing. Gervase uncocked his pistol and laid it on the desk with deliberate care. Elizabeth's gaze flew to pistol and she hurriedly put down her quill pen.
"Your Grace. I forgot the time. Were you waiting for me?"
Gervase came around the desk to stand over her. He almost cursed out loud when he saw what she had in her hand. It was his fault for leaving it out on the desk, but what in God's name was she doing with that particular piece of parchment?
"I knocked over a pile of books and when I was putting them back, I found this." She waved the grubby, almost illegible puzzle at him and gave a complacent smile. "I love puzzles and I decided to try my hand at it."
His expression must have warned her that something was amiss because her smile faded and her voice became less certain. She gestured at a second sheet of parchment. "I don't think I've done any harm. I had more sense than to scribble on the original."