Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

He caught her wrists and urged her closer until her hands rested on his waistcoat. "Kiss me, and maybe I will be satisfied enough to leave."

Elizabeth leaned into him, trying not to inhale his male scent, which affected her like the most potent champagne. His lips were warm as she opened her mouth to kiss him as deeply as he had kissed her. He gave a soft growl of appreciation and angled his head to give her greater access. One of her hands stole into his hair and caressed the nape of his neck.

He splayed his fingers across her back and rocked her slowly from side to side, tantalizing her already aroused senses, adding to the lingering warmth he had created earlier. She gasped as he slid her bodice sleeves down her arms and captured her breasts, rising like an offering from the black silk corset. The sudden heat of his palms and the flick of his fingertips over her hardening nipples made her shudder.

"I'm taking you to bed."

Her eyes flew open as she realized her feet were no longer on the floor. She curled her arms around his neck and fitted her body so tightly to his that she could feel his muscular frame from shoulder to knee. He carried her the few steps to the bed, settled her upon it, and followed her down.

He set about stripping her with an expertise and a speed that compared well with an experienced lady's maid. As he loomed over her a worm of unease filtered through her arousal. His expression was intent, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Your Grace, I'm not sure if..."

He placed a finger over her lips and smoothed the sheet over her, warming and shaping her flesh as he went. A glance downward revealed her whole body clearly outlined against the linen, the thrust of her nipples, the angles of her hips. He reclaimed her mouth in a deep kiss before retreating to the side of the bed. God, she wanted his hands on her, she wanted them under the sheet and all over her.

She tore her mouth away from his. "How do you remain so calm, so unaffected when I..."

He reached forward and captured her hand. They both shuddered as he pressed her palm to the front of his breeches where she encountered his cock in its entire hard, male splendor.

"I'm not unaffected by you." He leaned into her hand and his shaft jerked beneath her fingers. "What I don't understand is why you have this effect on me, my dear innocent. I'm not sure I like it one damned bit."

Two weeks later, Elizabeth was back at Delamere House, the duke's imposing London address. As she walked up the main staircase, she mentally listed her accomplishments with a glow of personal satisfaction. She had escorted Eloise to her new school in Bath and left her there with promises to write. Then she accompanied a weeping Madame Bonnet to the port of Bristol and saw her set sail for France.

Elizabeth smiled at her disheveled reflection as she took off her dusty bonnet and gloves. Despite some initial worries about her ability to act as the duke's representative, she believed she had comported herself rather well. She had certainly enjoyed the opportunity to travel in such luxury and the freedom from her stepfather's demands.

To her secret relief, the duke had not put her back into the bedroom suite adjoining his own. Her new room was across the hall and facing away from the bustle of Grosvenor Square into the peacefulness of the garden. A quick search of her cream- and silk-decorated chamber revealed a closet stuffed full of the fashionable garments Madame Charles and the duke had deemed necessary for her use.

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."