Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

"Yes, that feels very good. Now tell me how you feel."

"I, I'm enjoying myself." Her confession caught her by surprise. "I like the way you feel. Such soft skin over such hard muscle."

He smiled, his eyes a smoldering silver. "See how I taste, my dear, I dare you."

Caught up in his sensual mood, Elizabeth remembered how it felt when the duke, no, when Gervase had kissed her breasts. She bent to nuzzle his nipple with her tongue. He growled low in his throat and with surprising speed, she found herself flat on her back, Gervase on top of her, one hand cradling her face whilst his mouth fastened onto her breast.

She was the one who began to gasp then, as he suckled her breasts and his hand inched up her thigh. By the time she had realized where his fingers were heading, it was too late for her to shut him out. She trembled as he cupped her between the legs and murmured in French, his tone darkly reassuring, even if his actions were not.

A clock chimed in the distance and there were sounds of urgent knocking on the front door. With a muttered curse he went still and pulled away. Elizabeth rolled onto her side and watched him get dressed with speedy efficiency. His practiced movements gave her pause as a pang of jealousy shot through her. How many women had he bedded and then left as quickly as possible?

She cleared her throat. "I wasn't frightened, Gervase."

"I know," he said briefly as he wound his cravat around his neck and secured it with a diamond pin. "Unfortunately, I have work to do. We will leave this part of your education until we have more time." He shrugged into his coat unaided. "Somehow it is always easier to shed one's clothes than it is to put them back on again."

"Well, as an acknowledged rake, you should know, Your Grace," Elizabeth snapped and then bit her lip as the duke stared at her.

"You sound a little out of sorts."

"I'm becoming used to being touched, and then discarded. Why should I care?"

His gaze narrowed and became thoughtful as he observed her flushed cheeks and the slight irrepressible quivering of her body.

"Surely you have described the dilemma of any man's mistress? You are here for my convenience, Elizabeth, not your own."

Elizabeth opened her mouth and then shut it again as the hard truth of his words sunk in. He continued to regard her, his face unmoved as a painful blush spread upwards from her throat to her face. She dropped her gaze to his still-unbuttoned waistcoat.

His hard fingers tapped demandingly against her cheek. "I promised to teach you how a man requires his mistress to behave. I told you that you would not enjoy it and that it wouldn't suit you. A man will put up with tears and sulks from his wife because he has no choice, but from his mistress, a man pays for and requires other things."

She thought about that for a long painful moment. "Then I still have a lot to learn, don't I?"

For a brief second his hard face softened. He kissed her cheek.

"Yes, ma belle , you do, but please don't imagine your response to me is anything more than the awakening of your sensual nature. You must learn to control any other emotions you think you feel in my presence." He walked toward the door, boots in his hand, and paused to look back at her.

"I will not put up with a mistress who demands an emotional commitment that I will not even give to a wife."

Pride made Elizabeth sit up, her hands fisted at her sides. Did he really think she was that foolish? "I have not asked you for anything."

He shrugged then, his expression sardonic. "But you will. In my experience, women are incapable of separating love from lust."

He turned to leave and Elizabeth blurted out, "And why should they have to? Shouldn't a man expect lust and love from his wife?"

He stilled. "Of course he should, my dear. I offered my love to my wife and watched her reject it again and again." He drew in a breath. "Let me make myself clear. Life is far better without the illusion of love. And there is no love available in this house, so don't be foolish enough to attempt to manufacture any. I bid you good night."

She stared at the door he slammed behind him, raised her arm, and threw the book from her bedside table at the paneled wood, half-hoping he'd hear and half-dreading his reaction. How dare he assume she had feelings for him! She dropped her hand to her side and curled up on the bed.

The problem was...she feared he might be right.

Gervase was still thinking about his encounter with Elizabeth when he entered his study the next morning. He had intended to teach her how to pleasure him and perhaps even how to give him release. Instead he had allowed himself to become overwhelmed by lust and then compounded his error by reading her a lecture on the illusion of love.

He frowned as he paused in the library to re-shelve the book lying on the chair. He had certainly gained pleasure from her shy attempts to touch him, much more so than he might have imagined considering her inexperience.

He strolled over to his desk and picked up the morning paper, hoping for a distraction. But there was no use in denying it. She excited him. The thought that he could mold her to give him exactly what he wanted in bed was surprisingly erotic. He shook out the paper and concentrated on the closely written script. Unfortunately, his mind and his body preferred to dwell on the tantalizing image of Elizabeth naked under him.

With a soft curse, Gervase stared out of the window into the deserted square. He had not bedded anyone since he had installed Elizabeth in his house. If he took care of his baser urges, perhaps he would be able to view Elizabeth more dispassionately.

Gervase pushed Elizabeth from his mind, rang the bell, and waited for Sir John to deliver his morning correspondence. Sir John appeared, his arms full of parchments dangling official-looking seals. Gervase retrieved his newspaper as Sir John dumped the pile onto the desk.

"Your Grace, you solved the riddle!"

Gervase turned, one eyebrow raised, to find Sir John staring at the two sheets of parchment Gervase had taken from Elizabeth on the previous evening. "I beg your pardon?"

"We all failed to find the key to this code until now. How on earth did you solve it?"

"I was not the one who completed this puzzle," Gervase said dryly. "It was Mrs. Waterstone."

"How the devil did she manage that? Do you think she is in league with her stepfather after all? Did he send her to provide him with information?"

"I don't know. I found her working on the puzzle last night. She made no effort to hide it and seemed totally unaware of the importance of the contents."

He glanced again at her immaculate handwriting. The newly revealed message was his first clue to the identity of a potential French assassin. Sir John came to stand beside him.

"Mrs. Waterstone did say she had an affinity for languages," Sir John mused. "Perhaps she has a natural affinity for code too."

"Whatever her reasons, I think we will have to ask for her help. If she can truly break this code, I will be eternally grateful. I suggest we reveal some of our true purpose to Mrs. Waterstone and get her to explain how this particular code works. If she speaks the truth and another can replicate her methods, we will know she is trustworthy. If not, I will deal with her myself."

Sir John bowed and went to the door. "I will go to see if Mrs. Waterstone has finished her breakfast. For a moderately sized woman she eats a great deal, wouldn't you say, Your Grace?"

Before Gervase could reply, Sir John was gone and Nicholas Gallion sauntered into the room.

"Ah, Nick," Gervase said, scarcely raising his eyes from the incriminating document. "It seems as if Mrs. Waterstone will be helping us in our endeavors to defeat the French. Sir John will explain it to you."