Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

He kept touching her and murmuring as she slid down from the ecstasy. When she quieted, he crawled up to lie alongside her. She buried her face in his shoulder, her feelings too raw and uncontrollable to allow him to see them.

After a long time, when she had half dozed off, he murmured, "Who was that man you were speaking to in the park?"

She opened her mouth to tell him about Jack Llewelyn and then quickly closed it. If she told him about Jack, she would have to tell him about Michael and she was not ready to expose her brother's weaknesses to the duke's cool, analytical gaze.

Had the duke thought to gain her confidences after leaving her half insensible from his lovemaking? She thought it more than likely. He reached out a hand and stroked her breast, his fingers forming and shaping her tightening nipple.

"Who was he, Elizabeth?"

She fought against her body's instant response to his touch and turned to brush a kiss on his shoulder. "I don't know who he was, Gervase. He stopped to ask me for the time and then very charmingly asked me for money." She allowed her hand to drop to the buttons of his breeches and eased them open. "Did you see him, then? Did he ask you for money too?"

He didn't reply as her fingers curled around his cock and she began to stroke him. Emboldened by his shuddering sigh, she slid her bare leg up his buckskin-clad thigh. She kissed him more deeply and pushed her body up against his as she pleasured him. With a muttered curse, his hand threaded into the back of her hair and he began to kiss her back.

Elizabeth bit the end of her quill pen and observed Sir John's bent head. He had been hard at work all morning and she had nothing to do. She had written to Eloise and her brother Hugh and couldn't think of anyone else with whom she wished to communicate.

Rain sheeted down, obscuring Grosvenor Square. She had finished her translation of the first three coded messages and they had been rushed away to the Foreign Office. Now she sat idly, waiting for another to be delivered.

She studied the man. Sir John hardly seemed to care whether his clothes fitted him or not, as opposed to the duke, who was meticulous in his demands for the most fashionable cut and style. The duke's muscular body reminded her of the apparently scandalous Greek statues on view at Carlton House.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. She was not in her boudoir but in her other place of work and Sir John would be scandalized if he could read her mind. Sometimes it was hard not to confuse her two professions, especially when the duke was around to distract her.

The door was flung open and Sir John barked out a warning as, despite his best efforts, several of the papers on his desk floated into the air. Nicholas breezed in and headed for Elizabeth's cramped corner of the room. He held an envelope in his hands, which bore an official looking seal.

"Good morning, Mrs. Waterstone. Compliments of His Grace, the Duke of Diable Delamere." He grinned at her, his dimples dancing on his flushed cheeks, his red hair damp and in disarray. "I think this is another intercepted message from Le Fleur ."

Elizabeth opened the envelope, which bore the duke's scrawled signature, and pulled out a small piece of parchment covered in the now-familiar spiked script.

"Indeed it is the same."

"What is the same, Mrs. Waterstone? The code?" Sir John asked, his expression eager.

"I will not know until I attempt to translate it, sir. But it is definitely the same script."

"Is that good?" Nicholas asked.

"Well it helps," Elizabeth said absently, her mind captivated by the fascinating puzzle in front of her. She shut out their excited voices, sharpened a fresh quill pen, and drew a clean sheet of parchment toward her.

"Elizabeth, how in God's name can you see what you are doing?"

Elizabeth blinked several times as a blaze of candlelight cascaded over her untidy desk. She raised an ink-stained hand to rub at her eyes. Before she could besmear her face, the duke caught her fingers and pressed a clean handkerchief into them.

She thanked him as she wiped her hands and blew her nose. When she became accustomed to the light, she saw Sir John was no longer at his desk. She risked a covert glance at the duke's face. With a sigh, she dropped her quill pen and sat back.

"Well?" demanded the duke. "You have been working on that damned piece of code for over six hours." He frowned as he noticed her unsuccessful attempt to straighten her fingers. "Have you eaten?"

Elizabeth became aware of an empty feeling in her stomach and the headache between her eyes. "It will be in London."

"The assassination attempt?"

"Yes. I think he is speaking about the summer months, although I can't be sure at this time." She tapped the parchment with her pen. "The code is very similar, but several key words have been altered. I will have to work harder to discover them."

Gervase walked around the desk and pulled her to her feet. She swayed against him, enjoying the novel sensation of being supported and cared for, even if it was only for her code-breaking abilities.

"You will stop now," the duke said in a voice that brooked no argument. "After you have eaten, I intend to take you out to the opera. Put away these documents and come with me."

After a hearty meal, eaten under the duke's gaze, Elizabeth hurried upstairs to change. Her maid had laid out a dress for her and it took little time to make herself presentable.

She paused to admire her reflection after her maid re-styled her hair into a soft cloud of ringlets. Her gown of lavender-colored jaconet muslin fell in sleek, elegant lines from beneath her high, lace-trimmed bodice to the tip of her matching kid slippers.

With a playful kiss to her mirror, Elizabeth gathered up her long, hooded cloak and made her way down to the marbled entrance hall. The duke, dressed in stark black and white, stood beneath his portrait, his arrogant stance in direct competition with his painted self.

He pulled on a pair of gloves as he came toward her. His enigmatic gray gaze swept over her gown and he smiled as he took her cloak from her hands. "I always forget how well you look under the ink stains and tightly braided hair, my dear."

He gestured for her to turn around and he drew her heavy cloak around her shoulders. She sighed as his fingers lingered on her throat while he tied the ribbons. When he stepped away, she was conscious of the lack of warmth, a feeling reinforced by the stiff breeze coming through the front door Standish held open.

Just as Elizabeth straightened her skirts and the duke settled opposite her in the carriage, the door flew open and Nicholas got in. "Sorry, Your Grace. I couldn't find my best coat and I had to bully Jacques into lending me one of yours."

The duke shifted in his seat and observed Nicholas through his quizzing glass. "I'm amazed that such an unfashionable garment ever graced my wardrobe. That coat is at least three years out of style and everyone will know it, Nick. Please don't be offended if I claim not to know you this evening."

Nicholas winked at Elizabeth. "Wait until he sees what a mess I've made of my cravat. He will probably start dressing me before I'm allowed to leave the carriage."

It was a cloudless, clear night when the duke assisted her from the carriage and she was glad of the warmth of her cloak. The duke had arrived fashionably late and by the time they were escorted to their box, the theater was almost full and the orchestra had commenced tuning up.

Elizabeth scarcely had time to gaze around her before the lights were dimmed and the dulcet tones of the overture to Mozart's 'The Marriage of Figaro' began. With a sigh, she relaxed, aware of the duke's arm along the back of her chair and the lingering warmth of his citrus scent surrounding her.