Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

"It will have to do."

With a sigh she put on her worn kid slippers and straightened the small golden cross her brother Michael had brought her from Portugal. Michael was the source of all her worries and the reason she had to go through with her plan.

Elizabeth stroked the ruby in the center of the cross. Her stepfather had sworn to her that if she returned to the duke and stayed until the debt was paid, he would continue to care for Michael.

Elizabeth could scarcely remember Michael before he had been injured. He'd left to fight in the Peninsula with Wellington's army, a dashing hero in his sister's eyes, and returned a broken gray-faced wreck, crippled from the waist down.

If it weren't for Elizabeth, Michael would have been left to die in the claustrophobic prison of his bedroom. Despite Elizabeth's pleas, her mother had found herself unable to care for the son she no longer recognized.

As the clock struck six, Elizabeth got to her feet. She had no choice. With the duke to teach her, she would be able to earn her own way in the world. With money, and the duke's protection, she could be assured of Michael receiving the best care and attention for the rest of his life.

Her resolve strengthened as she came down the grand staircase and followed the butler along another interminable corridor toward the dining room. The butler bowed and left her.

There was no sign of her host.

Some of her misgivings trickled back as she explored the huge, paneled room. Despite her brave words to the duke, if either of her brothers ever found out how she planned to earn her living, they would be horrified. Another doubt assailed her. Maybe she should have taken the duke up on his first offer of five thousand pounds. She and Michael might have been able to manage on the income from the interest. Maybe it was not too late to change her mind.

"Good evening, Miss Waterstone. Are you admiring the portrait of my scandalously-departed wife?"

Elizabeth refocused her gaze onto the huge oil painting above the fireplace where she had come to an abrupt stop. The black-haired woman in the portrait was depicted as Diana, the goddess of the hunt. She wore a swathe of white silk that bared a shoulder, most of her voluptuous breasts, and her plump left leg. The painter had caught a hint of wildness and arrogance in his subject's expression that reached out beyond the canvas to challenge Elizabeth.

The duke smiled and advanced toward Elizabeth, two wine glasses in his hand. "It was painted just after our marriage. The painter and I had a devil of a job trying to persuade her to wear any clothing at all." With a slight bow, he handed her one of the glasses. "Of course, the painter got to see her naked on more than one occasion during their sessions. My wife was a great believer in patronizing the arts."

Elizabeth sipped hastily at the contents of her glass as the meaning of his deliberately flippant comments sunk in. How could she hope to deal with a man who treated his late wife's infidelity as a slightly boring joke? She took another gulp of champagne and sneezed as the bubbles crowded up her nose.

The duke patted her on the back, his palm warm against her exposed skin. "I've embarrassed you. Please forget about my wife and let us enjoy our dinner." He took her hand and led her toward the table. "I thought we might serve ourselves."

With supreme disregard for any protest Elizabeth might have made, the duke began to ladle soup into her bowl. The alluring aroma of turtle caught at Elizabeth's nose and she obediently picked up her spoon.

The candlelight picked out the silver threads that ran through the duke's embroidered waistcoat. His coat was molded to his broad shoulders like a well-made piece of medieval body armor. Elizabeth blushed as she realized she was staring and that the duke watched her.

He carved her a slice of duck and she sought vainly for a topic of conversation. He seemed supremely unaware of her tension as he refilled her wine glass and handed her a linen napkin.

"The blue of that gown doesn't really suit you, but I didn't know of anything else in the house that would fit."

His eyes lingered on the low cut bodice and Elizabeth blushed and hunched her shoulders. She'd forgotten her breasts threatened to overflow the skimpy fabric. He frowned and reached across to trail his finger along her shoulder blades. "You should not hunch your shoulders like that. Good God, woman, do you not realize how fine a pair of assets you have there?"

Elizabeth choked on her duck. To make him stop, she said the first thing that came into her head. "Whom does the gown belong to, Your Grace? One of your mistresses?"

The amusement fled from his face, replaced by something she couldn't interpret. "You did not know? The gown belongs to my eighteen-year-old daughter. My dear wife blessed me with a child four months after we married."

"Your daughter is eighteen?" Elizabeth gaped at him as her mind struggled with the ramifications of his remark. "I don't understand. You could scarce have been old enough to ..." She stopped talking, mortified by her blatant curiosity and appalled by her lack of manners.

His fingers whitened as he gripped his glass and brought it to his lips. "I was fifteen when I married and, though perhaps old enough to have produced a child, my wife was already pregnant--unbeknownst to me." His mouth twisted. "Imelda was eighteen when we wed, and at the peak of her beauty." He shrugged and refilled his glass from the decanter. "I was as naïve then as you are now, but even I realized I had been cuckolded and that the child could not be mine."

His gaze hardened as his eyes met hers through the candlelight. "My family betrayed me by wedding me to that promiscuous bitch." He leaned forward and took her hand. "If you decide to stay with me, it will be on my terms. Don't make the mistake of falling in love with me, or feeling sorry for me. I will never love you. I will indulge you for as long as it amuses me and then you must leave."

The food in Elizabeth's mouth took on the consistency of thick porridge and she struggled to swallow. "That will suit me perfectly, Your Grace. I've no intention of hanging on your apron strings, bemoaning my fate for the rest of my life. I intend to keep this a business arrangement."

He squeezed her fingers, drew them to his lips, and brushed a light kiss across her knuckles. "Good. Now, shall we finish this excellent duck while I explain how things will progress?"

Elizabeth picked up her fork, bemused by the sudden business-like tone of his voice.

"I agree to your bargain. I will teach you the skills necessary for your new profession."

Elizabeth gave a relieved smile, but the duke held up his hand. "However, I'm not convinced you will see this ridiculous arrangement through. I will teach you how to please a man but I don't intend to bed you. We will attempt to keep this arrangement relatively civilized, which will allow you to return to your real life when you come to your senses."

"I don't intend to return to my old life, Your Grace. I truly meant what I said." He sat back and his skeptical expression goaded Elizabeth to continue. "This bargain is hardly fair to you though. What will you gain from it, if not a new mistress?"

"What will I gain?" he said idly, his attention fixed on her face. "The opportunity to make sure that at least one woman in England knows what a man truly wants in bed and the pleasure of bestowing such a gift onto one of my companions." His eyebrow shot up. "What more could a man ask?"

Elizabeth looked down at her plate. She felt herself begin to blush and prayed that the duke would end the embarrassing conversation.

"My daughter, Eloise, arrived in London today from France. I've decided that you can pose as her companion, a recent widow and a poor relation of the Diable Delamere family whilst she is in London. I will provide you with all the necessary documents and background information to substantiate your story if anyone should ask."