Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

"It is taking too long." Gervase's calm voice shattered her concentration and she almost dropped the knife. "Leave me and get out of here."

"No, Your Grace," she replied through her teeth as she finally managed to free one of his hands and set to work on the other. "Are you afraid I mean to release you and then lead you like a lamb to your death?"

"Elizabeth..."

"I am only freeing you because I need your help to apprehend the assassin." She sawed savagely at the remaining rope and the duke's fingers curled into a fist. "After the damage you have done to my reputation, I doubt anyone in authority will listen to me if I start to plead for help."

Gervase tried to lower his hands into his lap but his muscles locked in painful response. Elizabeth stood over him like an avenging angel, an expression of disdain on her pale face. He flexed his fingers as blood suddenly returned to his useless limbs and fought the urge to cry out.

He slid his hand up his ribcage and carefully pressed, closing his eyes against the fresh wave of jagged pain. When he tried to get to his feet, he almost blacked out and splayed his fingers onto the grimy wall to preserve both his balance, and his dignity.

Elizabeth appeared alongside him and her keen gaze swept over him. "You appear to be suffering, Your Grace. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

He gritted his teeth against an urge to drop his head between her breasts and howl like a child. He would feel immeasurably better if she would only look at him, touch him, love him... How close had he come to losing her and everything else he cared about?

"I'm quite well, Miss Waterstone." He gestured to the door at the top of the stone steps. "Shall we proceed?"

He stepped away from the wall and faltered as his ribs protested. To his disgust, he would have fallen headfirst into the swirling knee-deep water if it had not been for Elizabeth's support.

She held him steady and ran her cold fingers over his chest. He sucked in a breath as she grazed the spot where Sir John's ruffians had inflicted the worst damage. After the dizziness subsided, he opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the steps, looking down on the top of Elizabeth's head. She brandished a set of wide cotton strips torn from her petticoat.

"I shall bind your ribs, Your Grace. Will you lift your shirt for me?"

He didn't have the energy to protest, although he knew as well as she did that the minutes were trickling away and that the water level was rising steadily. He grunted as she expertly wrapped her makeshift bandages around his ribs and tied them tight. On the last bandage, when her arms were wrapped around his torso, he slid his hand up to grip her chin, which rested against his chest.

"My name is Gervase," he said, his voice rough and urgent, and most unlike himself. "I'm weary of this pretense. Stop treating me like a stranger. Call me by my name, damn you."

She stepped away from him and dropped him a curtsey, graceful even in the swirling water.

"Oh no, Your Grace. I went to bed with Gervase and he betrayed me. I prefer to think of you as an arrogant aristocrat who believes me a traitor to my country." Her voice trembled as he reached for her and she flinched away. "Somehow, it is easier to bear your company if I think of you like that."

She picked up her sodden skirts and climbed the steps, her back rigid, her shoulders set. With a muttered curse, Gervase followed her, breathing more easily as he allowed the tightly wrapped bandages to support him.

The clamor of noise and excitement as they reached street level assaulted Gervase's ears like the firing of a pistol close to his head. Elizabeth stopped in front of him, apparently as befuddled as he was. Nobody seemed to notice their disreputable state, so intent were they on the slow-moving procession of kilted Scots guardsmen who paraded along the center of the street. Gervase took Elizabeth's hand, unwilling to lose her in the crush of people.

He bent to shout in her ear as a swell of anticipation rose, peaked, and broke over them. "We need to find our way along the Strand. If I remember the translated code correctly, the assassin is supposed to be by the gates of Somerset House."

Elizabeth nodded. "I know that, Your Grace. I decided that Somerset House would not be a good place for an assassin to get a clear shot at the Prince Regent."

Gervase caught her arm and swung her around to face him. " You decided?"

After an ineffectual attempt to shake off his hand, Elizabeth sighed and gazed over his left shoulder. "I altered the code, Your Grace. I suspected Sir John was in league with my stepfather. I allowed you and Sir John to bully the wrong translation out of me."

She glanced briefly at him and then looked away. He dropped her arm and stared at her, unaware of the people buffeting him or the shoves in his back to make him move on.

"You sent the assassin to the wrong place," he said wonderingly. "Of course you did. How could I have been so stupid? Now Sir John believes that he and the assassin are the only people alive, apart from Le Fleur, who know where the assassination will take place."

Gervase had to laugh. "The frontage of Somerset House will be far too crowded for an assassin to gain a clear view of the Prince. We should be able to stop him there." He caught Elizabeth's filthy hand in his and crushed it to his lips. "Thank you, my dear. You have justified my faith in you a thousand times. Shall we go and find out if your plan has worked?"

Gervase began to force his way through the good-natured crowd, aware that his empty pockets were picked at least twice and that Elizabeth was receiving her fair share of attention. He held her as tightly as he could, protecting her from the pull and sway of the population. It was rather like using a sea current to guide them closer to their goal rather than fighting it and drowning in the attempt.

At one point, while they waited patiently for a regiment of exotic Russian Cossacks to file past, Gervase asked, "Where did Le Fleur really tell the assassin to wait for the Prince Regent?"

Elizabeth half-turned toward him. "By Charing Cross, just where the procession swings away from the river." She shivered. "I suspect he would have stood a good chance of success from there."

Gervase could only nod in agreement as a gap opened in the crowd and he followed Elizabeth across the street. The swirl of bagpipes tuning up effectively banished all thoughts of communication until they reached the imposing walls of the Savoy. Before Elizabeth could attempt to cross, Gervase pressed her back against the stone wall.

"Did you see Jack Llewelyn and your brother this morning at the Foresters'?"

"No, my mother said that they were out watching the parade." Some of his alarm must have shown and she slid her hand up his forearm. "Did you speak to them? Is there anything wrong?"

He smoothed the tangled hair from her cheek. "I didn't get a chance to speak to them, love. Sir John and his bully boys had already captured them." He placed his fingers over her lips. "I don't think that any real harm will befall them. Remember, the blame is supposed to fall on you and me when our bloated corpses are discovered decomposing in The Thames."

His attempt at gallows humor failed to reassure her and she pulled away. "Of course," she said numbly. "No one would believe the testimony of a supposed coward and a cripple...Sir John has been very clever."

"Not clever enough," Gervase replied. "We are still alive and more than ready to take on the assassin." He marched toward the curb and looked at Elizabeth over his shoulder. "You do realize that we will have to do this by ourselves. Sir John has probably sent the Foreign Office men in the totally wrong direction."