Kate Pearce - Educating Elizabeth

Elizabeth went to interrupt and he frowned. "You wished to speak?"

No, Your Grace, you seem to have thought of...everything."

"My daughter is staying at Grillons hotel. You will meet her there and assume your new duties. You will travel with her to Bath where she will be attending school for the next year to improve her English." He sipped at his wine. "When you return it will seem perfectly natural to the ton for you to take up residence here."

"I know little of society. How can I possibly teach your daughter when I haven't the slightest notion myself?"

The duke smiled and raised his glass to her. "I don't expect you to teach Eloise a thing. You will only be with her for a few days." He clinked his glass against hers. "Your education will begin when you reside in my house and I, my dear, will be the only teacher you ever need."

Elizabeth swallowed another half glass of the excellent wine and wondered dreamily why the room seemed to shimmer and dance in the candlelight. She angled her head in a vain attempt to alleviate the effect and then shut her eyes as the swaying became even more pronounced.

"Miss Waterstone, may I suggest you stop gulping my fine French wine as if it were lemonade? I fear you don't have a strong head. I assure you I've no intention of commencing your education tonight."

His smile deepened. "The process of seduction should be slow and subtle. When I've finished teaching you, you will understand that anticipation--" his thumb crept up to graze her lower lip "--and suppressed desire adds spice to any liaison."

He drew her to her feet and she rocked against him, hands settling against his embroidered waistcoat. He righted her with a soft murmur of encouragement as his fingers swept her ribcage just below her breasts. She resisted an unexpected urge to grab hold of his fingers and bring them to her mouth.

"I need you to stay awake, my dear. We have an appointment at Madame Charles, the dressmaker."

"But it is almost nine o'clock at night," Elizabeth protested. "No dressmaker will be open at this hour."

The duke bore her inexorably toward the door, his hand firm on her elbow. "My dear, I'm the Duke of Diable Delamere. Everything remains open for me."

Madame Charles awaited them as they swept into the showroom of her exclusive Bruton Street address. Elizabeth tried to look inconspicuous as the duke and Madame Charles conversed in French, too rapid and colloquial even for her excellent understanding.

Elizabeth was escorted into a fitting room lined with mirrors, furnished only with a large velvet couch and a single stool. The duke arranged himself on the couch as Madame clapped her hands and gestured for Elizabeth to stand on the stool.

When Elizabeth stepped up, several sewing assistants advanced upon her like a flock of birds with their measuring tapes. A cool draught flowed up her skirt and with a gasp of pure horror she sought the duke's eyes. His brows rose and he snapped out an order. In an instant, the room emptied.

"What is wrong, Miss Waterstone? Are you unwell?"

Elizabeth almost blessed her over-indulgence of alcohol. It seemed to have loosened her tongue. From her elevated position on the stool, the duke's cool, amused eyes were on level with her own.

"Your Grace, I've been foolish. I never dreamed you would bring me to a place like this and I'm not dressed properly." His eyes skimmed over her gown and then returned to her face.

In desperation she hissed. "The maid took away all my underthings when she left this dress."

The duke's eyes remained riveted to her face as he removed his gloves and let them fall to the floor. He drew in a slow breath. "Are you trying to tell me you sat through dinner without a stitch of clothing on under that gown?"

"I have my corset on!" Elizabeth blurted out, then pressed her lips together. She almost fell from the stool as the duke's hand closed around her ankle. She steadied herself against his shoulders and refused to look at his warm fingers against her skin.

The duke's voice took on the texture of velvet as his hand crept up her calf. "Nothing else? No petticoat, not even a pair of stockings?"

His fingers moved upwards, past her knee and along her inner thigh until he touched the soft warmth between her legs. Elizabeth locked her knees but her action only served to bring his hand into closer contact with her body's secrets. She bit her lip as heat shuddered through her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the duke exhaled and removed his hand.

"I will speak to Madame Charles and ensure she brings you some underclothes. I had intended to concentrate on your day clothes this evening and leave the delights of your underthings and bed gowns for later."

"Your Grace, if you tell her that I've no underthings she will think that you, that I, that..." Elizabeth couldn't complete her sentence and instead stared at the duke's profile in desperate appeal.

The duke bent to retrieve his gloves. "Elizabeth, make up your mind. If you wish to indulge in maidenly fits of conscience, go back to your stepfather. I've no time for this."

Silence fell as Elizabeth stared into his eyes where a hint of impatience lingered. She drew in a defeated breath. "Please inform Madame Charles that I'm at her convenience."

He bowed. "I'm glad to see you display such excellent sense."

"This is scarcely sensible, your Grace," Elizabeth muttered.

By eleven o'clock, she was weary of being tweaked, tucked, and turned around like a life-size doll. The duke seemed to believe she required gowns for every possible social occasion. She had given up trying to object after enduring a particularly unpleasant set down over a lavender silk walking dress.

At last, Madame Charles, face flushed with gratification, curtsied to the duke and withdrew with a promise to deliver some of the garments within a fortnight. As the excited tittering sales girls disappeared, the duke helped Elizabeth down from the stool.

"Well?" He handed her a glass of wine and cocked an eyebrow at her. "You have been burning to get something off your chest for the past hour, so out with it."

"Your Grace, how do you expect me to pay for all these gowns?"

He shrugged, his shoulders elegant in his gray coat. "Of course, I forgot... a woman of principle would not allow me to give them to her as a gift." He touched the rim of his glass against hers, his expression bland. "How do you suggest you repay me then?"

"From my salary as your daughter's companion?"

The duke smiled down at his immaculately polished boots. "I'm supposed to be paying you, now, am I?" He paused, "I can think of much better ways for you to reimburse me."

Even Elizabeth recognized the implication behind his words. "I will do what ever you wish me to, Your Grace."

"Excellent," he said, seemingly unperturbed by the reluctance in her voice. "Then before you get dressed you can try this on for me." He leaned back over the couch and pulled out a large box stuffed with tissue paper. Elizabeth watched in consternation as his fingers hooked into a flimsy cream and lace garment and shook it free.

"This, you will wear only for me."

He tossed the insubstantial scrap of lace at her and she caught it on reflex. He nodded at the red curtain in the corner of the room. "Go and try it on. I will wait for you here." He settled back against the curve of the couch, one arm behind his head, and smiled.

Elizabeth clenched her fingers into the butter-soft silk and headed toward the curtain at a snail's pace. The duke's voice reached her just as she parted the drapes.

"This garment doesn't require underthings so you have no need to be embarrassed."

Elizabeth swallowed hard. The slip of silk would barely cover her and was split up both sides almost to the waist. She stared at her white-faced reflection in the mirror. Was this another of the duke's tests? If she refused, would he walk out and leave her to the mercy of her family? She choked down a sob as her fingers fought to undo the slippery pearl buttons on her bodice.