Educating Elizabeth (3 page)

The clock struck the hour as Mr. Forester strolled into the library to stand before the duke.

Gervase nodded him to a seat then sat back, fingers steepled in front of him. He let the silence lengthen until beads of sweat sprang out on Mr. Forester's forehead.

"Your stepdaughter is of the opinion that you should call me out for my... how did she put it? Ah yes, for my despicable behavior."

Mr. Forester's confident smile froze on his face.

"Your Grace, you must have misunderstood her. I wish no such thing." He hesitated. "However, if you wish to compensate my family for your grievous mistake, I'm sure we can come to some arrangement."

Gervase gave a harsh laugh. The man was irrepressible. He shook his head and leaned across the desk in one sudden, threatening movement. Mr. Forester clutched the arms of his chair.

"My mistake? I beg to disagree, Mr. Forester. You sold her to me like a common trollop." He dipped his quill in the inkwell and scratched his signature onto the document in front of him. He pushed the parchment across his desk.

"These are the terms for the repayment of your debt. But mark me well, if I hear a single whisper about Miss Waterstone's reputation, I will demand payment in full. In return for my leniency, you will allow Miss Waterstone to visit with her mother and half-sister once a week. Is that clear?"

Mr. Forester nodded, his eyes transfixed by the promise of the letter. "Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace."

Gervase held out the quill and Mr. Forester signed. Gervase reclaimed the document and nodded a dismissal.

"I will send you a copy of this on the morrow." His brows rose as Mr. Forester headed for the door. "Are you not interested in the fate of your stepdaughter, Mr. Forester?"

Mr. Forester shrugged. "I'm sure that you will find some use for Elizabeth, Your Grace. And quite frankly, I'm relieved not to have the care of her."

Gervase stared at the closed door for several minutes after Mr. Forester's departure. His wounded arm throbbed in time to the pulse of his headache and he suspected he had a fever. With a soft curse he rang the bell and awaited the appearance of his secretary.

Elizabeth. The name of a great queen and somehow a suitable one for a woman who had the courage to outwit him. She deserved better than the life of deception Mr. Forester offered her.

He stretched and caught his breath as pain rippled through his arm. He would cancel his visit to Emilia's tonight. A short note and a large diamond should placate his rapacious mistress until he was well enough to perform to her satisfaction.

Gervase sat up as his secretary as Sir John Harrington entered the room. He turned his mind to the business of the day and refused to consider what the hell he planned to do with the prim and proper Miss Elizabeth Waterstone when she finally came to her senses.

Money. Didn't it always come down to that? Gervase frowned as he tried to calculate how much financial compensation a well-brought-up young lady might require for the loss of her reputation. Despite Dennis Forester's atrocious lack of breeding, it was obvious Elizabeth Waterstone had been sired in a different stable.

He stretched his shoulders, wincing at the slight ache in his upper arm, and stared up at the ornate gilded ceiling where a luscious naked goddess beckoned to a coy-looking centaur. If only life were so simple. Gervase scowled at the besotted painted faces above him.

He hated any situation that hinted at disorder in his private life. He had enough problems maintaining a rakish reputation without dealing with the complicated emotions of a female. The sexual escapades of his late and unlamented wife, Imelda, had provided enough gossip for the courts of both England and France. He had no intention of allowing his recent mistake with Elizabeth Waterstone to escalate into another messy scandal. He sighed and glanced at the mountain of papers on his desk. The timing could not have been worse.

But Miss Waterstone refused to quit his mind. She seemed a symbol of all that he hated about his current existence. It had come as something of a relief to discover that he still had a conscience where a woman was concerned. His smile disappeared as he refocused on the letter and its generous financial offer.

His housekeeper had already informed him that Miss Waterstone was awake and had partaken of a hearty breakfast. Had he expected her to fall into a maidenly decline overnight? Gervase recalled her determination when she faced him with the clock and knew he would have been disappointed if she had failed to recover.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in an effort to halt the suggestion of a headache and glanced at the figure he had scrawled on the letter to Childes, his banker. As a knock came on his door, he scratched out the figure and doubled it. He did not have the patience to negotiate a settlement. He wanted her gone from his newly-activated conscience and out of his life.

He stood as Elizabeth Waterstone entered and returned a short bow to her more elaborate curtsey. She looked less like a wax doll today, although the rainbow colors of a bruise still disfigured her cheek. She was dressed in an unflattering woolen gown and had braided her nut-brown hair tightly to her head.

To his immense relief, she seemed calm. Yesterday he had sensed she was close to breaking point. Experience had taught him the cost of becoming involved with hysterical females and he had endeavored to keep her at a distance. He was not known for his sweetness of will or for the length of his patience. As he studied Miss Waterstone's unflustered countenance, his hopes for a speedy conclusion to their discussions rose.

"Miss Waterstone, I trust you are feeling better?"

She inclined her head and he continued. "I've given a great deal of thought to the predicament in which you find yourself and your claim for financial remuneration."

Gervase drew breath and checked to see if Miss Waterstone was attending. She nodded politely as if to encourage him to proceed.

"I'm willing to settle a lump sum of money on you if you promise to leave me in peace."

He frowned. He hadn't meant to say that. It sounded as though she were an unwanted nuisance or as if he were trying to buy her off. He held out the letter he had struggled to draft for the past hour.

"I intend to settle five thousand pounds on you." He paused for her reaction but there was none. He raised his eyebrows, quill poised over the inkwell. "That is not to your liking? I promise you that the money will be held in your name and cannot be touched by your stepfather. Surely, it is sufficient for your needs."

Miss Waterstone bit her lip and gave a small shake of her head. Gervase lowered his pen and drew in a slow breath.

"Miss Waterstone?"

"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I don't feel that any sum of money, however generous, will give me back my ruined reputation."

Gervase went still as visions of blackmail and deceit flooded his senses. "Go on."

She leaned forward in her chair, hands clasped. "As you have already remarked, too many people will know by now that I've spent at least one night in your house without adequate chaperonage."

Gervase shrugged. "So?"

"So, if I appear with a dowry at my disposal, people will talk. You are known as the biggest rake in London-"

"And Paris." Gervase couldn't help himself.

An answering smile flickered across Miss Waterstone's face. "And Paris. I apologize for underestimating your renown, Your Grace."

He bowed and let her continue, his interest piqued.

"I imagine you will next suggest that I pose as a widow. I'm four and twenty and it would not be unreasonable to suppose that I had been married before." She made a face. "But I'm such a poor liar and I would hate to begin a new life based on a deception."

She raised her lovely, candid eyes to his. "How would I face a man I loved and wished to marry without telling him the truth? And how would any honorable man feel about taking on one of your cast-offs?"

Gervase had nothing suitable to say to that. He suspected his belief that for most men the size of her dowry would definitely outweigh her possible lack of virginity would fail to convince her.

"Anyway," Miss Waterstone took in a deep breath. "I don't want your money, I want your expertise."

Gervase stared at her, his quick mind for once caught unprepared. "My expertise?"

"I can't go home, I won't take your money without earning it, and I refuse to end up walking the streets. I wish you to teach me how to become a high flyer." She wrinkled her brow and looked at him a trifle anxiously. "Is that the correct term for a courtesan or a high class mistress? Forgive me; I'm lamentably ignorant on the subject."

Gervase could only stare at her until she began to blush. "You wish me to instruct you in the role of a prostitute?" He gave a short humorless laugh and pointed down into the square. "My dear, if you wish to learn that trade, go and loiter in the back streets behind my house for ten minutes. I can guarantee some man will be willing to enlighten you."

He allowed a few seconds of absolute quiet to elapse, broken only by the ticking of the Sevres clock on the mantelpiece.

He slammed his palm on the desk. "You are a lady! Don't be such a fool."

She colored a little but her gaze remained on his. "I don't understand your hesitation, Your Grace. We are agreed, are we not, that you are the greatest rake in two sovereign nations? Who better to instruct me than you?" She sat back in her chair, hands folded in her lap and waited, the picture of propriety.

Gervase got up and walked to the window. He stared down into the windswept desolation of the square. Was she mad? Despite his instant refusal, a worm of interest slithered into his mind and beckoned him with all its unsavory possibilities. If any man could turn the shy, uptight Miss Waterstone into a courtesan, it would be him.

He swung around to face her. "And what of your relatives, Miss Waterstone? Don't you think that they might object to having a prostitute, high flying or not, in the family?"

"I've very little family left, Your Grace. My father's relatives refused to have anything more to do with us when my mother remarried and it is not as though I've made my debut in society."

Gervase wondered why she hadn't had a London Season. Had the family's finances always been precarious? Was that why Mr. Forester was involved in so many dubious activities? It might be in his best interests to keep Miss Waterstone close.

He continued to stare at her as his fertile brain worked on several schemes to manufacture her a new past. She had no idea how easily he could grant her wish. He crossed the room, pulled her to her feet, and placed his fingers under her chin.

"Elizabeth." He used her first name in an intimate attempt to undermine her. "I almost took your virginity. I
forced
you. How in God's name do you expect me to believe you are not afraid of me?"

She met his gaze head on. "Of course I'm afraid of you, but I'm more afraid of allowing you to buy me off as if I've somehow disgraced myself. I would rather work for my money."

He brushed the corner of her mouth with his thumb and her lips parted as she swallowed. With deliberate intent, Gervase took possession of her mouth, his tongue thrusting deep. He waited for her to recoil but although she didn't respond, she didn't fight him either.

He gentled the kiss, using his years of expertise to draw her into his mouth, to make her react. He curved his hands over her hips and drew her close until he could feel the frantic pounding of her heart. When he released her, she tried to move away, but he caught her elbow.

"You are either very brave or very foolish. I'm damned if I know which."

She rested her forehead against his waistcoat. "Don't you understand? If I can learn to bear your touch, after what you did to me, then I believe I will be able to bear any man's."

Gervase breathed in the sweet smell of her skin and fought the temptation to explore how far she would
bear his touch
before she panicked again. He retreated behind his desk to cultivate a more business-like manner.

"I need to think about this. If you are set on this madness, I will expect complete obedience from you, do you understand?"

Elizabeth almost smiled as she dropped into a stately curtsey before she headed for the door.

Gervase waited until her hand rested on the door handle. "This is far from being settled. I will require your presence at dinner tonight and we will discuss how we wish to go on."

*** *** ***

Elizabeth paced the luxurious bedroom the duke had allotted her, scarcely aware of its sumptuous comforts and warmth. She bathed and a maid appeared and arranged her hair in an artful knot of curls that tumbled around her shoulders. The silent maid also laid out an evening gown that Elizabeth knew was not hers. Before she could question the girl, she retreated with Elizabeth's patched underclothes and only other gown over her arm.

Elizabeth's tension mounted as she walked an endless square around the border of the fine Turkish carpet. What had she done? It had seemed a fine and heroic thing, to offer herself on a platter to the duke. But now, after hours of lonely contemplation, her certainty had disappeared.

She picked up the ice-blue gown and held it against herself. The ripple of silk felt light and supple under her fingers compared to her homespun woolen dress. Her reflection showed that the gown was the right length. She almost smiled. Trust the duke to have accurately gauged her measurements.

After a moment of indecision, she stepped into the dress and slipped her arms through the tiny puffed sleeves. The bodice fastened at the front in a series of delicate mother-of-pearl buttons. Despite tugging and pulling, her unrestrained bosom overflowed the embroidered blue bodice. She searched for a shawl or lace fichu to cover her exposed skin but found nothing.

"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.