Educating Elizabeth (30 page)

Sir John grunted, snatched the coat from her outstretched hands, and stood to shrug himself into it. "It seems to be all right," he said grudgingly. "But if it doesn't dry out completely by the morning I will expect you to buy me a new one. I'm sure that if you ask the duke nicely, he will give you the money."

Elizabeth felt herself blushing as she made her way back to her seat, aware of the duke's sardonic gaze on her.

"Sir John?" The duke said with an unmistakable edge of icy menace in his tone that made everyone at the table come to attention. "I believe you have forgotten to thank Mrs. Waterstone for her efforts on your behalf."

Sir John visibly paled as he dropped his gaze from the duke's and glanced toward Elizabeth. "Thank you, Mrs. Waterstone."

"You are welcome, Sir John."

An awkward silence fell over the table as the duke continued to study Sir John through narrowed eyes. Even Nicholas's good humor dimmed. Elizabeth struggled to eat and to make non-committal replies to Nicholas's sporadic attempts at conversation. The duke leaned back in his chair and observed them as if he were a predator deciding on his next victim.

Sir John was the first to throw his napkin onto the table and get to his feet, his chair scraping back on the floor. He favored them with a stiff bow.

"I beg to be excused. I will have to change my clothes before I can continue with my duties this evening. Luckily for you, Mrs. Waterstone, despite my meager salary, I do
have
another coat." He shot a contemptuous glare at Elizabeth and then marched out of the dining room, shutting the door behind him.

Nicholas gave a long, slow whistle. "Don't worry Mrs. Waterstone. Sir John's coat should have been torn into rags years ago. It will be good for the old skinflint to have to buy himself a new one. It is well past time."

"Thank you for the comforting words, Nicholas, but I still feel very much to blame." She pushed back her chair. "It is not like me to be so clumsy."

"No, it isn't, is it?" The duke's pointed question halted her in her tracks. She had to force herself to look at him.

"No one is perfect, Your Grace. We all make mistakes."

"Indeed, Mrs. Waterstone." He raised one eyebrow. "Have you made any other mistakes recently?"

She raised her chin and met his gaze full on. "I'm not sure, Your Grace. But if I had, I'm sure you would be the first person to point them out to me."

She escaped into the hallway and headed for Sir John's office. She needed to check Sir John's desk before she gave into her suspicions and had to decide what to do about the incriminating little red book that seemed to be in the hands of her stepfather.

Her soft kid slippers made hardly any noise on the polished hall floor and none at all on the thick plush carpet in the duke's study. She pushed open the door of Sir John's office and slipped silently into the room. To her relief, it appeared that Sir John had indeed left for the night.

A single candle burned in the wall sconce, casting the heavy oak furniture into shadow. She walked across to Sir John's massive desk and began opening the unlocked drawers and sifting through the contents.

She found nothing and knelt to investigate the bottom drawer. She was so engrossed in her search that she nearly squeaked when the gleaming black toecap of the duke's shapely boot intruded on her vision.

"What exactly are you doing, Mrs. Waterstone?"

Elizabeth shot to her feet and steadied herself on the edge of Sir John's wide desk. "I was hoping to finish the code translation tonight. Sir John mentioned that he had samples of some previously broken codes that might be of use to me." Elizabeth flashed the duke a bright smile. "After the unfortunate incident at the dining table, I forgot to ask him exactly where he kept them."

She swallowed as the duke failed to reply. "Are you accusing me of something, Your Grace?" She gestured at the desk. "The drawers are not locked. I did not expect to discover any state secrets in them."

"I'm not accusing you of anything--yet."

Elizabeth maneuvered around the other end of the desk, putting as much distance between herself and the duke as she could. She eyed the door as he leisurely closed the gap between them.

"Exactly how much of the code is left to decipher, Mrs. Waterstone?" he inquired.

Elizabeth gave up her idea of escape and retreated behind her desk. "I think you were right and that they intend to try and assassinate the Prince Regent during the allies' victory parade. I just need to ascertain the time and the place when the assassin intends to strike."

The duke grimaced. "And that is the very information we need as soon as possible. The parade is only a week away and the authorities were highly offended by my suggestion that it should be canceled."

Elizabeth pretended to consider her work, her heart beating, her fingers still shaking. Why couldn't he just leave before she blurted out something inadvisable or, even worse, begged for his help?

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"If we are to speak of recent mistakes, be assured that I've made as many as you have." He gave her a crooked smile. "And I'm not sure if I regret a single one of them. Good night, my dear."

She watched him leave, her throat choked with unshed tears. What would he do if she slipped into his bed in the night? Would he welcome her or politely ask her to leave? She forced her eyes back to the code, knowing she couldn't bear to risk finding out. When she had solved the code to the duke's satisfaction and cleared up her suspicions over Sir John's behavior, she would have more leisure to decide her future.

She sank her chin into her hands and gazed unseeingly at the parchment until the fine handwriting began to blur. A tear rolled down her nose and plopped onto the code, swiftly followed by several others. With a cry of horror, she used the fringe of her shawl to blot the parchment, which had turned into a lake of cloudy blue ink.

When she managed to remove the wetness, she blew on the damaged parchment in a vain attempt to restore it to its previous condition. As she brought the document closer she noticed a series of indentations on the page that the spilled ink had highlighted.

With a sense of tightening anticipation, she lit another candle. It seemed as if document contained several additional words, which had been scratched into the vellum using a quill pen but no ink. Her unwelcome and unwanted flood of tears had inadvertently revealed the hidden words.

Hardly daring to breathe, Elizabeth attempted to translate the first word and realized with a sense of triumph that the code remained the same. Within a very short while, she revealed the new message, which contained detailed instructions on where and at what time the assassin was to kill the Prince Regent.

With infinite care, Elizabeth began to transcribe the information onto a clean sheet of parchment. Her pen slowed as she neared the end of the message. How could she prevent Sir John from sending this information onto Mr. Forester and yet make sure that it was revealed to the duke? She couldn't steal the original code. But considering the blotched state of it now, it should be safe to leave it. She doubted Sir John or anyone else would be able to decipher the code.

She drew another sheet of parchment in front of her and began to write, praying that her instincts would serve her well.

It was past midnight by the time she finished and sat back. The house was silent and watchful as she took the guttering candle and made her way upstairs. She had a lot to accomplish on the morrow and feared that without the duke's comforting presence, she would find it hard to sleep at all.

"She did what?" Gervase tried to mask his surprise as he listened to Nicholas's report.

"Mrs. Waterstone, Your Grace," Nicholas repeated slowly. "She met Jack Llewelyn at the same coffee house early this morning."

"Damnation!" Gervase slammed his hand onto the desk and looked up to see Nicholas still waiting. He drew in a breath. "Out with it, Nick. I sense there is more."

Nicholas looked down at his boots. "You also asked me to find out where Jack Llewelyn lives. Yesterday, while I waited at the Forester's, Jack Llewelyn escorted Mrs. Waterstone to the carriage. I followed him back there this morning as well."

Gervase fought the frisson of unease Nicholas' reluctant words forced through him. "How did they seem together? Was he affectionate toward her? Did they seem close?"

"Llewelyn embraced Mrs. Waterstone and kissed her on the cheek before he handed her into the carriage. She didn't seem to object to his familiarity."

Sir John, who had been standing by the window, gave a sniff, his face rigid with disgust. "Well we already knew she has the morals of an alley cat, didn't we, Your Grace?"

Gervase clenched his fists and stifled an unexpected urge to plant Sir John a facer. He still found it impossible to believe that his Elizabeth would casually share her favors with another man.

Sir John strolled across to the duke's desk. "We can also dispense with the fiction that she is a widow. Mr. Forester told me that
Miss
Waterstone perfected the art of playing the innocent young lady years ago." He gave a coarse laugh. "I understand that on occasion she miraculously reproduces her maidenhood with the help of a well hidden bladder of pig's blood."

Nicholas opened his mouth as if to protest Sir John's crudeness but Gervase made a decisive gesture with his hand.

"That is enough. I was the one who suggested she pretend to be a widow. It suited my plans, not hers." He deliberately paused to ensure Sir John's full attention. "I'm only interested in
Miss
Waterstone's dealings with the code, not unsubstantiated gossip about her past."

He turned to Nicholas. "Is it possible that Jack Llewelyn is a friend of one of Miss Waterstone's brothers? I believe she has two. Perhaps he is just visiting the family."

Sir John interrupted Nicholas's attempt to reply. "I don't believe they are at home at the moment. Mrs. Forester told me that her eldest son, Hugh, is currently serving with the army of occupation in France. And she doesn't speak of the younger son, Michael. She says he is as dead to her."

Sir John folded his arms, the triumph on his face unmistakable. "Do you think Jack Llewelyn is passing himself off as Miss Waterstone's long-lost brother?"

Gervase clenched his teeth. "Of course not, Sir John. I'm just attempting to examine all the possibilities. Now, have you anything further to add or do you intend to rely completely on gossip and innuendo?"

Sir John resettled his glasses on his thin nose. "Perhaps you would appreciate this snippet of information then, Your Grace. Last night, in a drunken moment, Mr. Forester told me he is expecting Miss Waterstone to hand him the final version of the code by tomorrow. Has Miss Waterstone completed the translation?"

Gervase shook his head. "I spoke with her last night and she told me she was still trying to determine the exact location and the time."

Nicholas sighed. "She told me the same thing, Your Grace."

"Then it is possible that she is deliberately delaying giving you the vital information that you need." Sir John said. "Just think, if she can hold you up until the day of the procession, you won't stand a chance of catching the assassin."

Gervase averted his gaze from Nicholas's anxious face and tried to ignore Sir John's gloating presence. "I need to think about how we should proceed. I don't want to alert Miss Waterstone to our suspicions. I will allow her the rest of the day to translate the code and then I will confront her."

Sir John bowed and left, a satisfied smile on his lips. Nicholas lingered as though he wished to speak, but after a quick glance at the duke's face, he quietly withdrew.

Gervase buried his face in his hands and tried to separate his tangled emotions for Elizabeth from the problem in hand. Perhaps she lied as well as Imelda after all. Images of Elizabeth in Jack Llewelyn's arms, confiding her secrets to him and laughing at the duke, kept intruding and ruining his sense of calm. He felt as though someone had taken his heart and was slowly squeezing it dry, draining his last hope, his last chance to believe in love.

Gervase let out a scathing curse and allowed himself to admit how tightly Elizabeth had woven herself into the fabric of his dreams and into his sense of self. Bitter experience had taught him that there were very few real coincidences in life and yet, here he was, still trying to make excuses for Elizabeth.

He was such a poor deluded fool that he had started to see her as his salvation, as his road out of the treacherous world he currently inhabited. Had he been a fool in bed and out of it? He got up and tugged on the bell cord to summon Standish. He needed to see Angelique.

*** *** ***

Elizabeth spent most of the day pretending to mull over the code whilst making sure that Sir John never got a good look at the altered pages. She had to assume he had obtained a key to her desk, so she allowed him to see her tucking the code into her reticule and taking it with her whenever she left the room.

As she quit the dining room after her solitary lunch, she met the duke in the hallway. After handing his rain-dampened hat and driving coat to Standish, he gave her a curt good afternoon, took her arm, and marched her into his study.

"Have you solved the code yet?"

"Not yet, Your Grace."

His expression grew distant and he stepped away from her, running his hand through his flattened hair. Conscious of the loss of his touch and the stretch of carpet he put between them, Elizabeth tried to think of a way to placate him.

"It is proving to be more difficult than I anticipated." With a sense of dread she stole a glance at him and went still.

He watched her with the hard, unamused eyes of a stranger. "A relative of mine, Lord Vincent Delacroix, arrived in London today. I intend to take him out this evening. You will accompany us."

The duke turned on his heel and headed into the hall without waiting for her agreement. She stared at his broad back as he mounted the stairs and she longed to call out to him and lay all her problems at his feet. Only the thought of his disbelief and contempt for her half-hatched suspicions gave her pause. She needed to be sure; he at least had taught her that.