"Do you wish to return home with Mr. Forester?"
The duke's soft question caused the remainder of Elizabeth's stored courage to crumble. "My mother has forbidden me the house. She fears I might tarnish my half-sister's reputation."
The duke stood and crossed to the fireplace. He tugged on the bell. "You need to rest. For the moment, consider my house your own. When you awaken, we will talk again, I promise you."
She nodded, too weary to resist him and too weary to care. As they waited for the summons to be answered, the duke returned to his desk, took up a sheet of parchment, and began to write.
Elizabeth stared at his bent head. In repose, he had long eyelashes and high cheekbones Elizabeth wished were her own.
"I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't know what else to do."
His pen stopped moving and he raised his head. For the first time, his eyes met hers without a hint of disdain.
"You did nothing I did not deserve. And that, my dear, is why I'm prepared to help you."
Elizabeth allowed herself to be escorted from the room by his housekeeper. Her stepfather waited in the hall, hands clasped behind his back, as he studied an immense portrait of the present duke. His shrewd eyes sought Elizabeth's, an anxious question in them, but she swept past him without a word. She would take the duke's offer of a refuge and pray that some solution would present itself to her troubled mind by the calm light of morning.
Gervase lounged in his chair, his fingers drumming on the armrest, as he awaited the return of Mr. Forester. His first instinct was to beat the man half to death for his treatment of his stepdaughter. Hard-won maturity and wiser counsel prevailed as Gervase admitted that his own treatment of Miss Waterstone had been nearly as brutal.
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.
Chapter 3
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."