With a murmur of reassurance, he picked her up and strode to a chair by the fireside. He settled her across his lap, keeping her covered with his robe, and began to work his fingers through her dampened hair. She gave no sign of concern about being held against his naked torso and he was glad of it. Some soft part of himself that he had almost forgotten existed would have minded if she had grown afraid of him again.

He continued to untangle her hair and sought for a topic of conversation that would not embarrass her or refer to her new sensual experiences. "How is your family, Elizabeth? Did you manage to conduct a civil conversation with your mother or did she show you the door?"

"My mother made it very clear that she did not wish to see me at all, let alone converse with me, but we managed to rub along." She sighed. "I've you to thank for that. Without your intervention, I would have lost my family."

Gervase kissed the top of her head. "My pleasure, my dear. Sometimes, being a duke has its advantages." He cleared his throat. "Did you see Mr. Forester?"

"Yes, unfortunately." Elizabeth snorted and her head came off Gervase's shoulder, a militant sparkle in her eyes. "He looked at me as though nothing had changed and then made sly insinuations about my 'duties' in front of my mother and stepsister."

Gervase shook his head and the indignation died from her eyes and was replaced by disquiet.

"There is something different about them. It has been worrying me all day," Elizabeth said and Gervase held his breath. "How are they able to afford a season for Mary? I understand that it is ruinously expensive." She looked up at him with clear eyes. "Is it not so, Gervase?"

Her brow crinkled and Gervase, gratified at her unprompted use of his first name, drew his fingers over the lines until she relaxed again. "Maybe Mr. Forester has won a great deal of money, my dear. Or your mother has received a recent bequest." He shrugged. "It could be any number of things." He paused and wound one of her curls around his finger. "Have you thought to ask?"

Elizabeth sat up, his robe falling away from her breasts. "I must confess to a hint of cowardice. I was afraid my mother would refuse to let me visit if I brought up the undignified subject of money."

Gervase was anxious to hear her conclusions as to the reasons for Mr. Forester's sudden wealth and yet was intrigued by the glimpse of her life and the hardships she hid so well.

She glanced at him. "When I lived at home my mother and Mr. Forester took full advantage of my ability to work for them." She bit her lip. "Maybe it is conceit, but I assumed that without me, things would be worse and the opposite appears to be true."

Gervase, reluctant to disturb her train of thought, raised an eyebrow to encourage her to go on.

"They had a maid to open the door and the house was clean and well cared for. And, more to the point, my mother served me fresh tea and pastries." Elizabeth must have caught his lack of understanding as she smiled. "I used to be in charge of the housekeeping, and I had to watch every penny. We couldn't even afford a maid most of the time. Tea leaves were always used at least twice and all the pastries were baked by me."

An unaccountable stab of anger surprised Gervase as he imagined Elizabeth bent over a cooking range, intent on feeding her shiftless family. He took her hand in his and examined it. He ran his fingers over the faint burn marks on her skin. His frown deepened until she caught his wrist and stopped further exploration.

"Don't picture me as a drudge. I chose to take on a lot of the responsibilities because I preferred to. I tried to keep our family respectable. Is that a crime?"

He understood pride; he had been born to it. He thought none the less of her for such stubbornness and refusal to allow her family to sink into debt and disgrace.

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "No, my dear, your actions, were of course, admirable, but it still doesn't explain where Mr. Forester is getting the money for Mary's debut."

Elizabeth collapsed against him. "I know."

Reluctant to inquire further and aware of an unaccustomed sense of peace, Gervase slid his hand under Elizabeth's hair and caressed the soft nape of her neck. Her hair was almost dry now and he buried his nose in the soft mass of curls. Despite the fact that she had shared his bath water, she still retained her own unique scent.

As he inhaled, his cock thickened against her soft buttocks and he waited for Elizabeth to point it out as she inevitably would. When she said nothing, he gently tipped her head back into his open palm and gazed down at her face. She had gone to sleep.

With a wry smile, he gathered her into his arms and headed for her bedroom. For all his vaunted sexual expertise, it was the first time he had managed to bore a lady to sleep before he had exhausted her in bed. He laid her down and pulled the covers over her. He fought the urge to stay and sleep beside her, a practice he usually avoided with his mistresses, whom he paid to stay awake and amuse him, not to sleep.

He waited for a moment to see that she was settled and then headed back to his own bed.

As he blew out the candles, he began to smile. Elizabeth had learned to pleasure him and she seemed to have the ability to break code. He pictured her face. She might not be beautiful or expert in bed, but to him, she was infinitely more alluring just as she was.

Chapter 13

"But it doesn't make any sense." Elizabeth murmured as she stared at the crumpled sheets of parchment in front of her. She looked up and caught Sir John's gaze. They were sitting in his book-lined office, which now contained an extra desk for Elizabeth, making the gloomy room rather cramped.

Sir John strolled across to look over her shoulder, his expression full of interest. "Three of these documents are written in the same hand. The fourth, the one that I've already translated, is in a different hand, but it is the same code."

"Then we must assume that the writer of the original code ceased working, or was forced to stop."

He shrugged his narrow shoulders, wrinkling the already creased broadcloth even further. "I should imagine that any man who engages in such desperate deception must know the risk to his life."

Elizabeth traced the elegant swirls and curves of the script with her fingertips. "Are you saying the man who wrote these words might be dead?"

"Yes, of course, Ma'am. Unless you think he might have taken the time off for a summer vacation with his family at this crucial point in the assassination plot?"

Silence fell and Elizabeth drew in several deep breaths and allowed the lure of the code translation to neutralize her apprehension. She often forgot that the duke and Sir John lived and thrived in an underworld where life was cheap and deception commonplace.

She stole a glance at Sir John's bent head. It seemed that even the stolid, virtuous Sir John wasn't immune to the effects of such an existence.

She returned to the code and soon forgot the time as she worked on unraveling the intricacies of the puzzle. She likened it to picking apart a piece of weaving and reassembling the threads into a more pleasing pattern. She had finished translating the first two messages and was working on the third. Despite her confidence that her deductions were correct, she found the cryptic translations almost as hard to understand as the code.

She scarcely bothered to raise her head when Sir John said something to her about dinner. His departure registered in the subtle lightening of the room's atmosphere. She had discovered that Sir John's intense interest in her attempts to break the code could be a little oppressive.

When he returned, smelling strongly of the brandy he had enjoyed with his dinner, he dangled a beribboned letter in front of her nose. She recoiled from the sickly scent of attar of roses.

"Mrs. Waterstone, I have an appointment this evening. Would you be so good as to draw the duke's attention to this urgent missive when he returns? It is a letter from his current mistress, Angelique." He winked broadly. "I'm sure the duke will be eager to hear from her." He leaned in closer. "You are a woman of the world, Mrs. Waterstone and thus understand that a man has his??needs. Thank God Angelique has the ability to satisfy the duke's."

Elizabeth managed a tight smile, and wondered again how a man as self-righteous as Sir John could bear to work for the duke. She picked up the letter between her finger and thumb and tossed it onto the furthest corner of her desk.

"Of course I'll see that the duke receives this."

As time passed, the cloying scent of the letter seemed to leach all of the fresh air from the darkening room. Elizabeth tried to breathe through her mouth and ignore the growing buzz of indignation in her head. The duke had told her that she was the only woman in his life. Why had he neglected to mention that he had a permanent mistress stashed away somewhere?

With a low growl, Elizabeth gave into temptation, snatched up the letter and read its direction. The mysterious, and no doubt beautiful, Angelique appeared to live in Mayfair. Elizabeth imagined a blonde, petite temptress flinging her arms around Gervase's neck and providing him with all the sensuality Elizabeth lacked. She took in a deep breath, unclenched her jaw and glanced from the letter to the fire. What if the letter 'accidentally' wafted from her desk and was consumed in the blaze? Would the duke need to know, or would Angelique keep sending letters until she received a reply?