"Lean forward, Elizabeth, and put your hands on either side of the table and keep looking into the mirror."

Mindlessly, Elizabeth obeyed the duke's command and bent forward. She watched him reposition the candles until her face was illuminated and his remained in the shadows. The soft whisper of silk reached her straining ears as he lifted her skirts and petticoat and folded them neatly at her waist.

She shivered as the cold air hit her naked skin and Gervase made a sound of approval. She inhaled the hint of citrus from his cologne mixed with the scent of his arousal and relaxed against the supporting table. He ran his hands from her hips to her ankles and then sank to his knees. She could no longer see his intent face in the mirror, only the top of his head. She tensed as he grasped her ankles and began to kiss his way up the insides of her legs.

When his mouth closed over her most intimate flesh she moaned but he held her still, his tongue a flicking, probing torment that made her arch her back and brazenly seek the devilment of his touch. Pleasure consumed her and she started to tremble as he gave her one last lascivious lick and slowly rose to his feet.

He held her gaze in the mirror as he unbuttoned his breeches and leaned over her. "Watch me, Elizabeth and let me watch you."

He filled her slowly, keeping his gaze locked to hers, allowing her to see the blatant lust that colored his expression. She sighed as his flat, furred stomach pressed against her back and he was completely buried inside her. He held still, waiting for her to relax and accommodate his cock. When her tight grip eased a little, he withdrew and then repeated his long, smooth drive inwards. He brought his hand up from her hip and ran his fingers down the side of her throat until they settled over her breast.

"Watch me touch you, ma belle." He rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb and eased his hips into the same light, tantalizing rhythm.

Elizabeth tried to endure his shallow, incomplete thrusts as best she could. His silvered eyes caught hers in the mirror as his hand slid around to cup her between her legs.

"Do you know why men like this particular position so much, my dear?"

Goaded well beyond her normal politeness, Elizabeth hissed. "So that they don't have to look at a woman's face and make conversation?"

He laughed. "That is highly amusing, ma belle, but not what I had in mind. And not what we are doing at all." He leaned into the small of her back, pushing her sex forward into the palm of his hand. "No, it is because a man has control. He can control the depth of his thrusts and his partners' movements."

"I can vouch for that," Elizabeth muttered as Gervase continued moving against her with his infuriatingly slow pace and frustrating, light rhythm.

"Ah, but you will glad that I made you wait in the end, Elizabeth, trust me on that."

As she hovered uncertainly on the brink of another climax, Elizabeth clearly heard the distant clanging of the front door bell and the sound of a carriage being driven around the side of the house toward the stables.

"Our guests are arriving, my dear. I wonder if my butler will send them down here to find us or make them wait in the receiving rooms?" She gasped as he drove deeply inside her. "Who would you prefer to find us like this? My butler or my mother?"

"Your, your mother is here?" She squeaked.

His fingers pressed once, twice urgently against her swollen flesh and she shattered for him. He quickly muffled her scream with his hand as he joined her in the fiery climax.

Before she could begin to breathe normally, let alone speak, he refastened her bodice, shook out her skirts and hurried her to the far corner of the huge room. He opened a concealed door and pointed up a narrow flight of stairs.

"Go up two levels and then look for a door on your right. You will find yourself in my bedchamber. You have ten minutes to make yourself presentable and meet me in the formal entrance hall, now go!"

Gervase shut the door behind her and returned to the mirror to attend to his own disheveled state of dress. He smoothed a hand through his disordered hair and drew in several deep breaths. As far as he knew, his mother was in Brighton. He was expecting a selection of local residents and vague relations whom he was duty-bound to entertain.

He smiled as he straightened his cravat, recalling Elizabeth's dismayed expression and hasty retreat. He wondered if she would have the courage to come back down and hoped that she would. His little brown bird had all the nerve of a fighting cock. He grimaced as his own particular cock responded to that notion far too well.

With a final glance at his now-immaculate reflection, Gervase pasted on a welcoming smile and strolled down the corridor to greet his guests.

Chapter 25

Elizabeth paused on the landing above the medieval hall and looked down upon the assembled guests. She patted her hair, pushed in an errant pin, and checked that the three flounces of her lavender silk dress were straight. Assuming a gracious smile, she made her way down the stairs, murmuring greetings to those near enough to hear her.

It took her only two minutes to find out from the helpful butler that the duke's mother was currently residing in Brighton and had not decided to honor her only son with a visit. She lifted her chin and, head held high, went in search of the duke. She found him in the gold drawing room, sleek head bent over a diminutive lady of indeterminate age who clutched determinedly at his sleeve.

Elizabeth smiled as she curtsied and let the duke see the retribution in her eyes. He inclined his head an indolent half an inch, a suggestion of smug satisfaction in his expression that made Elizabeth long to hit him.

"Ah, Mrs. Waterstone, there you are."

She winced as the duke raised his voice and shouted into the shell like ear of the elderly lady beside him. "Aunt Agnes, this is my guest, Mrs. Waterstone. I was telling you about her earlier."

"Mrs. Waterstone, this is my great aunt, Lady Cottlesmore. She lives in the dower house on the estate with her three unmarried daughters."

Elizabeth glanced over the duke's shoulder at the three drably dressed ladies clustered by the window. She nodded politely and they twittered to each other behind their hands as though she had said something daring.

The duke smiled winningly at Elizabeth and transferred his aunt's hand to her gloved fingers. The duke's aunt looked up at her, avid interest in her shrewd brown eyes.

"Mrs. Waterstone, the duke has told me that you are related to the Diable Delamere family." Her old and quavery voice sounded worse than a badly played violin. "Was your mother one of Matilda's girls?"

Elizabeth lightly fluttered her fan and glared at the duke over the top of it before striving for an airy laugh. "I married into the family, ma'am and cannot consider myself well acquainted with all the branches."

The duke bowed and stepped back. "I shall leave you two ladies to reminisce. I'm sure you will have a lot to talk about."

Elizabeth resigned herself to an uncomfortable half an hour as she led Lady Cottlesmore to the nearest couch and sat down with her, an attentive smile fixed on her face. While the old lady debated family history, mainly to herself, Elizabeth observed the duke as he circled the room, making himself pleasant to his guests.

He seemed more at ease here than he ever did in London. She wished she had a similar refuge and suppressed the unbidden yearning that her refuge could also be his.

With gentle patience, Elizabeth allowed Lady Cottlesmore to talk herself into accepting Elizabeth's relationship with the family before she gracefully made her escape. The duke stood alone by the door after having showed two of his guests outside.

Elizabeth stormed up to him and gave her best curtsey.

"Thank you, Your Grace, for a most stimulating half an hour. I feel as though I'm indeed part of your family now."

"You are quite welcome, my dear. I knew you would enjoy flexing your admirable wits."

Before Elizabeth could answer, a footman appeared and opened the series of connecting doorways that led through to the picture gallery. Several of the guests wandered past them and the duke glanced down at her. "Shall we finish our tour?"

She allowed him to lead her into the picture gallery and stopped dead when her eyes focused on the end table where the duke had abandoned the extra candelabrum. His quiet laughter stirred the soft curls at the nape of her neck and other unmentionable areas.

"It is all right, ma belle. No one would guess you had been made love to in front of that very mirror not an hour ago. You look perfectly respectable, not even a ruffled feather on my little brown bird."

"Your behavior was inexcusable, sir. How dare you pretend I was about to meet your mother?"

The duke spun her away from him and dropped a light kiss on the back of her gloved hand. "I've told you before, Elizabeth, it is one of my ambitions in life to silence you. I can only congratulate myself that my strategy worked so well."

Unable to contain her agitation, Elizabeth moved sharply away from the duke and almost collided with the butler. Her abrupt movements brought her up against the family portraits that she hadn't seen on her previous visit. She stilled as she stared at a wistful young Gervase clutching a puppy, his father's protective hand on Gervase's shoulder.

Elizabeth almost missed the next portrait, which was half hidden in the shadows. In it she recognized the duke and his wife, Imelda. Between them stood a little boy of maybe two or three. Drawn by a strange compulsion, Elizabeth moved closer to study the family grouping. Gervase's son was dark-haired and his eyes slanted up at the corners.