Mr. Carter was just about to speak when the bell, connected to the above stairs front door, jangled. Mr. Carter put on his coat and ushered Elizabeth out of the room. "Excuse me, miss, I've to answer the door and you will be late for your music lesson if you don't run along."

Elizabeth turned toward the stairway. Even Mr. Carter treated her like a five-year-old. How was she to stand it for the rest of her life? She would have to marry soon. At least marriage would give her a modicum of independence. She paused at the top of the stairs. It seemed that fashionable men wanted as their wives spoiled children who never grew up. She couldn't bear it...

As she opened the green baize door and stepped into the hall, she became aware of a peculiar silence around her. Her heart gave a mad jolt. The Duke of Diable Delamere stood next to the butler, calmly removing his gloves and hat. He glanced her way and then appeared to ignore her as Mr. Carter preceded him at a stately pace up the stairs to the morning room, where her grandmother received visitors.

Elizabeth ducked back into the servants' hallway and ran up the back stairs to the next floor. She reached the morning room just before Mr. Carter and the duke ascended the final stair. Ignoring her grandmother's startled inquiry, Elizabeth resumed her seat just as the butler announced the duke.

Breathlessly, she watched as he crossed the room and took her grandmother's hand in his, conversing with the ease of long acquaintance. He waited to be introduced to Mary and Elizabeth and barely touched Elizabeth's fingers with his own.

With a growing sense of indignation, Elizabeth rang for tea and then listened for a torturous quarter of an hour while the duke talked about the weather, about his daughter, Eloise, and about an impending visit to the Royal Gardens at Kew.

When he got up to leave, after a socially correct fifteen minutes, Elizabeth found herself standing as well. With a last murmured compliment, he was gone. Elizabeth stared after him, her mouth agape and her thoughts in turmoil. Without any further consideration, she ran down the stairs after him. He turned as she confronted him in the hall.

"Don't you dare leave without talking to me," Elizabeth gasped, one hand pressed to her bodice. "Don't you dare treat me as though I'm nothing more than a passing acquaintance."

The duke raised an eyebrow and turned to Mr. Carter, who held open the door to General Waterstone's study. Elizabeth marched inside, her nose in the air, and Gervase followed, closing the door behind him. She folded her arms as the duke walked past her and halted behind her grandfather's desk.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to continue, but the duke made a decisive motion with his hand.

"Please sit down, Miss Waterstone, otherwise good manners will compel me to stand as well, and I'm still rather weak from my wound."

Elizabeth cast him a suspicious look and grudgingly subsided into the chair in front of the desk. Her conscience tugged at her as she looked at him properly for the first time. He did seem a little weary.

"I apologize if you thought I was avoiding you, Miss Waterstone. I was under the impression that you wished me to the devil. I only called to reassure myself and Eloise that everything was well with you." He paused. "Was there something in particular you wished to say to me?"

Suddenly, Elizabeth lost all desire to speak. His disarming apology had stripped her of any wish to fight with him, and yet she couldn't quite bring herself to apologize either.

"I merely wanted to thank you for employing Michael, Your Grace," she said primly, wishing she had the strength to say exactly what she felt. "I'm sure he will make you an admirable secretary."

He smiled at her and she fought the urge to smile back. "He reminds me of you, Miss Waterstone, and I've no higher compliment to pay him than that."

Elizabeth felt herself blushing and still couldn't think of a thing to say.

"I expect you might also want to know what has happened to Mr. Llewelyn?"

"Only with regards to his employment, Your Grace." Elizabeth said quickly. "I would hate to think he is suffering because I could no longer pay him."

The duke looked pained. "There is no fear of that, Miss Waterstone. Mr. Llewelyn appears to have many sources of income. In truth, I've a suspicion that he was deliberately put in your way by another party to learn all he could about the assassination plot." He shrugged. "I don't know the details, but he has given me his word he doesn't work for the French, and with that I've had to be satisfied."

He looked down at his hands. "If it brings you any comfort, Elizabeth, I spoke to your mother this morning. She didn't realize Sir John meant to kill you when she ordered him to take you away."

Elizabeth allowed his words to soothe the aching wound her mother's betrayal had opened inside her. "Thank you, Your Grace, that is indeed good to know."

She blinked as the duke shot to his feet and began to pace the room. If she hadn't known him better, she would have sworn that he was nervous.

"Miss Waterstone, I'm afraid that I started off on the wrong foot the last time that we spoke. I prosed on about duty and patriotism without really getting to what I wanted to say, or apologizing to you properly."

Elizabeth found her voice. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, Your Grace. I deeply regret everything I said to you on that occasion."

The duke didn't seem to hear her. He sat down again, fiddled with the quill pen on the desk, and rearranged her grandfather's papers before sparing her a glance.

"I understand that your grandparents are happy for you to stay here, and intend to bring you out in society." He hesitated. "But I wonder if that is what you really want. Have you thought about the restrictions a young lady at home is forced to endure?"

Her heart threatened to explode from her chest. She gave him a wary smile and returned to her perusal of the view from the window.

He laughed softly. "God forbid that the ton ever discovers that you are a bluestocking. Believe me, your grandmother will not encourage you to speak your mind to anyone, let alone gentlemen suitors."

Elizabeth folded her arms and lifted her chin. "You are being ridiculous, Your Grace. I'm too old to be treated like a seventeen-year-old ninnyhammer. I'm sure my grandparents will realize this soon."

"Soon? Do I understand you to mean they have already questioned your choices and curtailed your activities?"

Elizabeth blushed. She had forgotten how well he read her. "What are you suggesting, Your Grace?"

He gazed into her eyes, "I've another position to offer you."

"I think we tried every position possible, Your Grace."

His lips quirked. "Not quite, my dear." He placed his hands flat on the desk and took a deep breath. "The position I'm speaking of is as my duchess."

Elizabeth stared at him until his gaze dropped to his outstretched fingers. "What did you say?" she whispered.

"I'm asking you to be my wife. You have all the attributes I require. You are exceptionally bright, you are loyal to a fault, and you fill my bed admirably." He let out his breath. "I meant to ask you to marry me the last time we met, but I handled it rather badly."

"The thought of marriage had occurred to me." Elizabeth replied. "It might surprise you to know that I've already received two offers of marriage. One of them from your cousin, Vincent."

The duke drew his pistol from his pocket and laid it on the desk. "How interesting, my dear. Marry either one of them, and I will make you a widow on your wedding night."

Elizabeth smiled. "You have no say in the matter. I'm a free agent, Your Grace."

"Not as free as you might be with me, my love."

Elizabeth turned her back on him. "Why is that, Your Grace?"

He came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Because I will allow you to be the woman you want to be. I will never shut you in a drawing room and insist that you content yourself with womanly pursuits. I will never stop you from interfering in my work and, if the occasion demands it, from saving my life."

Elizabeth shuddered as he kissed her throat. "You have helped me regain a part of myself I thought lost forever. You have taught me how to love and how to trust again. You are my soul, Elizabeth."

His hand tightened and he turned her around to face him. She fixed her eyes on his intricately tied cravat and tried to marshal what little sense she had left. His fingers stole under her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"I want you to share my life. I want you in my bed, I want you to have my children, and I want you to grow old with me." He kissed her nose. "And I promise that if you do these things, I will never want another woman for as long as I live."

She carefully studied his face, noticing the fresh lines of worry and tiredness that the last tense days had etched on his skin. He smiled, released her shoulders and raised her hand to his lips.

"I understand that you might wish to think about my proposal, Miss Waterstone, and, rest assured, I will not allow anyone to pressure you into accepting me." He paused but she still couldn't speak and his gaze fell to his boots. After another long silence, he released her fingers and headed for the door.

Elizabeth tensed as he hesitated, his hand on the door, his smile bittersweet. "I always enjoy having the last word with you, Elizabeth, but I must confess that on this occasion I would much rather have heard you speak." He removed a non-existent speck from the sleeve of his gray coat. "I seem to have run out of words to convince you, unless the thought that my heart will always be yours is any consolation?"