Page 28 of A Virgin for His Grace
"Is it not?" She pulled away from his embrace, suddenly desperate to put distance between them despite her state of undress. "Then what did you mean, exactly? That I should be content to serve as your mistress whilst you eventually marry some suitable young lady of impeccable breeding and virgin innocence?"
The crude words made Devon flinch, and he reached for her again, only to have her step beyond his grasp.
"Arabella, please. You do not understand..."
"I understand perfectly," she said with icy dignity, gathering her discarded garments with hands that trembled only slightly. "I understand that I have been a fool of the highest order,allowing myself to believe that what we shared might mean something more than mere physical gratification."
As she struggled to restore some semblance of propriety to her appearance, Devon watched with an expression of such naked longing that it took all her strength not to throw herself back into his arms.
"It does mean something," he said quietly. "More than you know, more than I have any right to feel."
"But not enough," Arabella replied with heartbreaking simplicity. "Not enough to overcome your fear of commitment, your determination to remain unencumbered by the inconvenient emotions of others."
Devon opened his mouth as though to argue, then closed it again, apparently unable to deny the fundamental truth of her accusation. The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words that could not be spoken, all the feelings that could not be acknowledged.
"I should return to my chambers," Arabella said finally, her voice carefully controlled despite the tears that threatened to fall. "It would not do for the servants to discover their master's... indiscretion."
"Arabella..."
"No," she interrupted with quiet finality. "No pretty words, no false promises. We both know what this was, what it can never be. Let us at least preserve that much honesty between us."
As she moved toward the door, Devon's voice stopped her one final time.
"I never meant for this to happen," he said with raw honesty. "I never meant to hurt you."
Arabella paused with her hand on the door handle, not trusting herself to turn and face him again.
"I know," she whispered. "But you have, nonetheless. And the worst part is that despite everything, despite knowing that you can never give me what I truly need, I do not regret what we shared tonight. I regret only that it cannot be the beginning of something beautiful rather than the end of everything we might have been."
With that devastating admission, she fled his study, leaving Devon alone with his brandy and his regrets and the haunting scent of her perfume that seemed to permeate every corner of his private sanctuary.
As he sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands, Devon reflected bitterly on the irony of his situation. He had spent years avoiding emotional entanglements, building carefully constructed walls around his heart to prevent exactly this sort of devastating vulnerability.
Yet Arabella had breached every defense he possessed, making him want things he had sworn never to desire, making him dream of a future he had convinced himself was impossible.
And now, when he finally understood what he had been missing all these years, he was faced with the devastatingknowledge that his past choices had made it impossible for him to claim the one woman he had ever truly wanted.
The brandy tasted bitter on his tongue as he contemplated the wreckage of his carefully ordered life, wondering if there was any way to repair the damage, he had done to the woman who had become more precious to him than his own life.
But as the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the small hours of the morning, Devon could find no easy answers, no simple solutions to the complex web of emotion and obligation that bound them together.
All he knew was that he could not and would not let her go, regardless of the cost to his own peace of mind or her future happiness.
For better or worse, Arabella Greystone had become as essential to his existence as breathing itself.
And he would be cursed if he would allow anyone, including his own cowardly heart, to take her away from him.
Chapter 9
"Good morning, Miss Greystone. I trust you slept peacefully?"
The question was almost growing repetitive. But it was also becoming a part of her odd routine in this household. Devon's voice carried across the breakfast room with such studied politeness that it might have fooled anyone who had not witnessed the passionate abandon they had shared mere hours before. He sat rigidly upright at the head of the mahogany table, his morning dress immaculate despite the shadows beneath his dark eyes that spoke of his own sleepless night.
Arabella paused in the doorway, her hand tightening on the door frame as she struggled to maintain her composure under his penetrating gaze. She had spent what remained of the night alternating between tears of heartbreak and burning memories of pleasure, her body still tender from his possession whilst her heart ached with the knowledge that it could never happen again.
"Tolerably well, Your Grace," she replied with matching formality, though her voice caught slightly on the words as she moved to her customary place at the table. "And yourself?"
"Well enough," Devon said curtly, his attention apparently fixed upon the newspaper folded beside his plate though she noticed that his hands trembled almost imperceptibly as he reached for his coffee cup.
