Page 4 of A Virgin for His Grace
Lady Greystone was looking between them with barely concealed hope. The prospect of her daughter avoiding complete social ruin was clearly more appealing than the alternative, regardless of the circumstances that had created the necessity.
"And what of marriage?" Lord Richard asked bluntly. "Honour would seem to demand..."
"Honour," Devon interrupted with a slight hardening of his features, "would be better served by preserving Miss Arabella's reputation than by forcing her into an unwanted union. I have no intention of marrying, Lord Richard, now or ever. Any woman who accepted my proposal would find herself wed to a man incapable of providing the devotion she deserves."
The words were spoken so matter-of-factly, with such casual dismissal of matrimony as a possibility, that Arabella felt something twist painfully in her chest. She had not realized until that moment that some small, treacherous part of her had been hoping for a different sort of proposal entirely.
"I see," she said quietly, surprised by how steady her voice sounded when her entire world felt as though it were crumbling around her. "And this arrangement? How long would it be expected to last?"
"Until Livia is successfully established in society," Devon replied. "A season, perhaps two at most. Long enough for the current scandal to fade from memory and for you to emerge with your reputation intact."
"It is a generous offer," Lord Richard said slowly, though his tone suggested he was still grappling with the implications. "Most generous indeed."
Arabella looked around the room at her family's expectant faces, seeing her own fate written in their expressions. Cordelia appeared worried but hopeful, clearly believing that her sister's association with a duke, even as a servant, was better than social exile. Lady Greystone was practically radiating relief at the prospect of avoiding complete disgrace. And Lord Richard,practical man that he was, obviously recognized the offer for what it was, a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman.
"I require time to consider your proposal, Your Grace," Arabella said finally, though they all knew she had no real choice in the matter.
Devon rose from his chair with fluid grace, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her feel as though they were alone in the room. "Of course. Though I confess I hope you will look favourably upon the arrangement. I believe you would find Livia's company quite agreeable, and my household staff is instructed to show you every courtesy."
He moved toward the door, then paused, turning back with an expression that was suddenly, startlingly sincere. "Miss Arabella, I want you to understand that this situation was never my intention. I regret any distress I may have caused you or your family."
Before Arabella could respond, he was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of sandalwood and bergamot and the echo of words that seemed to carry far more weight than a simple apology.
"Well," Lady Greystone said into the silence that followed his departure, "I believe we must count ourselves fortunate indeed. To be offered such a position by a duke..."
"I am to be a servant," Arabella interrupted, her carefully maintained composure finally beginning to crack. "A paid companion to ease his sister's social anxieties whilst he continues his debauched existence without a thought for thelives he has destroyed."
"You are to be preserved from utter ruin," her father said firmly. "And if you conduct yourself with dignity, you may yet emerge from this scandal with your honour intact. Many young ladies would count themselves fortunate to receive such an offer from a man of Ravenshollow's standing."
Arabella wanted to laugh at the bitter irony of it all. Twenty-four hours ago, she had been Miss Arabella Greystone, respectable daughter of a baron, free to reject suitors and speak her mind and live her life according to her own principles. Now she was a fallen woman, dependent upon the charity of the very man who had orchestrated her downfall.
"When must I give His Grace my answer?" she asked quietly.
"I believe," Lord Richard said with gentle sympathy, "that we all know what your answer must be, my dear. The only question is whether you will accept gracefully or allow pride to make a difficult situation even more trying."
Arabella nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of his words even as her heart rebelled against them. She had no choice but to accept Devon's offer, to place herself under his protection and pretend that it was salvation rather than a different sort of imprisonment.
But as she sat in the morning room, surrounded by her family's well-meaning sympathy and the detritus of her former life, Arabella made herself a promise. She would accept the Duke of Ravenshollow's bargain, would serve as his sister's companion with dignity and grace. But she would not, wouldnever, allow herself to forget that he was the architect of her current circumstances.
And she would certainly not allow herself to remember the way her pulse had quickened when his fingers had traced the line of her jaw, or the shameful longing that had coursed through her veins when he had looked at her as though she were the most fascinating woman in all of London.
Those were luxuries that a paid companion could not afford.
Chapter 3
"I trust you understand, Miss Arabella, that discretion shall be the cue of our association."
Devon stood behind the massive mahogany desk in his study, his hands clasped behind his back as he regarded Arabella sitting with the sort of cool formality that might have been appropriate between strangers rather than two people who had shared such a charged encounter mere days before.
Arabella maintained her composure with effort, her back straight as a ramrod as she faced the man who had become, through circumstances both scandalous and unavoidable, her employer. She had arrived at his Grosvenor Square mansion not an hour past, her modest belongings having been delivered by her father's carriage along with a terse note of gratitude for His Grace's magnanimous gesture.
"Naturally, Your Grace," she replied evenly, though inwardly she bristled at his presumption. "I am quite capable of conducting myself with appropriate discretion."
Devon's dark eyes glittered with what might have been amusement. "I do not doubt your capabilities, Miss Arabella. However, I feel it necessary to establish certain... parameters for our arrangement from the outset."
He moved around the desk with that predatory grace she remembered all too well, settling into the chair opposite her own. The action placed them on a more equal footing, yetsomehow made the encounter feel more intimate rather than less so.
"Such as?" Arabella inquired, proud of the steadiness of her voice despite the way her pulse had quickened at his proximity.
