Page 25 of A Virgin for His Grace
The crude implication made Arabella's cheeks burn with humiliation and anger, yet she forced herself to remain where she was, recognizing that any reaction would only provide additional fuel for the gossips' fire.
Unfortunately, Devon had also overheard the malicious comments, and his reaction was far less restrained. His conversation with Lord Stanton ceased abruptly as he turned toward Lady Huxley with an expression that would have frozen a river in midsummer.
"I beg your pardon, Lady Huxley," he said with deadly politeness, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly silent drawing room. "Did I perhaps mishear your comments regarding my household arrangements?"
The challenge was delivered with such cold authority that Lady Huxley's confident malice faltered visibly, her face paling as she realized she had overplayed her hand.
"Your Grace, I merely..."
"You merely chose to cast aspersions upon the character of alady under my protection," Devon continued with silky menace. "How remarkably uncharitable of you."
The emphasis he placed upon the word 'uncharitable' made it clear that he had not forgotten her earlier comments about his own supposed charity in employing Arabella, and his displeasure was evident to anyone with the wit to recognize it.
"I assure you, no offence was intended."
"Was it not?" Devon's smile was sharp as a blade as he moved closer to the increasingly uncomfortable matron. "How fascinating. I had always understood that ladies of breeding were taught to speak well of others, particularly those who cannot defend themselves. Perhaps standards have declined since my Mother’s Day."
The comparison to his sainted mother, a woman whose charity and virtue had been legendary, was a masterstroke that left Lady Huxley speechless with mortification. Around them, the other guests watched with fascination as one of society's most notorious gossips found herself thoroughly outmaneuvered by her intended victim.
"Now then," Devon continued with the same dangerous courtesy, "I trust that any future comments regarding my sister's companion will reflect the respect due to a lady of Miss Greystone's accomplishments and breeding. After all, we would not wish anyone to think that envy might be motivating such... uncharitable observations."
The word 'envy' hung in the air like a poison dart, and Lady Huxley's face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and furyat being so publicly chastised. Yet she had no choice but to incline her head in acknowledgment of his warning, her earlier confidence completely demolished.
"Of course, Your Grace. I spoke without proper consideration."
"Indeed, you did," Devon agreed with that same silky menace. "I trust it will not happen again."
As he turned away from the thoroughly chastened gossip, Devon's eyes sought out Arabella across the room, and she felt her pulse quicken at the possessive satisfaction she glimpsed in his dark gaze. He had defended her honor as thoroughly as any knight of old defending his lady, and the knowledge that he considered her worthy of such protection sent warmth flooding through her entire being.
Yet even as she basked in the glow of his championship, Arabella could not ignore the implications of his very public display of possessiveness. By defending her so forcefully, so passionately, he had essentially announced to all of society that she was under his special protection. A declaration that would inevitably fuel speculation about the true nature of their relationship.
As the evening progressed and they prepared to take their leave, Arabella reflected on the complex web of emotions and obligations that bound her to the Duke of Ravenshollow. She had entered his service as a matter of necessity, seeking only to preserve what remained of her reputation and independence.
Yet somewhere along the way, the boundaries betweenemployer and employee, protector and protected, had become blurred beyond recognition. She was no longer certain whether she was saving herself from scandal or walking directly into a trap of her own making.
What she did know was that Devon's fierce defense of her honor tonight had only deepened her dangerous attraction to a man who remained as much mystery as he was temptation.
And as his carriage carried them through the dark London streets toward Ravenshollow Manor, Arabella found herself wondering whether she possessed the strength to resist the pull of a passion that threatened to consume them both.
Chapter 8
"This cannot continue, Arabella. This pretence of indifference, this careful dance around what lies between us. It is driving me to distraction."
Devon's voice was rough with barely suppressed emotion as he paced the length of his private study, his evening clothes disheveled and his dark hair mussed as though he had been running his hands through it in frustration. The brandy glass in his hand was nearly empty, and Arabella suspected it was not his first of the evening.
She stood near the door, still wearing her evening gown from Lady Worthington's soirée, her hands clasped tightly before her as she struggled to maintain the professional composure that had become increasingly difficult to sustain.
"Your Grace, I hardly think..."
"Do not," Devon interrupted with dangerous intensity, turning to face her with eyes that blazed with suppressed fire. "Do not address me with that cursed formality when we are alone. Not after what passed between us tonight, not after the way you looked at me when I defended your honour against that harridan's vicious tongue."
The memory of his passionate defense at the soirée sent heat coursing through Arabella's veins, though she fought to maintain her rational thoughts. "You defended me as any gentleman would defend a lady under his protection. There wasnothing inappropriate in your conduct."
Devon's laugh was harsh and entirely without humor. "Was there not? Then tell me, Arabella, why is every gossip in London now speculating about the exact nature of our relationship? Why did Lord Stanton feel compelled to warn me that my obvious partiality for you was becoming the subject of drawing room conversation?"
The revelation that their charged dynamic had become fodder for society's endless appetite for scandal made Arabella's stomach clench with dread. She had hoped that her careful maintenance of professional distance might preserve some semblance of propriety, yet it seemed that Devon's passionate nature made such subterfuge impossible.
"Then perhaps," she said quietly, "it would be best if I sought employment elsewhere. Surely there are other families who might..."
