Page 2 of A Virgin for His Grace
"Step away from me this instant," she commanded, finding her voice and her strength simultaneously. She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing with surprising force, and Devon, caught off guard by her sudden resistance, stumbled backward a step.
"Such fire in you," he observed admiringly, straightening his cravat with practiced ease. "I begin to think I may have been courting the wrong Miss Greystone."
"You have been courting no one," Arabella snapped, moving quickly away from the wall and toward the folly's entrance. "You have been predating upon impressionable young ladies, and I shall not permit..."
Her words were cut short as Lord Godric himself appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Lady Huxley and her daughter, as well as several other guests who had apparently decided to explore the romantic garden folly.
"I say," Lord Godric exclaimed jovially, his round face creased in a delighted smile, "look whom we have discovered! Your Grace, Miss Greystone, I trust you are enjoying the evening air?"
Arabella felt the blood drain from her face as she realized how this must appear. She and the duke, alone together in the moonlit folly, her hair slightly mussed from where she had pressed against the wall, her cheeks flushed from their heatedexchange.
Lady Huxley's sharp eyes took in every detail of the scene with obvious relish. The woman was one of London's most notorious gossips, and Arabella knew with sinking certainty that by tomorrow morning, the entire ton would be buzzing with speculation about what manner of assignation they had witnessed.
"Lord Godric," Devon said smoothly, bowing with perfect courtesy as though he had not a care in the world. "Lady Huxley, Miss Huxley. Indeed, the evening is quite lovely. Miss Greystone and I were just admiring your excellent taste in garden architecture."
"Were you indeed?" Lady Huxley's voice dripped with false sweetness as her gaze moved speculatively between them. "How... educational for you both."
Arabella opened her mouth to explain, to somehow salvage the situation, but Devon spoke first.
"Miss Greystone was just expressing her appreciation for the classical influences evident in the folly's design," he said with such consummate ease that Arabella might have believed him herself had she not known better. "She has quite a scholarly mind, as I am sure you are aware."
"Oh yes," Lady Huxley replied with a smile that was sharp as a blade, "Miss Greystone is indeed known for her intellectual pursuits."
The emphasis she placed upon the words made it clear thatshe suspected pursuits of an entirely different nature had been taking place, and Arabella felt her mortification deepen. This was a disaster of the highest order. By tomorrow, her reputation would be in ruins, and Cordelia's by association.
"If you will excuse me," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, "I believe I should return to the ballroom."
She swept past the assembled group with as much dignity as she could muster, but not before she caught Devon's eye. He was watching her with an expression she could not quite read; part amusement, part something else that made her pulse quicken once more.
As she made her way back through Lord Godric's elegant gardens toward the brightly lit house, Arabella could hear the excited whispers beginning behind her. Lady Huxley's voice carried clearly on the night air: "Well, I never would have expected it of the Greystone girl. So prim and proper, and yet..."
Arabella quickened her pace, but she could not outrun the consequences of what had just occurred. She had entered that folly with the noble intention of protecting her sister's virtue, and instead had emerged with her own reputation in tatters.
Worse still was the memory of those few moments when the duke's touch had made her forget everything else. Her duty, her principles, even her own name. She had felt something awaken within her, something wild and wanton that she had never suspected existed.
As she reached the terrace and prepared to rejoin the ball, Arabella caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of thelong windows. Her hair was indeed disheveled, her lips slightly swollen as though she had been thoroughly kissed, her eyes bright with an emotion she dared not name.
She looked, she realized with dawning horror, exactly like a woman who had been conducting a clandestine affair with London's most notorious rake.
And the worst part of all was that, despite everything, a small, shameful part of her wished that she actually had been.
Chapter 2
"The scandal sheets shall have a field day with this, remember my words."
Lady Greystone paced the length of the morning room with quick, agitated steps, her breakfast growing cold upon the mahogany table as she wrung her hands in distress. The London papers lay scattered across the polished surface, their headlines screaming the sort of salacious gossip that the ton devoured with their morning tea.
"Mama, surely the situation cannot be as dire as all that," Cordelia ventured from her seat near the window, though her blue eyes were wide with concern as she glanced toward her elder sister.
Arabella sat rigidly upright in her chair, her hands folded precisely in her lap, every line of her body speaking of barely controlled composure. She had not slept a wink the previous night, replaying every moment of that disastrous encounter in Lord Godric's folly, and the dark smudges beneath her eyes bore testament to her sleepless vigil.
"Not as dire?" Lady Greystone's voice rose to a pitch that made the crystal chandelier tinkle ominously. "My dear child, your sister has been thoroughly compromised by the most notorious rake in London. The morning callers have already begun sending their regrets for this afternoon's tea. Lady Huxley has made certain that every drawing room in Mayfair is buzzing with speculation about what transpired between Arabella andthe Duke of Ravenshollow."
Lord Richard Greystone lowered his newspaper with a rustle of displeasure, his weathered face grave as he regarded his elder daughter. "The question now becomes what we are to do about it. There are but two courses of action available to us."
Arabella's stomach clenched with dread, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. "And what might those be, Papa?"
"You must either marry the duke," Lord Richard said with the blunt practicality that had served him well in Parliament, "or face complete social ostracism. There is no middle ground in such matters."
