Page 35 of A Virgin for His Grace
Whitmore's face flushed with obvious anger at this unexpected rejection, his polished facade cracking to reveal something far less pleasant beneath.
"Decline? Miss Greystone, I think you fail to understand the reality of your position. You are a ruined woman, dependent upon the charity of a notorious rake whose protection could be withdrawn at any moment. I offer you respectability, security, a chance to reclaim your place in society and you refuse?"
"I do indeed refuse," Arabella said with growing steel in her voice. "I refuse to bind myself to a man who views marriage as a transaction in which my gratitude would be payment for his condescension. I refuse to accept that my worth as a woman depends entirely upon my marital status. And I most emphatically refuse to listen to any further aspersions upon the character of my employer, who has shown me nothing but kindness and respect."
"Kindness and respect?" Whitmore's laugh was harsh with disbelief. "My dear, naive girl, do you truly believe that Ravenshollow's motives are so pure? A man of his reputation does not engage a beautiful woman as his sister's companion without expecting certain considerations in return."
The crude implication made Arabella rise from her chair with sudden violence, her carefully maintained composure finally shattering completely.
"How dare you?" she breathed, her voice trembling with rage. "How dare you come into this house and speak such vile calumnies about people whose boots you are not worthy to lick?"
"Calumnies?" Whitmore stood as well; his own anger now fully unleashed. "I speak only the truth that everyone in London knows but is too polite to say aloud. You are living under the protection of a man whose seductions are legendary, occupyinga position that places you in constant proximity to temptation. Do you expect me to believe that nothing improper has occurred between you?"
The accusation struck too close to the truth for comfort, and Arabella felt her cheeks burn with guilty knowledge even as she raised her chin in defiant denial.
"I expect you to behave as a gentleman and refrain from such offensive speculation about matters that are none of your concern."
"None of my concern?" Whitmore's voice rose with indignation. "When I have offered you the protection of my name, when I have been willing to overlook your tarnished reputation for the sake of what I believed to be genuine affection, how can you say it is none of my concern?"
"Because I never asked for your protection," Arabella replied with icy precision. "I never encouraged your suit; never gave you reason to believe your addresses would be welcome. Your assumptions about my circumstances and your supposed willingness to 'overlook' my reputation are both unwanted and insulting."
Before Whitmore could respond to this devastating set-down, the morning room door opened with a soft click, and Devon appeared on the threshold with the sort of dangerous calm that made the very air seem to crackle with tension.
He was still dressed in his riding attire, his dark hair slightly windswept and his boots gleaming with a polish that spoke to his valet's meticulous attention to detail. Yet it was not his sartorialelegance that commanded attention, but rather the predatory stillness of his posture and the glittering fury in his dark eyes as he took in the scene before him.
"Mr. Whitmore," he said with silky courtesy that fooled no one. "How unexpected to find you calling upon Miss Greystone."
Whitmore's face paled slightly at the duke's unexpected appearance, though he attempted to maintain his composure with visible effort.
"Your Grace. I was merely paying my respects to Miss Greystone, as any gentleman might do."
"Were you indeed?" Devon moved into the room with that predatory grace that never failed to make Arabella's pulse quicken, positioning himself slightly behind her chair in a gesture that was unmistakably protective. "How very... thoughtful of you."
The pause before the word 'thoughtful' invested it with such menace that Whitmore took an involuntary step backward, clearly recognizing that he had somehow wandered into dangerous territory.
"I trust," Devon continued with the same deadly courtesy, "that Miss Greystone has been made to feel... comfortable during your visit?"
"Perfectly comfortable, Your Grace," Arabella interjected quickly, sensing that the situation was rapidly spiraling beyond her control. "Mr. Whitmore was just taking his leave."
"Was he?" Devon's gaze never left Whitmore's increasingly uncomfortable face. "How unfortunate that his visit must be cut short. I do so hope he was able to accomplish whatever purpose brought him here."
The subtle emphasis on the word 'purpose' made it clear that Devon had overheard at least part of their conversation, and Whitmore's flush deepened with obvious embarrassment and anger.
"I believe I accomplished what I came to do," he said stiffly, though his gaze flickered between Devon and Arabella with obvious unease. "Miss Greystone has been made aware of my sentiments."
"Has she indeed?" Devon's smile was sharp as a blade. "And her response to those sentiments was, I trust, all that you had hoped?"
The question was clearly rhetorical, and Whitmore's expression grew increasingly pinched as he recognized that he was being dismissed with the sort of calculated politeness that was more insulting than outright hostility.
"Miss Greystone requires time to consider my proposal," he said with wounded dignity. "I am prepared to be patient whilst she comes to appreciate the advantages of my suit."
"How very magnanimous of you," Devon observed with acid sweetness. "Though I fear you may find your patience tested somewhat longer than anticipated. Miss Greystone's position in this household is both secure and valued and she has little need to seek... alternative arrangements."
The territorial statement made Arabella's breath catch in her throat, whilst Whitmore's face darkened with obvious anger at this public dismissal of his prospects.
"Miss Greystone is a lady of gentle breeding who deserves better than to serve as a glorified governess, regardless of how... valued her services might be," he said with deliberate insolence. "Any gentleman of true sensitivity would recognise that her current circumstances are beneath her station."
Devon's entire posture changed at this veiled insult, his hands moving to clasp behind his back in a gesture that Arabella recognized as a sign of barely controlled violence.
