Page 37 of A Virgin for His Grace
"I think, Mr. Whitmore, that you have quite overstayed your welcome. Miss Greystone has made her position clear, and I see no purpose in prolonging this discussion."
"Miss Greystone may come to regret her hasty decision," Whitmore said with wounded pride as he gathered his hat andgloves with visible agitation. "When she finds herself cast aside for a younger, more accommodating companion, she may wish she had accepted the security I offered."
The threat was delivered with the sort of vindictive spite that revealed the true nature of his character, and Devon's entire posture shifted to one of barely leashed violence.
"Mr. Whitmore," he said with lethal quiet, "I believe you mistake both my character and my intentions. Allow me to clarify them for you. Miss Greystone is under my protection, and anyone who attempts to damage her reputation or question her honour will answer to me personally. I trust I make myself clear?"
The challenge was unmistakable, and even Whitmore was not foolish enough to mistake it for anything less than a direct threat. His face paled visibly, and he took several steps toward the door with obvious haste.
"Perfectly clear, Your Grace," he managed with what remained of his dignity. "Miss Greystone, I hope you will not have cause to regret your decision."
As the sound of his retreating footsteps faded into the distance, an uncomfortable silence fell over the morning room. Arabella remained seated, her hands folded tightly in her lap as she struggled to process the implications of what had just transpired.
"Well," Devon said finally, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. "That was... illuminating."
"Your Grace," Arabella began hesitantly, turning in her chair to face him properly. "I hope you do not think that I encouraged his suit in any way. His persistence has been most unwelcome."
Devon's expression softened almost imperceptibly as he took in her obvious distress. "I think nothing of the sort. Though I confess myself curious about your reasons for refusing him so definitively. By all practical measures, his offer represented exactly the sort of security most women in your position would eagerly accept."
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implications that neither quite dared to voice. Arabella found herself staring up into his compelling face, noting the way the afternoon light emphasized the sharp shape of his features and the unexpected vulnerability in his dark eyes.
"Perhaps," she said quietly, "I am not most women."
"No," Devon agreed softly, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. "You most certainly are not."
The charged moment stretched between them, filled with all the words they could not say and all the feelings they dared not acknowledge. Then, with visible effort, Devon stepped back, putting physical distance between them whilst his expression settled into familiar inscrutability.
"I should... I have correspondence that requires my attention," he said with obvious reluctance. "Will you be quite all right? Whitmore's behaviour was inexcusable, and if you require anything..."
"I am perfectly well," Arabella assured him, touched by his obvious concern despite the emotional distance he was attempting to maintain. "And I am grateful for your... intervention. His assumptions about my circumstances were both insulting and incorrect."
"Were they?" Devon asked quietly, his gaze searching her face with uncomfortable intensity. "All of them?"
The loaded question made Arabella's pulse quicken with sudden understanding. He was asking whether Whitmore's crude speculations about the nature of their relationship had been entirely groundless, whether there was any truth to the gossip that surrounded her residence in his household.
"Those that matter most," she replied with quiet dignity, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I may have made errors in judgment, but I have never been the sort of woman Mr. Whitmore believes me to be."
Devon's smile was soft with what might have been relief or admiration. "I never doubted that for a moment. Your honour is beyond question, Arabella. Do not allow the crude assumptions of lesser men to make you think otherwise."
The gentle reassurance sent warmth flooding through her entire being, and she felt tears prick her eyes at this unexpected tenderness from a man who had shown her such passionate desire yet seemed incapable of offering anything more permanent.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice catching on the words. "That means more than you know."
Devon's expression grew pained, and he reached out as though to touch her face before catching himself and letting his hand fall to his side.
"Arabella," he said quietly, her name carrying more weight than any declaration of feeling. "I want you to know that whatever happens, whatever choices you make about your future, you will always have a place here. My protection, my support, whatever you need… it is yours for as long as you want it."
The promise was both more and less than she had hoped for, and Arabella felt her heart clench with the painful knowledge that it was likely all he would ever be able to offer her.
"And what of what you need?" she asked softly, surprised by her own boldness. "What of your own happiness, your own desires?"
Devon's smile was sharp with self-mockery. "My desires, as recent events have proven, are both dangerous and selfish. Better that I focus on ensuring the happiness of those who deserve it."
"And you believe you do not deserve happiness?" Arabella challenged gently.
"I believe," Devon said with quiet finality, "that some people are meant to provide security for others rather than seeking it for themselves. It is not such a terrible fate, if one finds purpose in the protection of those who matter."
The noble sentiment should have been admirable, yetsomething in his tone suggested that such selflessness was less choice than penance for sins she did not fully understand.
