Page 44 of A Virgin for His Grace
He wore riding dress of impeccable cut, the close-fitting breeches and dark blue coat emphasizing his powerful physique in a way that made Arabella's pulse quicken despite her determination to remain unmoved. Yet it was not his physical appeal that captured her attention, but rather the haggard exhaustion evident in his aristocratic features and the shadows beneath his dark eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and tormented thoughts.
Their gazes met across the courtyard with an intensity that made the rest of the world seem to fade away. For a moment, she glimpsed the raw anguish he had been hiding behind his mask of polite indifference, the desperate longing that matched her own. Then, with visible effort, he schooled his expression into neutrality and moved toward them with that predatory grace sheknew so well.
"Ladies," he said with careful courtesy, though his voice held a roughness that suggested his composure was more fragile than it appeared. "I trust your morning's errands proved successful?"
"Perfectly successful," Livia replied with bitter emphasis. "The wedding gown is being completed as we speak, ensuring that Arabella will appear the picture of bridal perfection when she sacrifices herself on the altar of masculine pride."
Devon's jaw tightened at his sister's pointed words, and Arabella saw his hands clench into fists at his sides before he regained control.
"Livia," he said with quiet warning, "you forget yourself."
"Do I?" Livia challenged with uncharacteristic boldness. "Or do I perhaps remember what you have both chosen to forget—that love should triumph over duty, that happiness matters more than the good opinion of those whose own lives are built upon hypocrisy and malice?"
"Enough," Devon said with sharp authority, his mask slipping to reveal the pain beneath. "The decisions that have been made cannot be unmade. It serves no purpose to torture ourselves with impossible dreams."
"Cannot or will not?" Arabella asked quietly, the words escaping before she could stop them. "There is a difference, Your Grace, though I begin to suspect you no longer see it."
Devon's eyes flashed with something that might have beenanger or desperation, and for a moment she thought he might abandon all pretense and give voice to the feelings that consumed them both. Instead, he took a visible breath and forced himself back under control.
"I see reality, Miss Greystone. Nothing more, nothing less." He gestured toward the house with studied casualness. "Now, shall we go inside? I believe luncheon awaits, and we have much to discuss regarding the final arrangements for Saturday's ceremony."
The mention of her wedding day sent ice flooding through Arabella's veins, yet she nodded with apparent composure and allowed him to escort them into the house. As they made their way through the elegant corridors, she was acutely aware of his proximity, the familiar scent of sandalwood and bergamot and the way his breathing seemed slightly unsteady despite his controlled demeanor.
They were almost to the morning room when Devon suddenly stopped, his hand moving to grasp her arm with gentle but insistent pressure.
"Livia, would you excuse us for a moment? There is a matter of business I must discuss with Miss Greystone."
Livia's expression suggested she understood perfectly well that business was not what her brother wished to discuss, but she nodded with obvious reluctance and continued toward the morning room alone.
When they were alone in the corridor, Devon turned to face Arabella with an expression that held such raw desperation thatit took her breath away.
"Tell me," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "tell me that this madness can still be stopped. Tell me that you have not irrevocably committed yourself to a future that will destroy us both."
The naked plea in his voice nearly shattered her resolve entirely, and she found herself swaying toward him despite every rational thought warning her to maintain distance.
"You know I cannot," she whispered back, her voice breaking on the words. "The arrangements have been made, the announcements published. To withdraw now would create exactly the sort of scandal we sought to avoid."
"Damn the scandal," Devon said with sudden violence, his composure cracking entirely. "Damn society and its hypocritical expectations. Damn everything and everyone who would keep us apart when we have found something precious and real and worth fighting for."
His passionate declaration sent hope flaring in Arabella's chest, even as logic warned her against such dangerous emotions.
"And what would you have us do?" she asked with desperate intensity. "Run away together like characters in a Gothic novel? Abandon Livia to face the consequences of our selfishness? Destroy your reputation and position for the sake of a love that society will never accept?"
"Yes," Devon said with fierce conviction, his hands comingup to frame her face with reverent touch. "Yes, to all of it, if that is what it takes to keep you. I would rather face ruin with you than comfort without you."
For a moment, Arabella allowed herself to imagine such a future, the two of them free to love without constraint, building a life together away from the poisonous atmosphere of London society. Then reality crashed over her like a cold wave, and she forced herself to step back from his embrace.
"You say that now, in the heat of passion and desperation," she said with quiet sadness. "But what would you say in a year's time, when the novelty had worn off and you began to resent the sacrifices you had made? What would you say when Livia's reputation lay in ruins because of our selfish choices?"
Devon's expression grew pained, and she saw him struggle with the truth of her words.
"You think me so shallow?" he asked with wounded pride.
"I think you are a man of honour who has spent his entire life putting duty before desire," Arabella replied gently. "If you abandoned those principles now, you would cease to be the man I fell in love with."
The cruel logic of her argument struck home with devastating accuracy, and Devon's shoulders sagged as though he had been dealt a physical blow.
"So, we are to be noble," he said with bitter irony. "We are to sacrifice our happiness on the altar of respectability and call it virtue."
