"Oh, would you like that? Devon, might we? That is, if you have no other plans for Miss Greystone this morning?"
"Miss Greystone's time is her own to dispose of as she sees fit," Devon interjected smoothly, though Arabella caught the sharp look he directed toward his sister. "Within reason, naturally."
There was something in his tone that made Arabella glance at him more closely. The indulgent warmth he had shown Livia moments before had been replaced by something more guarded, as though he were watching both women for signs of some behavior he wished to prevent.
"That is most kind of you, Your Grace," Arabella said carefully. "I look forward to seeing more of your beautiful home."
"Our home, for the duration of your stay," Devon corrected, his dark eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. "I should like you to think of Ravenshollow Manor as your residence as well, Miss Greystone. You are not merely a visitor here."
The comment was clearly meant to be reassuring, yet something in his voice—a note of possession or challenge—made Arabella's breath catch in her throat. She found herself nodding mutely, unable to trust her voice to remain steady if she attempted to speak.
Livia, oblivious to the charged undercurrent between her brother and companion, chattered on about the various attractions the house might offer. "And the music room has the most wonderful pianoforte and it was tuned just last month. Do you play, Arabella? I should love to hear you, if you do not mind performing for such a small audience."
"I play tolerably well," Arabella managed, grateful for the distraction from Devon's penetrating gaze. "Though I fear I may be somewhat out of practice."
"Practice is easily remedied," Devon observed, reaching for the newspaper with studied casualness. "The music room is at your disposal whenever you wish to use it."
As he unfolded the newspaper, Arabella found herself studying his profile in the morning light. He was, she had to admit, devastatingly handsome. All sharp angles and aristocratic breeding, with that perfectly sculpted mouth that had come so dangerously close to claiming hers in the garden folly. Even now, engaged in the mundane activity of reading the morning news, he possessed an undeniable magnetism that made it difficult to look away.
She forced herself to turn her attention back to Livia, who was describing the various entertainments that might be arranged for the day. Yet she remained acutely aware of Devon'spresence at the head of the table, the rustle of newsprint as he turned the pages, the occasional soft sound he made when something in the political reports either pleased or annoyed him.
"Oh, and you simply must see the library," Livia continued enthusiastically. "Devon has the most extensive collection with thousands of volumes on every subject imaginable. He says a true gentleman must be well-read in order to hold intelligent conversation."
"Does he indeed?" Arabella murmured, risking another glance at the duke in question. "And what subjects particularly interest His Grace?"
Devon lowered his newspaper slightly, regarding her with raised eyebrows. "Are you perhaps conducting an interrogation, Miss Greystone?"
"Merely making polite conversation," she replied with as much dignity as she could muster. "I find that understanding one's employer's interests can be... illuminating."
"How very practical of you." Devon's smile held a hint of something that might have been approval. "I confess to interests in history, politics, and philosophy. And poetry, when the mood strikes me."
"Poetry?" Arabella could not quite hide her surprise. Somehow, she had not expected London's most notorious rake to possess literary sensibilities.
"You seem astonished," Devon observed with evidentamusement. "Do you perhaps believe that men of... flexible morals are incapable of appreciating the finer arts?"
The question was clearly designed to provoke her, and Arabella felt her cheeks warm with irritation. "I believe that many gentlemen affect an interest in poetry in order to impress impressionable young ladies."
Devon's laughter was rich and genuine, startling in its lack of artifice. "Correct, Miss Greystone. Though I assure you, my appreciation for verse is entirely sincere. Perhaps I might recommend some volumes from my collection that you would find enlightening."
There was something in his tone that made the innocent offer sound far more dangerous than it should have, and Arabella found herself nodding before she could consider the wisdom of accepting such a proposal.
"That would be most kind," she managed.
"Excellent." Devon folded his newspaper with a decisive snap and rose from his chair. "If you will excuse me, ladies, I have some correspondence that requires my attention. Estate matters, I fear, wait for no man's convenience."
He moved toward the door with that predatory grace she was beginning to recognize, pausing only to place a gentle hand on Livia's shoulder. "Enjoy your tour of the house, dearest. But do not overtire Miss Greystone with too much enthusiasm on her first day."
"Of course not, Devon," Livia replied with a smile thattransformed her delicate features. "We shall pace ourselves admirably."
As the door closed behind him, Arabella found herself releasing a breath she had not realized she was holding. Something about Devon's presence made the very air seem charged with possibility, as though the most innocent conversation might at any moment veer into dangerous territory.
"He is very protective," Livia observed quietly, as though reading her thoughts. "Sometimes I think he forgets that I am no longer the terrified child he found when he returned from India."
Arabella looked at the younger woman with new interest, noting the slight shadows beneath her dark eyes and the way she held herself, as though prepared to retreat at the first sign of threat.
"You were terrified?" she asked gently.
Livia's smile grew sad. "For a very long time after the accident, I could scarcely bear to leave my chambers, let alone face strangers. Devon spent months coaxing me to take meals with him, to walk in the gardens, to remember what it felt like to be alive rather than merely existing."
