"I was seeking a book," Arabella protested, her cheeks burning with indignation. "I had no intention of... of..."
"Of driving me to distraction with the sight of you in silk and moonlight?" Devon suggested with dangerous softness. "Of looking at me with those green eyes full of innocent desire? Of responding to my touch as though you were made for pleasure?"
Each word was delivered like a physical blow, and Arabella found herself rising from her chair without conscious volition,her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
"How dare you?" she whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. "How dare you reduce what happened between us to mere... mere animal attraction?"
Devon's smile was sharp as a blade. "Because that is precisely what it was, Miss Greystone. Physical desire, nothing more. To imagine otherwise would be folly of the highest order."
"Would it?" Arabella took a step toward him, her usual caution abandoned in the face of his deliberate cruelty. "Or are you perhaps afraid that it might have been something more? Something that threatens the careful control you maintain over every aspect of your life?"
For a moment, Devon's mask slipped, revealing something raw and vulnerable beneath the cynical facade. Then, with visible effort, he reassembled his defenses, his expression settling into familiar indifference.
"You forget yourself, Miss Greystone," he said coolly. "You are in my employ, dependent upon my generosity for your very subsistence. It would be unwise to mistake a moment's pleasure for anything resembling genuine feeling."
The words struck her like physical blows, yet instead of retreating, Arabella found herself moving closer still, until only the width of his desk separated them.
"And yet," she said quietly, "you cannot deny that something passed between us last night. Something that has left you as unsettled as it has me."
Devon's hands gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white with tension. "What passed between us was a mistake. One that will not be repeated."
"Will it not?" Arabella leaned forward, bracing her own hands upon the polished mahogany surface until their faces were mere inches apart. "Then why are your hands trembling, Your Grace? Why can you not meet my eyes without your breath catching in your throat?"
For a heartbeat, the air between them crackled with the same dangerous electricity that had led to their downfall in the library. Devon's gaze dropped to her mouth, his own lips parting slightly as though he intended to close the remaining distance between them.
Then, with a muttered curse that would have shocked the sensibilities of any proper lady, he jerked away from the desk, putting the width of the room between them.
"This is precisely what I mean," he ground out, running his hands through his dark hair with visible agitation. "This... madness that overcomes us both whenever we are alone together. It must stop, Arabella. For both our sakes, it must stop."
The use of her given name, spoken with such raw emotion, made her heart clench with longing. Yet she forced herself to remain where she was, recognizing that any attempt to close the physical distance would only prove his point about the dangerous attraction that flowed between them.
"Very well," she said quietly, straightening to her full heightwith as much dignity as she could muster. "What do you propose, Your Grace?"
Devon's shoulders sagged slightly with what might have been relief or disappointment. "We maintain the strictest professional boundaries. You are Livia's companion, nothing more. Our interactions will be limited to matters concerning her welfare and education."
"And if such boundaries prove... insufficient?" Arabella asked, proud of the steadiness of her voice despite the turmoil in her heart.
Devon's smile was grim. "Then I will be forced to terminate your employment and find my sister a more suitable companion."
The threat hung in the air between them like a sword, and Arabella felt her carefully maintained composure finally crack. To lose this position, to be cast out once again into an uncertain future, would be devastating enough. But to lose it because she could not control her shameful attraction to a man who viewed her as nothing more than a momentary diversion, would be her disaster.
"I understand perfectly, Your Grace," she said with icy politeness. "You need have no concerns about my professional conduct in the future."
"Excellent." Devon moved back toward his desk, settling into his chair with studied casualness though his eyes remained wary. "Now, regarding Livia's wardrobe. I have prepared a letter of credit that should prove more than adequate for herneeds. Spare no expense because I want her to rival the most fashionable ladies of the ton."
The abrupt return to mundane matters was clearly intended to normalize their interaction, yet Arabella found herself struggling to match his businesslike tone. How could he discuss silk stockings and morning gowns when her entire world felt as though it were crumbling around her?
"Of course, Your Grace," she managed. "I shall ensure that Lady Livia is dressed in the first stare of fashion."
"Good." Devon scribbled something on a piece of paper, sealing it with his personal signet before extending it toward her. "This should more than cover any expenses you might incur."
Arabella moved forward to accept the letter, careful to avoid any contact with his fingers as she took the document. Yet even this precaution could not prevent the jolt of awareness that shot through her as their eyes met briefly across the narrow space.
"Will that be all, Your Grace?" she asked, eager to escape before her fragile composure shattered entirely.
"Yes," Devon said quietly, though something in his tone suggested he was no more eager for her departure as she was to flee. "That will be all, Miss Greystone."
As Arabella reached the door, his voice stopped her one final time.
