Devon's expression softened almost imperceptibly, and for a moment she glimpsed something vulnerable beneath his carefully constructed facade.
"No," he said quietly. "You have not. Which makes what transpired between us all the more significant."
The admission hung in the air between them, heavy with implication, and Arabella felt her carefully constructed defenses beginning to waver despite her best efforts to remain unmoved.
"Significant in what way?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Devon was silent for a long moment, studying her upturned face with an intensity that made her feel as though he could see straight through to her soul.
"In ways that I am not yet prepared to fully acknowledge," he said finally. "But that does not mean I can simply pretend it never happened."
The cryptic response was both more and less than she had hoped for, and Arabella found herself struggling to interpret the complex emotions that flickered across his aristocratic features.
"What are you saying, Your Grace?"
Devon turned away from her, moving back to the window with visible agitation. "I am saying that we must establish new parameters for our relationship once more. What occurred last evening cannot be repeated, yet neither can we return to the simple employer-employee dynamic we maintained before."
"And what would you suggest?" Arabella asked, though she dreaded his answer.
"I suggest," Devon said carefully, "that we acknowledge the attraction that exists between us whilst maintaining the boundaries necessary to preserve both your reputation and mysister's welfare."
The clinical proposal made Arabella's stomach clench with a mixture of disappointment and unwilling hope. "Acknowledge it how, precisely?"
Devon's smile was sharp with self-mockery. "By ceasing to pretend that it does not exist. By accepting that we are both adults capable of managing our desires without allowing them to destroy everything we have worked to build."
"And if such management proves insufficient?" Arabella asked quietly.
Devon's hands clenched into fists at his sides, and when he spoke, his voice was rough with barely suppressed emotion. "Then we will face that challenge when it arises. But for now, we must try to find some middle ground between the impossible extremes of complete indifference and total surrender."
The pragmatic solution should have provided some measure of relief, yet Arabella found herself oddly disappointed by his determined rationality. Some irrational part of her had hoped that their passionate encounter might have affected him as profoundly as it had her, might have made him reconsider his steadfast opposition to emotional entanglement.
"Very well," she said with careful composure. "I believe I understand your position, Your Grace."
"Do you?" Devon asked, turning back to face her with an expression that held both hope and trepidation. "Because I confess myself uncertain whether such an arrangement isactually possible. The attraction between us is... considerable."
The admission sent warmth flooding through Arabella's chest despite her determination to remain unmoved. "I am aware of that, Your Grace. I am also aware that such attractions, however powerful, need not govern our behaviour."
"Spoken like a true rationalist," Devon observed with what might have been admiration or disappointment. "I hope you are correct in that assessment."
Before Arabella could respond to this ambiguous comment, they were interrupted by a soft knock on the study door. At Devon's invitation to enter, Mrs. Henderson appeared with her usual composed efficiency.
"Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, but Mr. Whitmore has called and requests the honour of paying his respects to Miss Greystone. Shall I show him to the morning room?"
The announcement of her unwelcome suitor's arrival made Arabella's stomach clench with dread, whilst Devon's entire posture changed to one of barely suppressed hostility.
"Mr. Whitmore?" he repeated with dangerous quiet. "The gentleman who has been sending Miss Greystone flowers?"
"The same, Your Grace," Mrs. Henderson confirmed. "He appears most eager to speak with her."
"Does he indeed?" Devon's voice had dropped to that silky tone that never failed to make Arabella's pulse quicken with alarm. "How persistent of him."
"Shall I tell him Miss Greystone is not at home?" Mrs. Henderson asked with the sort of diplomatic tact that spoke to years of managing delicate social situations.
"No," Devon said before Arabella could respond. "Show him to the morning room. Miss Greystone will join him presently."
As Mrs. Henderson departed to attend to their unwelcome visitor, Devon turned to Arabella with an expression that made her heart skip several beats.
"It would seem," he said with deceptive calm, "that your admirer has decided to press his suit in person. How romantic."
