Devon's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I do not believe you could if you tried, Miss Greystone."
As Arabella made her way back through the elegant corridors toward the blue suite, she reflected on the strange turn her life had taken. Three days ago, she had been a respectable spinster living quietly with her family. Now she was residing in the home of London's most notorious rake, serving as companion to his vulnerable sister, and fighting an attraction that grew stronger with each encounter.
She had accepted this position as a means of preserving what remained of her reputation, a necessary sacrifice to avoid complete social ruin. But as she recalled the intensity in Devon's dark eyes, the way he had looked at her as though she were the most fascinating woman in all of London, Arabella began to suspect that her reputation might prove to be the least of what she risked losing in this dangerous bargain.
The question that haunted her as she prepared to rejoin Livia was whether she possessed the strength to resist temptation, or whether she was already lost to a passion that could only end in her complete and utter destruction.
Only time would tell, but as the first day of her new life drew to a close, Arabella could not shake the feeling that she had just stepped into a game whose rules she did not understand, playing against an opponent who held all the cards.
And the most terrifying part of all was that she was no longer certain she wanted to win.
Chapter 4
"Good morning, Miss Greystone. I trust you have been well in your new accommodations?"
Devon's voice carried across the breakfast room with its customary smooth politeness, though Arabella detected the faintest note of something else beneath the surface. Amusement, mayhap, or curiosity about how she had fared during her first night under his roof.
She had not, in fact, slept well at all. The bed in the blue suite was far bigger than anything she had ever occupied, so large and luxurious that she had felt quite lost amidst its sea of silk sheets and pillows. The house itself had been too quiet, filled with the sort of expectant silence that seemed to whisper of secrets and possibilities she dared not contemplate.
"Very well indeed, Your Grace," she replied with practiced composure, settling herself at the polished mahogany table with careful attention to her posture. "The chambers are most comfortable."
Devon sat at the head of the table, immaculately dressed in a coat of charcoal colour despite the early hour, his dark hair still damp from his morning ablutions. The newspaper lay folded beside his plate, though Arabella noticed that his attention seemed more focused on her than on the political developments that typically absorbed gentlemen of his station.
"I am pleased to hear it," he said, reaching for the coffee potwith languid grace. "Coffee or tea, Miss Greystone?"
"Coffee, if you please." She watched as he poured the steaming liquid into delicate china, noting the unconscious elegance of his movements. Everything about the Duke of Ravenshollow spoke of breeding and refinement, from the perfectly tied cravat at his throat to the way he handled the fragile cup as though it were spun from gossamer.
"Milk? Sugar?"
"Both, thank you."
He prepared her coffee with the same careful attention he might have devoted to a complex political negotiation, and when he handed her the cup, their fingers brushed for the briefest moment. The contact sent an unexpected frisson of awareness through her, and she was grateful for the warmth of the china to blame for the sudden flush in her cheeks.
"Tell me," Devon said, settling back in his chair with his own cup, "what are your initial impressions of the household? I should like to ensure that everything meets with your approval."
Arabella considered her words carefully as she sipped the perfectly prepared coffee. "The staff appears most efficient and well-trained. Mrs. Henderson has been particularly helpful in ensuring I understand the household routines."
"Good. And your chambers? I confess I was uncertain whether the blue suite would provide adequate space for your needs."
"More than adequate," she assured him, though something in his tone made her wonder if he were testing her in some subtle fashion. "The sitting room is particularly lovely and the morning light through the garden windows is quite inspiring."
Devon's lips curved in a slight smile. "Inspiring? Are you perhaps given to artistic pursuits, Miss Greystone?"
"I enjoy sketching when time permits," she admitted. "Though I make no claims to particular talent."
"Modesty ill becomes you," Devon observed with that same enigmatic smile. "I suspect you possess talents that would surprise even yourself, given the proper... encouragement."
Before Arabella could formulate a response to this rather loaded comment, the breakfast room door burst open with a flurry of pale blue muslin and barely contained energy.
"Oh, forgive me!" Livia exclaimed, pausing on the threshold with wide eyes. "I did not realise, that is, I thought perhaps I might be late for breakfast, and..."
"You are not late, dearest," Devon said warmly, his entire demeanor transforming as he regarded his sister. "Come, join us. Miss Greystone and I were just discussing her first impressions of Ravenshollow Manor."
Livia moved toward the table with obvious relief, though Arabella noticed that she chose the chair furthest from her brother. A telling detail that spoke to the young woman's continuing shyness even within her own family.
"Have you seen the conservatory yet, Arabella?" Livia asked eagerly as a footman appeared to serve her breakfast. "Devon had it designed specifically for growing exotic plants. The orchids are particularly magnificent."
"I have not yet had the pleasure," Arabella replied, warming to the younger woman's enthusiasm. "Perhaps you might show me after breakfast? I confess myself quite curious about horticulture."
