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 pot with 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."
"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's presence 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 evident amusement. "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 that transformed her delicate features. "We shall pace ourselves admirably."