Chapter 4 #3
The library, when they finally reached it, proved to be even more magnificent than Arabella had remembered after the short time she had spent with the Duke there.
Two stories of leather-bound volumes rose from floor to ceiling, their gilt spines gleaming in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through tall windows.
Comfortable reading chairs were positioned to take advantage of both natural light and warmth from the fireplace which she did remember, whilst several reading tables provided space for more serious scholarly pursuits.
"It is breathtaking," Arabella breathed, turning slowly to take in the full scope of the collection.
"Devon spent years acquiring these volumes," Livia said proudly. "Many of them are quite rare—first editions, signed copies, manuscripts that scholars would kill to examine. He says that a gentleman's library is the truest reflection of his character."
Arabella moved toward one of the shelves, running her fingers along the spines with reverent care. Here were works of history and philosophy, poetry and politics, literature both classical and contemporary. The breadth of the collection spoke to a mind of considerable depth and curiosity.
"What manner of books does His Grace favour?" she asked, genuinely curious about the man whose complexity continued to surprise her.
"All manner," Livia replied. "Though he has a particular fondness for the Romantic poets. Byron, Keats—he says they understood that passion and beauty are the only things worth pursuing in this life."
Arabella paused, her hand resting on a volume of Byron's work that showed clear signs of frequent handling.
The revelation that Devon found inspiration in such controversial verse should not have surprised her, yet somehow it did.
The Byron of popular imagination was a man who lived according to his own desires, not thinking of the consequences and surely not unlike the reputation Devon himself had cultivated.
"And what of you, Livia?" Arabella asked, turning her attention back to her young charge. "What books do you favour?"
Livia's cheeks pinkened slightly. "I confess to a weakness for novels, though Devon despairs of my taste. I particularly enjoy the works of an Anonymous Writer because the heroines in these books are so spirited, so determined to follow their own paths despite the expectations of society."
Arabella smiled at this admission, recognizing something of herself in Livia's literary preferences. "There is nothing shameful in enjoying novels, particularly well-written ones. Some writers possesse a keen understanding of human nature and the complexities of social interaction."
"Do you think so?" Livia asked eagerly. "Devon says novels are mere entertainment, designed to fill idle hours rather than improve the mind."
"His Grace," Arabella said with a slight smile, "may perhaps underestimate the value of understanding one's fellow creatures. The best novels provide insight into the human heart that more serious works sometimes lack."
"I shall tell him you said so," Livia said with a mischievous gleam in her dark eyes. "He enjoys intellectual discourse, particularly with someone capable of challenging his opinions."
Before Arabella could respond to this rather alarming suggestion, the afternoon light began to fade, and Livia declared that they should return to their chambers to prepare for dinner.
"Devon keeps early hours when we dine," she explained as they made their way through the elegant corridors. "He says that fashionable late dining is an affectation designed to waste the most productive hours of the day."
As they parted at the entrance to the blue suite, Arabella found herself both grateful for the respite from Devon's unsettling presence and strangely eager for the evening's meal.
The man continued to confound her expectations at every turn, revealing depths and contradictions that made him far more dangerous to her peace of mind than a simple rake would have been.
A simple rake, she could have dismissed with contempt.
But a man of intelligence and sensitivity, one capable of both cruelty and kindness, one whose dark eyes seemed to see straight through to her soul—such a man posed a threat to her equilibrium that she was not at all certain she possessed the strength to resist.
***
Dinner that evening proved to be a far more intimate affair than Arabella had anticipated. Rather than the formal dining room she had glimpsed during her tour, they gathered in a smaller, more comfortable chamber that felt almost cozy despite its elegant appointments.
Devon had changed into evening dress, his coat of midnight blue fitting his broad shoulders to perfection and his cravat tied in an intricate style that spoke to his valet's considerable skill.
Yet there was something less formal about his manner, a relaxation that suggested he was genuinely at ease in his own home.
"I trust your first day as companion has not proven too onerous," he said as he handed her into her chair with old-fashioned courtesy.
"Not at all, Your Grace," Arabella replied, acutely aware of the warmth of his hand through her glove. "Livia has been the perfect hostess."
"She has indeed," Devon agreed, settling into his own chair with fluid grace. "I confess myself curious about your impressions of the house. Does it meet with your approval?"
Arabella accepted a glass of wine from the attending footman, grateful for something to occupy her hands. "It is magnificent beyond anything I had imagined. You possess exquisite taste, Your Grace."
"Do I?" Devon's tone was lightly mocking. "Or do I merely possess the resources to purchase the advice of those who do?"
"I think," Arabella said carefully, "that true appreciation of beauty cannot be bought. It must be felt, understood on a level that transcends mere acquisition."
Devon's dark eyes fixed upon her with sudden intensity. "And do you believe me capable of such feeling, Miss Greystone?"
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with implications that neither Livia's presence nor the formal setting could entirely mask. Arabella found herself holding his gaze, unable to look away despite the dangerous territory they were approaching.
"I believe," she said quietly, "that you are capable of far more than you allow the world to see."
Something flickered in Devon's expression, which seemed as surprise or a momentary dropping of his carefully maintained mask. Before he could respond, however, Livia launched into an enthusiastic description of their afternoon's activities, effectively breaking the charged moment.
As the meal progressed through its various courses, Arabella found herself relaxing despite the undercurrent of attraction that seemed to flow between Devon and herself.
The conversation ranged from politics to literature to art, and she discovered that both siblings possessed keen intellects and strong opinions on a variety of subjects.
"You mentioned an interest in sketching," Devon said as they waited for the dessert course. "What subjects do you prefer?"
"Landscapes, primarily," Arabella replied. "Though I occasionally attempt portraits when I can persuade someone to sit still long enough."
"Perhaps you might sketch the garden while the roses are still in bloom," Livia suggested eagerly. "The morning light is particularly lovely from the conservatory windows."
"An excellent suggestion," Devon agreed. "Though I confess myself curious whether Miss Greystone's talents extend to... less conventional subjects."
There was something in his tone that made Arabella glance at him sharply, noting the slight smile that curved his lips and the mischievous glint in his dark eyes.
"What manner of subjects did you have in mind, Your Grace?" she asked warily.
"Oh, nothing too scandalous," Devon replied with exaggerated innocence. "Though I have heard that some artists find the human form to be the most challenging and rewarding of subjects."
Arabella felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and indignation. "Your Grace!"
"Devon!" Livia exclaimed simultaneously; her voice sharp with disapproval. "You are being deliberately inappropriate."
Devon's laughter was rich and unrepentant. "Forgive me, ladies. I could not resist the opportunity to see Miss Greystone blush so charmingly. She has such remarkable composure that one cannot help but wonder what it might take to discompose her."
The comment, delivered with silky amusement, made Arabella's pulse quicken in a most alarming fashion. She recognized the challenge in his words, the deliberate provocation designed to test her reactions.
"I am not so easily discomposed as you might imagine, Your Grace," she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Are you not?" Devon leaned back in his chair, studying her with the predatory focus of a cat watching a particularly interesting mouse. "How fascinating. I do so enjoy... challenges."
Before Arabella could formulate a suitable response to this outrageous statement, the dessert course arrived, providing a welcome distraction from the dangerous direction of their conversation.
As they enjoyed the delicate syllabub and sweet biscuits, the talk turned to plans for the following day. Livia expressed eagerness to begin preparing for her eventual debut in society, whilst Devon mentioned several matters of business that would require his attention.
"I fear I shall be occupied with my solicitor for much of tomorrow," he said with apparent regret. "Estate matters, you understand. Most tedious, but necessary."
"Of course," Arabella replied, though she found herself strangely disappointed by the prospect of his absence. "Livia and I shall find plenty to occupy our time."
"I do not doubt it," Devon said, his gaze lingering on her face with an intensity that made her feel quite warm despite the reasonable temperature of the dining room. "You strike me as a woman who knows how to... make the most of her opportunities."
Once again, his words seemed to carry meanings beyond their surface interpretation, and Arabella found herself struggling to maintain her composure under his penetrating stare.
As the evening drew to a close and they prepared to retire to their respective chambers, Devon offered his arm to escort the ladies from the dining room.
Arabella found herself walking beside him through the candlelit corridors, acutely aware of his warmth and strength, the subtle scent of his cologne and the way he moved with such predatory grace.
"I do hope you will make full use of the library during my absence tomorrow," he said quietly as they paused outside the entrance to the blue suite. "I believe you will find much there to interest you."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Arabella managed, her voice slightly breathless despite her efforts to appear unaffected. "I shall look forward to exploring your collection more thoroughly."
Devon's smile was enigmatic. "As shall I, Miss Greystone. As shall I."