Chapter 1
"Do not think to trifle with my sister's affections, Your Grace, for I shall not stand idly by whilst you add another conquest to your considerable collection."
The Duke of Ravenshollow turned at the sharp pronouncement, his coal-black eyes finding the source of such bold censure.
Before him stood Miss Arabella Greystone, her emerald silk gown rustling as she stepped fully into the moonlit garden folly, her dark auburn hair gleaming like burnished copper beneath the romantic paper lanterns that Lord Godric had strung throughout his garden for this evening's entertainment.
"Miss Greystone," Devon Ashworth, the sixth Duke of Ravenshollow, drawled with practiced indolence, though his grip tightened imperceptibly upon the delicate wrist of the blonde beauty beside him. "How unexpectedly forthright of you to interrupt a private conversation."
Arabella's green eyes flashed dangerously as they moved from the duke's arrogant countenance to her younger sister's face. Miss Cordelia Greystone appeared rather enchanted, which made Arabella’s arrival even more significant, before anything inappropriate could take place.
"Cordelia," Arabella said firmly, her voice cutting through the warm evening air like a blade through silk, "return to the ballroom at once. Mama shall be wondering where you have gone."
"But Bella..." Cordelia began, her blue eyes wide with what appeared to be equal parts of mortification and infatuation.
"At once," Arabella repeated, her tone brooking no argument despite the fact that she was merely two years senior to her eighteen-year-old sister.
Devon watched this display of sisterly protection with considerable amusement, one dark brow arching as he released Cordelia's wrist with deliberate slowness. "Perhaps you ought to heed your sister's counsel, Miss Cordelia. The night air grows chill, and we would not wish you to take cold."
The dismissal was so smoothly delivered, so casually cruel in its indifference, that Arabella felt her temper flare white-hot. How dare he treat sweet Cordelia as though she were merely a momentary diversion, to be discarded the moment a more interesting entertainment presented itself?
Cordelia cast one last longing glance at the duke before gathering her skirts and hurrying from the folly, leaving Arabella alone with the most notorious rake in all of London.
"Well," Devon said conversationally, settling back against the marble balustrade with the languid grace of a great cat, "this is rather more entertaining than I had anticipated.
Do you mean to deliver a lecture upon my moral shortcomings, Miss Arabella?
I feel I should warn you that I have heard them all before. "
"I doubt that very much, Your Grace," Arabella replied tartly, moving deeper into the folly with a rustle of silk.
The moonlight streaming through the ornate windows cast dancing shadows across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw and the fire in her remarkable eyes.
"For I suspect that few have had the temerity to speak to you with complete honesty. "
Devon's lips curved in a smile that did not reach his eyes. "And you intend to be the first? How refreshingly naive."
"I intend," Arabella said, taking another step toward him, "to ensure that you understand precisely what manner of family you are trifling with.
The Greystones may not possess your exalted rank or vast fortune, but we are not without influence.
My father may be merely a baron, but he sits in Parliament, and my mother's family. .."
"Are connected to half the peers in England," Devon finished smoothly. "Yes, Miss Arabella, I am quite aware of your family's consequence. Did you think I would entangle myself with a nobody?"
The casual cruelty of his words, the implication that her sister was merely another strategic conquest, made Arabella's hands curl into fists at her sides. "You unconscionable wretch. Cordelia is an innocent girl."
"An innocent who was quite eager to learn what manner of education I might provide," Devon interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr as he straightened from his lounging position.
"Tell me, Miss Arabella, are you perhaps jealous that your younger sister should have captured my attention whilst you remain quite firmly upon the shelf? "
The insult hit its mark with devastating accuracy.
At twenty, Arabella was indeed considered well past her prime marriage years, having rejected three perfectly respectable suitors in as many seasons.
Her forthright manner and sharp tongue had earned her a reputation as something of a bluestocking, despite her undeniable beauty.
"I would rather remain a spinster than seek the attentions of a man whose reputation is so thoroughly blackened that decent mothers warn their daughters against him," Arabella retorted, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed fury.
Devon's smile widened, revealing teeth that were perfectly straight and startlingly white against his tanned complexion.
"How deliciously priggish of you. I wonder.
.." He began to move toward her with predatory intent, and Arabella found herself backing away despite her determination to stand her ground.
"I wonder if beneath all that righteous indignation lies a woman who might prove far more interesting than her vapid little sister. "
"You flatter yourself, Your Grace," Arabella managed, though her voice had grown breathless as he continued his advance. The folly suddenly seemed far smaller than it had moments before, the walls closing in as the duke's imposing presence filled the space between them.
"Do I?" Devon asked softly, and before Arabella could retreat further, she found herself backed against the cool marble wall, the duke's powerful frame caging her in.
"Your pulse is racing, Miss Arabella. Your breathing has quickened.
These are not the reactions of a woman who finds me as repulsive as she claims."
Arabella tilted her chin up defiantly, meeting his dark gaze without flinching despite the fact that her heart was indeed pounding against her ribs like a caged bird. "Perhaps I am merely disgusted by your presumption."
"Perhaps," Devon murmured, bracing one hand against the wall beside her head whilst the other came up to trace the delicate line of her jaw with one gloved finger. "Or perhaps you are not nearly so immune to temptation as you would have the world believe."
The touch was light, almost reverent, yet it sent shivers racing down Arabella's spine.
She had never been this close to a man before, certainly never to one whose reputation for seduction was legendary throughout the ton.
She could smell his cologne, sandalwood and bergamot and something else, something indefinably masculine that made her feel strangely light-headed.
"Release me," she whispered, though the command lacked the force she had intended.
"If you truly wish me to," Devon replied, his thumb now brushing across her lower lip with maddening gentleness. "But we both know that you do not."
For one wild moment, Arabella felt herself leaning into his touch, drawn by an attraction so powerful it seemed to override all rational thought.
His eyes, she noticed dimly, were not merely black but the deepest shade of brown, like rich chocolate or strong coffee, and they were fixed upon her mouth with an intensity that made her knees weak.
Then, as if from a great distance, she heard the sound of voices and laughter growing closer, and reality crashed over her like a bucket of ice water. Heavens, what was she doing? This man had been attempting to seduce her innocent sister not five minutes past, and here she was, allowing him to...
"Step away from me this instant," she commanded, finding her voice and her strength simultaneously. She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing with surprising force, and Devon, caught off guard by her sudden resistance, stumbled backward a step.
"Such fire in you," he observed admiringly, straightening his cravat with practiced ease. "I begin to think I may have been courting the wrong Miss Greystone."
"You have been courting no one," Arabella snapped, moving quickly away from the wall and toward the folly's entrance. "You have been predating upon impressionable young ladies, and I shall not permit..."
Her words were cut short as Lord Godric himself appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Lady Huxley and her daughter, as well as several other guests who had apparently decided to explore the romantic garden folly.
"I say," Lord Godric exclaimed jovially, his round face creased in a delighted smile, "look whom we have discovered! Your Grace, Miss Greystone, I trust you are enjoying the evening air?"
Arabella felt the blood drain from her face as she realized how this must appear. She and the duke, alone together in the moonlit folly, her hair slightly mussed from where she had pressed against the wall, her cheeks flushed from their heated exchange.
Lady Huxley's sharp eyes took in every detail of the scene with obvious relish.
The woman was one of London's most notorious gossips, and Arabella knew with sinking certainty that by tomorrow morning, the entire ton would be buzzing with speculation about what manner of assignation they had witnessed.
"Lord Godric," Devon said smoothly, bowing with perfect courtesy as though he had not a care in the world. "Lady Huxley, Miss Huxley. Indeed, the evening is quite lovely. Miss Greystone and I were just admiring your excellent taste in garden architecture."
"Were you indeed?" Lady Huxley's voice dripped with false sweetness as her gaze moved speculatively between them. "How... educational for you both."
Arabella opened her mouth to explain, to somehow salvage the situation, but Devon spoke first.
"Miss Greystone was just expressing her appreciation for the classical influences evident in the folly's design," he said with such consummate ease that Arabella might have believed him herself had she not known better. "She has quite a scholarly mind, as I am sure you are aware."
"Oh yes," Lady Huxley replied with a smile that was sharp as a blade, "Miss Greystone is indeed known for her intellectual pursuits."
The emphasis she placed upon the words made it clear that she suspected pursuits of an entirely different nature had been taking place, and Arabella felt her mortification deepen. This was a disaster of the highest order. By tomorrow, her reputation would be in ruins, and Cordelia's by association.
"If you will excuse me," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, "I believe I should return to the ballroom."
She swept past the assembled group with as much dignity as she could muster, but not before she caught Devon's eye. He was watching her with an expression she could not quite read; part amusement, part something else that made her pulse quicken once more.
As she made her way back through Lord Godric's elegant gardens toward the brightly lit house, Arabella could hear the excited whispers beginning behind her.
Lady Huxley's voice carried clearly on the night air: "Well, I never would have expected it of the Greystone girl. So prim and proper, and yet..."
Arabella quickened her pace, but she could not outrun the consequences of what had just occurred. She had entered that folly with the noble intention of protecting her sister's virtue, and instead had emerged with her own reputation in tatters.
Worse still was the memory of those few moments when the duke's touch had made her forget everything else. Her duty, her principles, even her own name. She had felt something awaken within her, something wild and wanton that she had never suspected existed.
As she reached the terrace and prepared to rejoin the ball, Arabella caught a glimpse of her reflection in one of the long windows. Her hair was indeed disheveled, her lips slightly swollen as though she had been thoroughly kissed, her eyes bright with an emotion she dared not name.
She looked, she realized with dawning horror, exactly like a woman who had been conducting a clandestine affair with London's most notorious rake.
And the worst part of all was that, despite everything, a small, shameful part of her wished that she actually had been.