Chapter 3
"I trust you understand, Miss Arabella, that discretion shall be the cue of our association."
Devon stood behind the massive mahogany desk in his study, his hands clasped behind his back as he regarded Arabella sitting with the sort of cool formality that might have been appropriate between strangers rather than two people who had shared such a charged encounter mere days before.
Arabella maintained her composure with effort, her back straight as a ramrod as she faced the man who had become, through circumstances both scandalous and unavoidable, her employer.
She had arrived at his Grosvenor Square mansion not an hour past, her modest belongings having been delivered by her father's carriage along with a terse note of gratitude for His Grace's magnanimous gesture.
"Naturally, Your Grace," she replied evenly, though inwardly she bristled at his presumption. "I am quite capable of conducting myself with appropriate discretion."
Devon's dark eyes glittered with what might have been amusement. "I do not doubt your capabilities, Miss Arabella. However, I feel it necessary to establish certain... parameters for our arrangement from the outset."
He moved around the desk with that predatory grace she remembered all too well, settling into the chair opposite her own. The action placed them on a more equal footing, yet somehow made the encounter feel more intimate rather than less so.
"Such as?" Arabella inquired, proud of the steadiness of her voice despite the way her pulse had quickened at his proximity.
"You will have complete autonomy in matters relating to Livia's social education and daily routine," Devon began, his tone becoming more businesslike.
"The household staff has been instructed to defer to your judgment in all things concerning my sister's welfare.
Mrs. Henderson, the housekeeper, will provide you with whatever assistance you require. "
Arabella nodded, grateful for this evidence that she would not be treated as merely another servant. "And Lady Livia herself? What manner of young woman might I expect to encounter?"
Devon's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Shy to the point of being a recluse, I fear. She has had little experience with society, having spent most of her life in the country with our aunt. The idea of a London Season fills her with considerable trepidation."
"I see." Arabella found herself intrigued despite her determination to maintain professional distance. "And her age?"
"Eighteen, though in many ways she seems younger. She has been... protected from the harsher realities of life." Devon's jaw tightened slightly, and Arabella sensed there were depths to this story that he did not intend to share.
"Very well. I shall endeavour to ease her transition into society as gently as possible." Arabella paused, then steeled herself to ask the question that had been weighing upon her mind. "And what of my own position? How am I to be presented to your acquaintances?"
Devon leaned back in his chair, studying her with an intensity that made her feel uncomfortably exposed.
"As Lady Livia's companion and friend, naturally.
You are a gentleman's daughter fallen upon temporarily reduced circumstances, a perfectly respectable situation that will excite no particular comment. "
The casual dismissal of her family's disgrace stung more than Arabella cared to admit. "How kind of you to minimize the scandal you created."
"I created?" Devon's voice sharpened with sudden interest. "Miss Arabella, I was not the one who chose to enter that folly uninvited, nor was I the one who remained when discovery became inevitable."
Arabella felt her cheeks burn with indignation. "I entered to protect my sister from your unwelcome advances, and I remained because you... because you..." She faltered, unwilling to admit how completely his proximity had undermined her usual good sense.
"Because I what?" Devon prompted, rising from his chair to move closer to hers. "Because I made you forget, for just a moment, all those rigid rules you use to govern your life?"
"You made me forget nothing," Arabella snapped, though her breathing had grown shallow as he approached. "Your behaviour was unconscionable, and the fact that I did not immediately flee was merely due to shock at your presumption."
Devon's smile was knowing and altogether too attractive for her peace of mind. "Was it indeed? How fascinating that shock should manifest itself in such a... responsive manner."
Before Arabella could formulate a suitable retort, the study door opened with a soft creak, and a young woman appeared hesitantly upon the threshold.
She was petite and ethereally lovely, with Devon's dark eyes and hair so pale it was nearly silver.
Her gown of ice-blue muslin was exquisitely cut but somehow made her appear younger rather than older, like a child playing dress-up in adult clothing.
"Devon?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Forgive me, I did not realise you were engaged."
"Not at all, dearest," Devon said warmly, his entire demeanor transforming as he moved toward his sister. "Livia, allow me to present Miss Arabella Greystone, who has most graciously agreed to serve as your companion during the Season."
Lady Livia's enormous dark eyes fixed upon Arabella with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. "Miss Greystone. How... how do you do?"
Arabella rose from her chair, immediately struck by the young woman's fragile beauty and obvious nervousness. All her protective instincts, the same ones that had led her into that disastrous encounter with Devon, came rushing to the fore.
"I am very well indeed, Lady Livia," she said gently, offering a warm smile. "And I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I do hope we shall become great friends."
Livia's answering smile was like sunshine breaking through storm clouds. "Oh, do you think we might? I have had so few friends, and the thought of navigating London society quite terrifies me."
"Then we shall face it together," Arabella said decisively. "I may not be the most conventional of companions, but I promise you shall never want for support or encouragement whilst I am here."
Devon watched this exchange with something that might have been relief flickering across his aristocratic features. "Excellent. Then perhaps Livia might show you to your chambers, Miss Greystone? I believe Mrs. Henderson has prepared the blue suite for your use."
"The blue suite?" Livia's eyes widened with surprise. "But Devon, that is one of the family chambers. Surely Miss Greystone would be more comfortable in the companion's quarters."
"Miss Greystone is not an ordinary companion," Devon interrupted smoothly, his gaze meeting Arabella's with an expression she could not quite decipher. "She is to be accorded every courtesy due to an honoured guest."
Arabella felt a flush of gratitude despite her determination to remain unmoved by his gestures. The distinction between servant and guest was crucial in maintaining what remained of her dignity, and she had not expected him to be so considerate of her sensibilities.
"Thank you, Your Grace," she murmured. "Your kindness is most appreciated."
"It is nothing more than you deserve," he replied, and for a moment, his formal mask slipped enough to reveal something almost tender in his dark eyes. "I trust you will find everything to your satisfaction."
Livia moved forward with sudden animation, clearly delighted by the prospect of feminine companionship.
"Oh, Miss Greystone, you must see the view from your sitting room!
It overlooks the garden, and in spring the roses are simply divine.
And there is a lovely writing desk by the window where you might attend to your correspondence. .."
As the young woman chattered excitedly about the amenities Arabella might expect to enjoy, Devon found himself studying his sister's new companion with growing fascination.
Gone was the rigid composure she had maintained throughout their business discussion, replaced by genuine warmth as she responded to Livia's enthusiasm.
This, he realized, was the woman who had won the hearts of three separate suitors, not through artificial charm or calculated coquetry, but through authentic kindness and strength of character.
"Miss Greystone," he said suddenly, interrupting Livia's enthusiastic monologue about the adequacy of the bed linens. "There is one final matter we must discuss."
Both women turned to him with identical expressions of polite inquiry, though Arabella's held a wariness that her professional mask could not quite conceal.
"Your salary," Devon continued, moving back toward his desk and withdrawing a sealed envelope from one of the drawers. "I believe you will find the amount adequate to your needs."
Arabella accepted the envelope with reluctance, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment at this stark reminder of her changed circumstances. She was now a woman who worked for her living, dependent upon the generosity of a man whose reputation was exceeded only by his wealth.
"I am certain it will be more than sufficient," she said quietly, tucking the envelope into her reticule without examining its contents.
"There is no shame in honest employment, Miss Greystone," Devon said gently, as though he had read her thoughts. "Many ladies of quality have found themselves in reduced circumstances through no fault of their own."
The kindness in his voice was almost more difficult to bear than his earlier arrogance had been. Arabella found herself blinking back tears that she absolutely refused to shed in his presence.
"Indeed," she managed. "Now, if you will excuse us, I believe Lady Livia was about to show me to my chambers."
"Of course." Devon bowed with perfect courtesy, but as the women moved toward the door, he spoke again. "Miss Greystone?"