Page 12 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“You have not told me much about Northwood,” she said. “Or yourself.”
“There is little to tell.”
“That cannot possibly be true.”
“It is sufficient.”
Arabella studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful rather than discouraged. “You are very determined to remain uninteresting,” she observed lightly.
Maxwell did not respond.
She waited a beat, then asked, “Why do you wear the mask?”
The question landed differently.
Maxwell’s posture did not change, but something in the air between them tightened, subtle and immediate. He kept his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unmoved.
“That is not your concern,” he said.
Arabella did not look away. “It will be, if we are to be married.”
“No,” he replied, his tone colder now. “It will not.”
She drew in a small breath, her chin lifting slightly. “You cannot expect me to ignore what is plainly before me.”
“I expect nothing of you beyond what is necessary.”
“Then perhaps you might define what you consider necessary,” she said, a faint edge returning to her voice.
Maxwell turned his head then, meeting her gaze fully. “This is not a matter for discussion,” he said.
The firmness of it might have ended the conversation with anyone else, but it did not end it with her. Arabella held his gaze a moment longer, then leaned back slightly, crossing her hands neatly in her lap. “Very well,” she said, though the quiet defiance in her tone remained. “I shall content myself with observation.”
Maxwell looked out the window again. It was not the question about the mask that unsettled him. It was the way she had asked it. There had been no pity in it. No careful avoidance. Only direct, unfiltered curiosity.
And yet?—
His jaw tightened slightly as the memory surfaced unbidden of her hand against his chest. She did not recoil or hesitate. Maxwell shifted in his seat, the movement small but deliberate, as though he might dislodge the thought entirely.
And he had been careless.
He should not have allowed that moment to occur. Should not have given her the opportunity to test the boundaries of what she did not understand.
He knew that her initial curiosity would give way to something else. It always did with women who feigned interest.
Maxwell straightened slightly, his thoughts settling into something more controlled, more familiar. This arrangement would proceed as required. He would take responsibility for it, as he had said he would. He would ensure her position was secured, her reputation preserved, and the expectations met. Nothing more.
His decision settled into place with quiet finality.
By the time the sun began to set, the road had grown darker, the sky shifting into deeper shades of gray that promised another unsettled night. The carriage slowed at last as they approached an inn, its lanterns casting a warm but modest glow against the encroaching dark.
Maxwell stepped down first, offering no assistance as Arabella followed, though he remained close enough to ensure she did not slip on the damp ground.
Inside, the air was warmer. The innkeeper greeted them with polite efficiency, though his gaze lingered just long enough to take in their appearance, their proximity, the unspoken assumption of marriage that followed. Maxwell did not correct it because it was simpler not to.
Arrangements were made quickly. A room was secured. The details passed between them with little need for elaboration.
Maxwell directed Arabella to wait downstairs as he followed the narrow corridor to the room that had been prepared for them and opened it without hesitation.
