Page 121 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“How long?” Maxwell asked.
“Not more than a few minutes before you came,” the man said. “We sent for the constables.”
Maxwell did not wait to hear the rest.
He turned at once, already moving in the direction indicated, the noise of the crowd falling away behind him as his pace quickened. The path narrowed ahead, the ground uneven, but he did not slow.
“Maxwell.”
James’s voice followed, closer than expected.
Maxwell did not look back. “Stay with your wife.”
“I have men already on their way,” James replied, matching his stride. “And she is not alone. I will not remain behind while he?—”
The rest did not need to be spoken.
Maxwell’s jaw tightened, but he did not argue further.
They moved together then, the path stretching ahead, the quiet of it in stark contrast to the urgency driving them forward. The city seemed to recede, replaced by sharper awareness—distance, direction, time narrowing into something far less forgiving.
“She will not be far,” James said, though it sounded more like calculation than reassurance. “Not if he intends to remain unseen.”
Maxwell did not answer.
His focus had already fixed on the ground ahead, searching for any indication of passage, of disturbance, of direction. Faint impressions of wheels cut into the softer earth where the path curved, leading away from the open promenade and into something more secluded.
He did not slow.
Whatever distance had been gained would not remain between them for long.
* * *
There was another carriage waiting beyond the trees.
Arabella’s first instinct was to pull away— to twist free before the door had even fully shut, but Amos anticipated it. His grip tightened around her arm, forcing her back against the seat, his other hand braced against the frame to block her from slipping past him.
“Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be,” he said, his voice lower now, stripped of the easy civility he had worn so well before.
Arabella did not still.
She pressed her shoulder into the side of the carriage, pushing against him with what strength she had, her free hand catching at his sleeve. “Release me,” she demanded, sharper than her breath allowed. “Have you entirely lost your senses?”
He did not loosen his hold.
Instead, he adjusted it, pulling her further from the door as the carriage lurched into motion. The sudden movement threw her off balance, and for a moment she was forced to steady herself against him—the contact unwilling, unavoidable.
“Sit,” he said.
“I will not.”
The refusal came at once, though her strength faltered again, the earlier dizziness threatening beneath the strain. She forced it back, dragging in a breath that did not quite steady her.
“Where is my sister?” she asked, her voice tightening. “What have you done to her?”
“She is not my concern,” he said.
Arabella stared at him. “You struck her.”
