Page 14 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“You will take the bed,” he repeated, his tone leaving little room for argument.
Part of her wished to refuse, to insist, to maintain some small control over a situation that seemed to shift further from her grasp with each passing hour. But the exhaustion that had begun to settle into her bones, combined with the knowledge that he would not easily be persuaded otherwise, stilled her objections.
“Very well,” she said at last, though the words felt heavier than they should have.
She turned then, seeking some small distraction from the direction her thoughts threatened to take, and noticed the narrow door set into the far wall. “The washstand must be through there,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He gave no answer.
Arabella crossed the room, her steps quieter now, and pushed the door open.
The smaller chamber beyond was dimly lit, a single candle set near the washstand casting a faint glow that barely reached the corners of the space. The mirror above it caught the light unevenly, reflecting more shadow than clarity.
She stepped inside, closing the door partway behind her, her focus on the basin, on the simple task of washing away the dust of the road.
It was only when she lifted her gaze that she saw the reflection first. A figure behind her, closer than she had expected, and the mask absent.
Arabella gasped before she could stop herself.
The sound broke the stillness sharply, and he turned at once.
The movement was quick and controlled, but there was no mistaking the shift in him. The careful restraint she had seen so far fractured, replaced by something far more immediate.
“Out,” he said.
The word was low, rougher than she had heard from him before, edged with something that made her step back without question.
“I—” she began, but he cut her off.
“I said get out!” He growled loudly.
Arabella turned and slammed the door to the washroom at once, her heart racing as she crossed back into the main room, the door closing behind her with a soft but final sound. For a moment, she stood where she was, her breath uneven, her thoughts struggling to settle.
She had enough clarity to know that the scars extended further than she had imagined. Enough to understand why he wore the mask not as a habit, but as a shield.
She pressed her hands together, willing her pulse to slow.
When he emerged some moments later, the mask was once again in place, his expression restored to its usual control as though nothing had happened at all.
Arabella turned toward him at once.
“I am sorry,” she said, the words coming quickly now, before she could second-guess them. “I did not know you were in sight ofthe looking glass. I would not have entered otherwise. I would never?—”
He inclined his head slightly, cutting her off without sharpness this time. “You did not know,” he said, and exhaled into a brief pause before continuing. “And I should not have raised my voice,” he added.
The acknowledgment surprised her.
Arabella blinked, then nodded. “Thank you.”
She moved toward the bed, her steps slower now, more measured as she began to prepare for the night. The space between them remained, carefully maintained, though the awareness of it had not lessened.
If anything, it had deepened.
And as Arabella drew back the covers, her thoughts returned, unbidden, to the image she had only glimpsed, to the way his voice had changed, to the brief fracture in his composure that had revealed something far more guarded than she had yet understood.
Sleep, she suspected,will not come easily this night.
Arabella stood for a moment longer than necessary before turning back toward the dressing room, her movements moredeliberate now, as though careful pacing might steady the strange awareness that had taken hold of her.
