Page 2 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
She said it again, a little more firmly.
The servants lit the lamps one by one, the soft glow pushing back the shadows but not quite banishing them. Arabella remained in the drawing room, her book open on her lap, though she had long since stopped pretending to read.
When dinner was announced, her concern only grew in Roderick’s absence. Still, there was no sign of him as she sat and ate alone.
By the time she returned to her chamber, the rain had turned relentless. Arabella stood at the edge of her bed, unpinning her hair with careful hands. “It is only the weather,” she murmured to herself. “That is what has delayed him, that is all.”
She donned her ivory nightdress, climbed into bed, and drew her blankets close as the storm carried on angrily. Time passed slowly before the drowned-out sound reached her. The clumsy clattering of a carriage.
Arabella’s eyes flew open. For a moment, she remained still, listening, uncertain whether she had imagined it. Then came the distinct crunch of wheels on gravel, unmistakable even through the rain.
Relief rose so quickly it startled her. “Roderick,” she breathed, already pushing the covers aside.
She did not wait for a maid. She did not pause to properly secure her shawl. Barefoot, she hurried from her chamber, down the corridor, her pulse quickening with each step. By the time she reached the entrance hall, she was nearly running.
Arabella reached the door before anyone else had, her hand closing around the handle without hesitation. “You are quite unforgivably late?—
The door swung wide.
She stepped forward and stepped blindly into a brick wall.
The impact stole the breath from her. For a brief, disorienting moment, there was only the solid, unyielding presence of a man. He was broad and startlingly warm despite the rain that clung to and came down all around him
Arabella pitched backward.
Strong hands caught her before she could fall, one at her back, the other firm at her arm, holding her in place with effortless control.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved, then she lifted her gaze. This was not Roderick.
The realization came sharply before the rest of him resolved into something far more unsettling. The lamplight caught along the edge of a mask that concealed half his face, its dark line cutting across features she could not fully see. Beneath it, the exposed skin bore the heartbreakingly deep scarring that traced downward along his cheek, his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his coat.
Arabella flinched, and the man released her at once, as if her reaction had burned him. She stepped back quickly, gathering her shawl around her with unsteady hands, her heart still racing from the suddenness of it. Rain lashed against the open doorway behind him, wind carrying it in sharp bursts across the floor.
But she did not invite him in. Instead, Arabella swallowed, her voice catching before she could steady it. “Sir… who are you?”
The question left her more sharply than she intended, but Arabella did not soften it. She held her ground just inside the doorway, the wind tugging at her shawl, the rain striking the stone behind him in restless sheets. The man did not answer at once. Instead, he gave a short, impatient scoff while water dripped steadily from the edge of his coat.
He had not crossed the threshold.
That, at least, steadied her.
“You may lower your defenses,” he said at last, his voice even, though there was something in it that resisted warmth entirely. “I was sent.”
“By whom?” Arabella pressed.
His gaze shifted, not quite meeting hers, and from within his coat he produced a folded letter. “Wycliffe,” he said, extending it toward her. “You may confirm it for yourself.”
Arabella hesitated only a moment before taking it. The paper was damp at the edges, the seal broken cleanly, the handwriting unmistakable. She stepped slightly back into the light of the hall, unfolding it with careful fingers.
My dear Miss Arabella,
An urgent matter requires my immediate attention, and I regret that I shall be delayed no less than a week. I would not leave you unattended, and so I have sent a friend I trust above all others to ensure your comfort and safety in my absence. You are in capable hands.
Yours,
Roderick
Arabella read it twice, as though the meaning might shift under closer inspection. It did not.
