Page 27 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Arabella inclined her head in return, her composure steady even as something in her chest tightened.
Maxwell released her hand then, stepping slightly ahead as he gestured toward the interior. “You will see to her comfort,” he said.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He did not leave.
Arabella noticed it at once.
Instead, he remained where he was, turning back toward her. “You should know the house,” he said.
She blinked again, surprised for the second time that day. “Now?”
“Yes.”
There was no reason to refuse.
They moved through the rooms together, the tour steady, deliberate. He spoke when necessary, naming each space, its function, and its order. The drawing room. The dining room. The library. The corridors that connected them all. The staff followed at a distance, present but unobtrusive, their footsteps soft against the polished floors.
Arabella listened, her attention divided between his words and the spaces themselves. Everything was in order. Everything placed with intention.
Everything controlled.
By the time they returned to the main hall, the light had shifted again, the late afternoon deepening toward evening.
“You will be shown to your rooms,” he said.
“My rooms,” she repeated.
He inclined his head.
Not ours.
The distinction settled quietly, though she did not question it.
A maid stepped forward, ready to guide her.
Arabella turned slightly, her gaze lingering on Maxwell for a moment longer than necessary. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not leaving me at the door,” she replied.
He did not answer.
The maid cleared her throat softly, drawing Arabella’s attention away. “This way, my lady.”
Arabella followed.
The corridors felt longer now, quieter, the sounds of the house fading behind her as she was led upward. The room she was shown was spacious, the bed already turned down, the fire lit, the curtains drawn against the evening.
The door closed behind her, and for the first time that day, she was alone. Arabella stood in the center of the room, her hands lifting slowly to remove her gloves, placing them carefully on the table beside her. The silence pressed in differently here, not filled with movement or conversation, but with expectation.
Her gaze shifted toward the bed, and then away.
The day had been a flash. One moment following another without pause, without room to consider what came next. Now there was nothing else to distract her.
She was his wife.
