Page 33 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“Now you know,” he said quietly.
The bed shifted as his weight lifted, and she forced her eyes open, watching him as he crossed the room toward the door, his steps steady, without any real hurry to them.
“And we have only just begun.”
CHAPTER 10
“What do you mean, he has already broken his fast?”
Arabella stood near the foot of the bed as her maid carefully smoothed the coverlet, the morning light filtering through the tall windows and catching on the fine dust that lingered in the air. The question had left her lips before she had quite thought to soften it, though her tone carried more curiosity than reproach.
“The Duke always takes his breakfast in his study, Your Grace,” the maid replied, dipping her head slightly as she adjusted the folds of a gown laid out across a nearby chair. “It is his habit.”
“Always?” Arabella echoed, reaching for the edge of the dressing table as she steadied herself, the memory of the previous evening pressing in before she could quite stop it. The warmth of his hands, the quiet authority in his voice, the way her body had responded before her mind could catch up. A flush rose swiftly to her cheeks, and she turned away under the pretense of inspecting the arrangement of her things.
The maid did not seem to notice. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Arabella cleared her throat and moved toward the washstand, dipping her fingers into the cool water as if that might steady her thoughts. “And my belongings,” she said, more briskly now. “You mentioned they have arrived?”
“They have, Your Grace. From Langford Estate. Everything has been placed in your dressing room.” A small pause followed before the maid added, “Your cat as well.”
Arabella’s head lifted at once. “Poppet is here?”
“Yes, Your Grace. She was seen not long ago.”
Relief settled into her chest more quickly than she would have expected. “Good,” she said, a softer note entering her voice despite herself. “Very good.”
She finished dressing with more haste than was strictly necessary, her thoughts moving ahead of her as she descended the staircase. The house felt different in the morning, quieter in a way that spoke not of emptiness but of restraint. Every movement seemed measured, every sound subdued, as though the walls themselves had learned to hold their breath.
By the time she reached the breakfast room, a tray had already been set. The silver gleamed, the tea steamed gently, and the arrangement was as precise as everything else she had seen inthe manor thus far. Yet the chair opposite remained empty, and the absence drew her attention more than the meal itself.
“Has the Duke already begun his day’s work?” she asked, turning to the butler who stood at a respectful distance.
“He has, Your Grace,” the man replied. “He is in his study.”
Arabella hesitated only briefly before making her decision. “Then have my breakfast brought there as well,” she said. “I will join him.”
There was the faintest pause, so slight it might have gone unnoticed by anyone less attentive. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
She inclined her head, satisfied, and turned toward the corridor that led deeper into the house. If Maxwell believed that he might continue as he had before, separate and distant, then he would soon learn otherwise. Marriage, even one born of necessity, did not lend itself to avoidance, and she had no intention of being set aside like an afterthought.
As she walked, her gaze moved over the details she had not properly taken in the day before. The walls were lined with paintings that leaned more toward somber landscapes than the bright portraits she had grown accustomed to. The carpets softened her steps, their patterns intricate but subdued. Even the light seemed different here, filtered through heavy drapery that allowed only what was necessary to enter.
“Poppet?” she called softly as she passed an open doorway, peering inside. The room beyond was empty, its furnishings neat and untouched. “Where have you gone, you troublesome creature?”
There was no answering sound, and Arabella allowed herself a small sigh before continuing on. “Very well,” she murmured under her breath. “You will come when you please, as always.”
The door to the study stood closed at the end of the corridor, its dark wood polished to a quiet sheen. Arabella paused before it, smoothing her skirts with one hand as she gathered herself. The memory of the night before lingered still, not unpleasant but unsettling in its persistence, and she drew in a steadying breath before lifting her hand to knock.
She did not wait long after the sound echoed through the room beyond. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside.
For a moment, she simply stood there.
The study was unlike any other room she had seen in the house. Where the others had felt curated, composed to a standard of quiet perfection, this space bore the unmistakable signs of use. Papers were stacked in careful but visible arrangements across a large desk. Books lined the walls, some neatly shelved, others left open as though they had been consulted and set aside with the expectation of return. A faint scent of ink and leather hung in the air, grounding the room in something tangible, something lived.
It was also, she noticed, quite dark.
Heavy curtains had been drawn across the windows, allowing only narrow streams of light to cut through the dimness. The effect cast the room in shadow, the corners softened, the details revealed only where the light chose to fall.
