Page 36 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Arabella stilled.
“You have been petting her,” she said.
Maxwell’s hand paused. He looked down, as though only now aware of what he had been doing.
“She moved,” he said, after a moment. “I did not remove her.”
“No,” Arabella replied softly. “You did not.”
Poppet purred louder, pressing further into his touch as though in agreement.
Arabella felt a warmth settle in her chest, quiet but steady, and she even allowed herself to think that perhaps this marriage would not be quite as unbearable as she had first imagined.
She lifted her gaze back to him, ready to speak again, when a knock sounded sharply at the door.
CHAPTER 11
Maxwell did not look away from Arabella at once. “Enter.”
The door opened to admit the butler, who stepped inside with the same composed efficiency he carried in all things, though there was a faint tightness to his posture that had not been present earlier. He held a letter upon a small silver tray.
“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head, “this was delivered this morning. It appears to have been delayed in the post. It is addressed to the Duke and Duchess of Northwood.”
Maxwell rose, crossing the room with unhurried steps as he took the letter. The seal was unremarkable, though the hand was familiar enough to place it among the many social obligations he had long since learned to ignore.
“To us both?” Arabella repeated, rising as well, her curiosity unguarded as she moved closer. “How intriguing…”
Maxwell broke the seal and unfolded the paper, his gaze moving swiftly across the lines before he spoke.
“A garden party,” he said. “Hosted at Westbrook House. This afternoon.”
Arabella’s face brightened at once. “Thisafternoon?”
“Yes.”
“How fortunate that it was delayed,” she said, her hands coming together lightly. “We might have missed it entirely.”
Maxwell lowered the paper slightly, studying her expression. There was no hesitation there, no calculation, only a clear and immediate delight that stood in quiet contrast to his own reaction.
“We discussed this,” he said.
“We did,” she agreed, her tone softening just enough to suggest she understood the weight of what she asked. “And we agreed to attend to what is necessary. This seems… necessary.”
Maxwell glanced once more at the invitation, then folded it carefully. “Very well,” he said. “We will go.”
Arabella’s smile widened, though she did not speak further on it. She did not need to. The satisfaction was evident enough.
The gardens of Westbrook House were already filled by the time they arrived.
Maxwell stepped down from the carriage first, the low hum of conversation carrying across the trimmed lawns, punctuated by the occasional rise of laughter that seemed to belong to another world entirely. The afternoon light stretched across the grounds, catching on the pale fabrics and bright ribbons of the assembled guests, rendering the entire scene almost too composed, too carefully arranged.
He turned, offering his hand without looking directly at her. Arabella placed hers in his, her grip light but steady as she descended beside him.
“It is lovely,” she said, her gaze already moving over the gathering with open interest. “Do you not think so?”
“It is a garden,” Maxwell replied.
She glanced at him, as though weighing that answer, then let out a small breath that might have been amusement. “Are you determined not to enjoy this afternoon already?”
