Page 47 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Arabella shifted slightly in her seat, her hands folding together in her lap as she gathered herself. “I invited them,” she said, her voice steady despite the color that still lingered in her cheeks. “I hope you do not mind.”
Maxwell’s gaze rested on her for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “I do not at all,” he said.
Relief flickered briefly across her expression before she could conceal it.
Gwen’s lips curved faintly. “You are most gracious, Your Grace. You will join us?”
Maxwell nodded stiffly. The room was warmer than the rest of the house. And yet, he found that he did not immediately refuse.
“I will stand,” he said.
“Of course,” Gwen replied easily.
Arabella glanced at him once more, her gaze lingering for a fraction longer this time before she turned back to her companions, the conversation resuming with only a slight hesitation.
Maxwell remained where he was, observing.
She moved differently among them. As though she had not spent the past days navigating unfamiliar ground. As though she had not lain beneath him the night before, her breath unsteady, her composure altered in ways he had not anticipated.
The contrast unsettled him.
Maxwell’s gaze swept the room once more before returning, inevitably, to her. He had come to inform her of his departure. Within the next few hours.
His gaze settled on her again, more deliberate now.
And as her laughter rose once more, softer this time, something in his expression sharpened almost imperceptibly as he considered how, precisely, he intended to tell her.
* * *
Arabella had not expected him to stay.
When Gwen gestured lightly toward the empty chair beside her and said, “Will you sit, Your Grace? Or do you wish to make us all uneasy standing so?”
Arabella had prepared herself for a polite refusal, something brief and distant that would allow him to retreat once more into the quiet order he preferred.
But he sat.
The motion was unhurried, deliberate, as though he had weighed the decision and found no sufficient reason to deny it. Arabella felt the shift immediately, though she did not let it show. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture composed, even as her attention sharpened in a way she could not quite control.
“Well,” Gwen said, a hint of amusement threading through her voice, “this is a rare honor. We must make the most of it.”
Jane let out a small, nervous laugh, adjusting her hold on William as she glanced briefly toward Maxwell before lowering her gaze again. “We would not wish to disappoint,” she said.
Cissie, still half-turned toward Poppet, added, “Though I fear we may be poor company compared to your usual engagements, Your Grace.”
Maxwell regarded them for a moment, his expression steady, before replying, “You assume I have more engaging alternatives.”
The remark was dry, but there was a faint shift in his tone that softened it, just enough to draw a quiet smile from Gwen.
“Oh, I think you do,” she said. “You simply choose not to indulge them.”
Arabella glanced at him then, curious despite herself.
He inclined his head slightly, neither confirming nor denying the observation.
The conversation moved on, and to Arabella’s growing surprise, he did not withdraw from it. He did not dominate it either. Instead, he contributed in measured intervals, his words chosen with care, his tone controlled but not entirely devoid of warmth.
Jane spoke of Bath again, her voice gaining confidence as she described the promenades and the endless parade of hopefulintroductions. “One begins to feel rather like a display piece,” she said, smiling faintly. “Presented and assessed in equal measure.”
