Page 75 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
He waited.
She let the silence stretch a moment longer than necessary, then reached—deliberately—for the concealed seam at her waist. From it, she drew a folded page, already softened at the edges from handling.
“You are not in the habit of writing so concisely,” she said, holding it between her fingers rather than returning it. “I was not certain whether to be reassured or offended.”
Maxwell’s expression did not shift, though something in his gaze sharpened. “And which did you decide?”
Arabella tilted her head slightly, considering him. “I have not decided yet.”
The answer lingered between them, lighter in tone than in meaning.
She refolded the letter with care, but did not immediately return it to its place.
Another knock at the door interrupted the moment. “Dinner is served, Your Grace.”
Maxwell glanced toward the doorway, and the footman disappeared at once; then his gaze fell back to Arabella. “We should?—”
She did not allow him to finish. Instead, she turned toward him with a small, knowing look, one that carried a quiet mischief he had not yet grown accustomed to anticipating.
“You have not changed,” she said, her gaze moving briefly over his traveling coat. “Still, I do not believe anyone here will object.”
Maxwell’s brow shifted slightly. “It is customary.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But customs are not always necessary.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then added, softer still, “There is no one here to observe us. We may do as we like.”
The implication was simple, though not without effect.
Maxwell exhaled, something in the sound closer to a laugh than he would have permitted elsewhere. “You are suggesting we disregard propriety entirely.”
“I am suggesting we consider it selectively – especially in our own home when the Lord of the House has just returned,” she replied. “Besides, you cannot stand there and tell me that you have dressed in tails every evening when you were traveling.”
The answer was delivered with such ease that he found himself conceding before he had fully considered it. A fact that had lifted the corners of his lips unbidden. “Very well, then. I should like to at least freshen up.”
Arabella’s satisfaction showed only in the smallest shift of her expression before she turned, carefully setting the gown back into the box. She closed it with the same attention she had given its opening, then moved toward the bell pull.
“Have dinner brought to the drawing room,” she said when the butler appeared. “For both of us.”
“At once, Your Grace.”
The arrangements were made quickly as he departed to his rooms to clean his face and hands from being on the road. By the time Maxwell entered the drawing room again, it had already been prepared, the table set with quiet efficiency. The earlier impression of the room returned to him, though now it was altered further by her presence within it.
Arabella had taken a seat near the fire, though not at a distance. When he approached, she shifted slightly, leaving no question as to where he was meant to sit.
He did.
The meal began without ceremony, though not without conversation. It moved easily, more so than it had before his departure, their exchange settling into a rhythm that required little effort to maintain.
“There is something I meant to tell you,” Arabella said after a time, her attention returning to him as she set aside her glass. “An invitation arrived earlier this afternoon.”
Maxwell looked at her. “From whom?”
“The Dowager Countess of Lampton,” she replied. “She is hosting a masquerade.”
“Ah, yes, her annual gathering seems to be a highlight of every Season,” Maxwell said, recalling the name. “It is very well attended… though the guest list is always curated.”
“So I have been told.”
