Page 78 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Her gaze dropped.
Poppet sat precisely at Maxwell’s side, her attention fixed with unwavering devotion upon his hand.
Arabella narrowed her eyes slightly. “You are doing it again.”
Maxwell did not look down. “Doing what?”
“You are attempting to pretend you are not feeding her,” Arabella said, her voice calm, though there was no mistaking the accusation within it.
“I am not pretending,” Maxwell replied. “I am being discreet.”
“Discreet,” she repeated, setting her cup aside with care. “You believe I will not notice if you simply move your hand more slowly?”
“It was not the speed that was intended to obscure it.”
Arabella leaned back slightly, folding her hands before her. “Then I must ask what, precisely, you thought would?”
Maxwell paused, his fingers stilling just above the edge of the table before withdrawing entirely. “Perhaps I misjudged the situation.”
“You did,” she said at once. “Quite thoroughly.”
Poppet, deprived of her advantage, let out a soft sound of protest.
Arabella glanced at her. “You will not encourage her,” she added firmly.
“She is persistent,” Maxwell said.
“She is manipulative,” Arabella corrected.
Maxwell’s gaze shifted briefly, not to the cat, but to her. “I find that persistence and manipulation are often closely aligned.”
Arabella held his gaze, something in the remark catching her attention. “You are not referring to the dog.”
“I am not.”
She blinked once, then leaned forward slightly. “You cannot mean?—”
“I find it difficult to refuse her,” Maxwell continued, his tone even. “Or her master.”
Arabella’s hand stilled where it rested on the table.
There was a brief, unmistakable pause.
Her gaze remained fixed on him, her expression shifting not with confusion, but with a dawning awareness that made her draw in a quiet breath.
“Are you attempting,” she said slowly, “to be charming?”
Maxwell did not immediately respond. There was the faintest suggestion of something at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile, though not entirely absent from it.
“You asked for it,” he said.
Arabella’s composure faltered, just briefly, her lips parting as though to answer before she found herself without immediate reply. The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but it was not entirely steady either.
She recovered quickly enough, though the warmth that rose to her cheeks did not entirely fade. “I did not ask for this,” she said, though there was less certainty in it than she might have preferred.
“You did,” Maxwell replied. “You suggested I consider it.”
“I suggested no such thing.”
