Page 91 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“How does it feel now?” Maxwell said.
“Different,” Arabella replied. “Somehow.”
The silence that followed was not empty. It held, stretched, as though both of them were aware of the change without quite naming it.
Maxwell stepped closer then, not abruptly, but with a measured intent that did not allow the moment to dissipate. “You are not opposed to it?” he said.
Arabella drew in a breath, the proximity enough to sharpen every awareness she had tried to keep steady. “No,” she said. “It is what we agreed upon. It just feels different, but I cannot say how.”
His gaze did not waver. “Are you comfortable proceeding as agreed?”
“Yes,” she said again, though softer this time. “I am.”
He did not move immediately. Instead, his hand lifted, not to touch her fully, but to rest briefly at her arm, a contact that was neither accidental nor hurried. Arabella felt it more than she should have, the simple weight of it enough to send a quiet tension through her that had little to do with nerves.
“We should not delay,” he said.
“I agree,” she said, softer still.
The pause stretched, not with hesitation, but with something closer to restraint. Arabella became aware of the way he watched her, not distantly, not with the careful control she had first known, but with something more direct, something that made it difficult to look away.
It was she who broke the stillness first.
“Maxwell,” she said, though his name came softer than she intended.
“Yes?”
She hesitated, then continued. “You are not as… composed as you were.”
A faint shift passed through his expression. “Why do you say that?”
Arabella swallowed, though she did not step back. “I had thought perhaps I imagined it, but I can see it in your features… and I can feel it in the roughness of your voice. It is not the same as it was.”
“You did not imagine it… I am not,” he said plainly, and the honesty of it settled between them, quiet but undeniable.
“And,” she started, her voice steady despite the tension that had begun to coil through her, “do you still mean to approach this as before?”
Maxwell exhaled, the sound controlled, though not entirely even. “I mean to honor what we agreed,” he said. “But that does not mean it is unchanged.”
Arabella felt that more than she understood it.
“Then tell me,” she said, before she could reconsider. “What is different?”
For a moment, he did not answer. His hand, still at her arm, shifted slightly, his fingers tightening just enough to draw her attention fully to him.
“You are,” he said.
The words were quiet, but they carried enough weight that Arabella felt something in her chest tighten in response.
“And because of that,” he continued, his voice lower now, more deliberate, “I would ask something of you.”
Arabella’s breath caught, though she did not look away, and there was a brief pause from the care with which he chose his words. “It may not be what you expected,” he said.
“At this point, I honestly do not think anything about this has been what I expected,” she replied.
That seemed to settle something in him.
His gaze held hers, steady, though there was a tension beneath it now that had not been there before, something that edged closer to urgency than control.
