Page 96 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Should I tell Eleanor?
Should I ask James what he had heard? Or Roderick, perhaps, who seemed to know more than he ever said.
And Maxwell, should he be told what was being said of him, of them?
She crossed the room slowly, her hands clasped lightly before her.
He had been honest with her. More so than she had expected. And yet, there was something in her that hesitated. Not from fear of his reaction, but from uncertainty about what it would change.
To speak of it would make it real between them, but to leave it unspoken would allow it to remain… contained.
Arabella paused near the window, her gaze unfocused.
She did not doubt him or who he was today, which, perhaps, was the most curious part of it all. The doubt lay not in him, but in the world beyond their walls. And in how much of it she wished to carry into what they were building between them.
By the time the light began to fade, her decision had settled quietly into place.
She would give herself time to understand what she wished to say and how. And until then, she would allow a small, careful distance to remain, not cold, not unkind, but preoccupied.
A space in which she might think clearly, without the weight of everything pressing at once.
* * *
The days leading up to the masquerade ball passed more quickly than Maxwell expected. Though they did not pass quietly.
The house no longer settled into the same stillness it once had. There were calls to be returned, notes to be answered, and preparations to be made that seemed to multiply rather than diminish as they were addressed. Arabella moved through it all with a kind of bright efficiency that did not feel hurried, thoughit left little room for idleness. He saw less of her than he might have preferred, but when he did see her, the moments did not feel diminished by the absence.
If anything, they felt more deliberate.
There were conversations, brief but pointed, often interrupted before they reached any natural conclusion. There were glances that lingered a moment longer than necessary. There was a shared awareness that did not need to be spoken to be understood. The memory of what had passed between them remained close to the surface, not discussed, but not forgotten either.
By the time the evening of the ball arrived, Maxwell found that the anticipation he felt had little to do with the event itself, but fully to do with his wife.
He became aware of it the moment she stepped beside him, not through any grand entrance, but in the quiet certainty of her presence at his side. The gown he had chosen had not been meant to draw notice, at least that had not been his stated intention, but the effect of it could not be mistaken. The deep green shifted subtly with the light as they moved, catching at the curve of her form in a way that felt deliberate now, whether he had admitted it then or not.
She did not linger, nor did she seek his reaction. Her composure held, steady and assured, though he felt the faint tension in her hand where it rested against his arm.
“You need not be concerned,” he said quietly, his tone low enough that it did not carry beyond them.
“I am not concerned,” she replied, though the slight tightening of her grip suggested otherwise.
“Then you are prepared?”
“I am,” she said.
Maxwell inclined his head once, though his gaze lingered on her a moment longer than necessary. It was not simply that she was beautiful, though she was, but that she wore it without effort, without calculation, as though it belonged to her as naturally as her composure.
He offered his arm fully then, not out of obligation, but with quiet intention.
Together, they entered.
The ballroom was already filled when they entered.
Light from the chandeliers fell in steady brilliance across polished floors and silk-clad figures, the air alive with conversation that rose and fell in careful waves. Music carried easily through the ballroom, familiar in its rhythm, predictable in its structure. It was a setting he knew well, one he had once navigated without thought.
But as they crossed the threshold together, he felt the shift immediately.
It began, as it always did, with attention.
