Page 99 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
And then it changed.
“Your Graces.”
The voice came from just to Maxwell’s right, smooth and appropriately pitched, though there was something within it that drew his attention before he fully turned. The man who stood there, mask designed in the likeness of a wolf, inclined his head with practiced ease, his manner polished, his expression composed in a way that suggested confidence rather than caution.
“Lord Covington,” he said with a tight bow, his eyes never connecting with Maxwell’s but remaining solely on Arabella. “I trust the evening finds you well.”
Arabella’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly beside him. Not withdrawal, but clear recognition.
“It does, Lord Covington,” she replied stiffly.
Maxwell’s gaze moved between them once, briefly, before settling again on the man before him. There was nothing overt in Covington’s manner, nothing that could be called improper, and yet there was something in the way his attention rested solely on Arabella, almost possessively, that Maxwell did not like.
Something between them just now suggested familiarity, and he immediately knew that he should not learn more about their connection in the slightest. It would anger him more so than it already has through this observed exchange.
“I wonder,” Covington continued, his tone unchanged, “if I might have the honor of the next dance.”
The request was made as it should have been, directed properly, phrased without presumption. Maxwell felt his anger rise in his chest before Arabella even answered.
Arabella glanced at him, just briefly, the look not questioning, but aware. Then she turned back to Covington.
“Of course, my lord,” she said, all three of them knowing full well that it would have been improper for her to refuse.
Maxwell inclined his head, the acknowledgment given without hesitation, though it cost him more than he cared to examine.
Covington offered his arm.
Arabella accepted it.
And then she was gone from his side.
Maxwell remained where he was for a moment longer than was strictly necessary, his attention following them as they movedonto the floor. The music had already begun again, the rhythm carrying easily through the room, though it felt altered now, sharper in a way it had not been before.
Covington danced well. That much was evident at once. His movements were practiced, his timing precise, his attention fixed entirely on his partner in a way that did not falter. Arabella matched him easily, her posture composed, her expression steady.
They looked… well-suited.The thought came unbidden, unwelcome, and Maxwell’s jaw tightened slightly.
It was not the dance itself that unsettled him. There was nothing improper in it, nothing that could be called out of place. It was the ease of it. The way Covington spoke to her, the way she responded, the familiarity that lingered beneath it even at a distance.
Maxwell became aware, then, of the tension that had begun to gather beneath his composure. It was not something he had expected.
“Enjoying the view?” The voice came from behind him this time, edged with something that did not bother to conceal its amusement.
Maxwell did not turn at once. “Roderick,” he said curtly to the man masquerading as a fox.
Roderick moved to stand beside him, his gaze following the same line Maxwell’s had taken. “I had wondered how long it might take.”
“For what?” Maxwell asked, his tone even.
Roderick let out a quiet laugh. “Forthat,” he said, inclining his head slightly toward the floor. “You have been standing in the same place for several minutes now. It is beginning to attract attention.”
Maxwell shifted his stance, though not enough to suggest retreat. “I am observing my wife.”
“Of course you are.” There was no mistaking the skepticism in it.
Roderick’s attention remained fixed on the dancers. “Do you know who he is?”
Maxwell’s gaze did not waver. “I have been introduced just now.”
