Page 112 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
It did not.
When she finally turned, the quiet of the room pressed in around her. It was the same quiet she had known before. Only now it seemed to know something about her.
Her things were not difficult to gather.
She moved through the task with a kind of calm efficiency, selecting what she would need, setting aside what she would leave behind. Each item laid into the trunk made the decision feel less like a thought and more like a fact.
Poppet watched from the bed, her tail flicking lazily as though this were no more than another ordinary evening.
Arabella paused, her hand resting against the edge of the trunk.
She loved him.
The realization came without resistance now, without hesitation.
But what had she expected?
Not silence.
Not that dreadful, well-mannered agreement.
She closed the trunk gently, the sound quiet in the stillness.
It had never been part of their arrangement.
And yet, somewhere along the way, she had allowed herself to forget that.
By the time she prepared for bed, everything was in order. Her departure was set. The decision made.
There was nothing left to reconsider.
And still, as she lay awake, the silence felt heavier than it should.
* * *
By the time the last of the servants withdrew and the corridors fell still, there was nothing left to interrupt it. No voices carried from distant rooms. No movement where there should be none. It was the quiet he had cultivated for years.
And yet, as he stood alone in his study, it offered no comfort.
The fire had burned low. The desk remained exactly as he had left it. Every object was in its proper place. Nothing required his attention. Nothing required correction.
It should have been enough.
It had always been enough.
Maxwell exhaled slowly. The breath did nothing.
He moved from the desk without purpose, crossing the room before turning again, as though motion alone might settle something that refused to be named.
It did not.
And then, without invitation, she was there.
Not in presence, but in memory. Clear enough to disturb the stillness he had spent years maintaining. The sound of her laughter— light, unrestrained in a way he had once dismissed as impractical. The slight tilt of her head when she disagreed, as though she were deciding whether to argue or simply outmaneuver him. The warmth of her beneath his hands. The absence of hesitation. The absence of distance.
Maxwell closed his eyes briefly.
It changed nothing.
