Page 127 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
The commotion did not disperse as quickly as it might have on any other morning.
Even as Eleanor regained her footing and the immediate concern began to settle into something more controlled, the air remained charged with the awareness that something had occurred which could not be dismissed as easily as a fainting spell or a minor disturbance. Conversations continued in low tones, glances exchanged with less discretion than usual. The presence of onlookers lingered.
Maxwell did not concern himself with them.
His attention remained fixed, though no longer on the path ahead. It moved instead between Arabella and Eleanor, assessing without appearing to do so, noting the steadiness returning to both, the absence of visible harm beyond what had already been seen. It was not enough to quiet the tension beneath it, but it was something.
“They will find him,” Eleanor said after a moment, her voice controlled despite the faint strain still present. “He cannot have gone far.”
Maxwell inclined his head slightly, though he did not answer.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention before the words could.
They came fast, uneven at first and then more measured, as though the pursuit had already reached its conclusion. The gathered crowd shifted again, opening just enough to allow passage, curiosity overtaking restraint.
James appeared at the edge of it, his hold firm on the man he dragged with him.
Amos did not resist in any meaningful way. The struggle had already passed, leaving him disordered in a way that stood in stark contrast to the composure he had once maintained. His coat was no longer properly arranged, one sleeve pulled askew, his collar loosened where it had been caught in the struggle. There was a mark at his jaw that had already begun to darken, and though he walked under his own power, it was clear he did so because he had no other choice.
Maxwell noted it without comment.
There was restraint in the way James handled him. It was not absent of force, but it was measured and controlled in a way that suggested the alternative had been considered and set aside.
“Stand there,” James said, his voice low as he released him into the waiting space before the constables.
The officers stepped forward at once.
They had already been called, their presence anticipated, and now they moved with quiet efficiency to take hold of Amos before he could shift again. He did not fight them either, though there was a flicker of something erratic in his gaze as he looked from one face to another, as though still searching for some version of this that aligned with what he had expected.
It did not come.
Maxwell watched him only briefly.
It was enough.
He saw the instability now, the fracture beneath the reasoning Amos had attempted to present. Whatever grievance had driven him had not resolved itself in that moment. It had only collapsed under its own weight.
The constables secured his hands, their grip firm but not excessive, and began to draw him back.
That was when Arabella moved.
Maxwell noticed it before anyone else did.
She stepped away from Eleanor without hesitation, her expression altered in a way that sharpened his attention immediately. There was no uncertainty in the movement, no pause to consider whether she ought to do so.
“Arabella—” he began, though the word did not reach her in time to halt her.
She crossed the distance with a steadiness that did not match the strain she had shown only moments before. The crowd shifted again, parting instinctively as she approached, though no one spoke.
Amos saw her.
His gaze found hers with an immediacy that suggested he had been searching for it even as he was restrained. There was no apology in it now. No attempt to explain. Only something unsettled, something that had not yet reconciled itself with the outcome before him.
Arabella did not slow.
When she reached him, the constables tightened their hold slightly, their attention flickering between her and the man they held, uncertain whether to intervene.
They did not.
