Page 4 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Arabella stilled as the title settled with unsettling clarity.The Duke of Northwood?
The butler straightened, though the unease remained evident in the set of his shoulders. “If you would allow me,” he added, gesturing toward the corridor. “I shall see His Grace to the chamber prepared for the Duke of Wycliffe.”
Arabella did not protest as he gently urged her toward the staircase. She allowed herself to be guided, her thoughts moving too quickly to settle on any one thing. The house felt smaller now with the knowledge of who walked within it.
By the time she reached her chamber, the storm had not lessened. It pressed against the windows with renewed force, as though the night itself had deepened around the house.
Arabella stood for a moment beside her bed, her pulse still uneven, her thoughts refusing to quiet. Then she drew the blankets back and slipped beneath them, staring up at the dim canopy above.
“I will have him gone,” she said softly into the dark.
CHAPTER 2
Poppet’s insistence came first, a steady kneading against her shoulder that pulled Arabella from sleep in small, persistent waves. The cat’s paws pressed and released through the thin fabric of her nightdress, a familiar rhythm that might have been comforting on any other morning.
For a brief, reckless moment, she considered turning onto her side, pulling the covers over her head, and refusing the day entirely. If she remained here, still and unseen, perhaps she would not have to face him again. The thought lingered just long enough to tempt her.
Poppet protested with a soft chirp, but settled beside her as Arabella swung her legs over the edge of the bed.
“You are not helping,” she murmured, though her hand returned briefly to smooth the cat’s fur.
She dressed with thoughtfulness, selecting a morning gown of pale blue that Eleanor had insisted suited her. The fabric was soft, the cut modest, the color light enough to lift her spirits if she allowed it. By the time she finished pinning her hair, her reflection showed none of the reluctance she had felt upon waking. That, at least, was a skill she had perfected.
As she descended the staircase, she steadied her thoughts with a quieter, more reasonable consideration. The previous evening had been poorly managed by both of them. He had been abrupt, yes, but she had not been entirely blameless in her response. It had been late, the weather unforgiving, the circumstances unfamiliar. It was hardly surprising that tempers had frayed.
Thankfully, by the time she reached the dining room, her composure had flexed into something almost hopeful. The room, however, was empty.
Arabella paused just inside the threshold, her gaze moving over the neatly arranged table, the untouched place settings, the quiet stillness that seemed to echo more loudly for the absence of another presence. She stepped further inside, her brow knitting slightly.
“Miss Arabella.”
She turned at the butler’s voice, relief flickering briefly before she noted the subtle tension in his posture. His hands were clasped more tightly than usual, and though his expression remained carefully neutral, his eyes did not quite meet hers.
“The Duke of Northwood has requested that you join him in the study for breakfast,” he said. “He is already there.”
Arabella felt the words settle in her chest before she fully understood them. “The study?”
“Yes, miss.”
“And do you know why he has chosen the study?”
The butler inclined his head, though his gaze dropped almost immediately afterward. “He has not indicated to me, miss.”
Arabella drew in a slow breath, smoothing her hands lightly over the front of her gown. “Very well,” she said, her voice steady.
The corridor to the study felt longer than she remembered. The house was not unfamiliar to her, yet the knowledge of who waited at the end of it altered the space in subtle ways. She paused just outside the door, her hand resting briefly against the wood as she gathered herself, then lifted her chin and stepped inside.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” she said, inclining her head politely as she entered.
He did not rise, nor did he return the greeting. “Sit,” he said, his tone as even as it had been the night before.
Arabella stopped where she stood.
The study was dim, the heavy curtains drawn across the tall windows, allowing only a thin line of light to press through at the edges. The air felt close, the space smaller than it ought to have been. It was not how James kept the room, and the difference struck her immediately.
“I cannot,” she said, already turning toward the nearest window.
His gaze followed her, though he did not move.
