Page 40 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
“Fine then, keep your thoughts to yourself. Are we ready to depart?”
“Beyond so,” Maxwell said tightly, gesturing for her to lead the way.
They reached the carriage, and Maxwell offered his hand once more. She took it without hesitation, gathering her skirts as she stepped inside. He followed shortly after, the door closing behind them with a muted finality that separated them from the lingering noise of the garden.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Arabella drew in a small breath, her energy returning as though it had only been waiting for the right moment. “I should like to invite them,” she said, turning toward him. “Jane and Cissie. To the house. It would be improper not to return the kindness, and I believe they would enjoy seeing it.”
Maxwell regarded her for a moment before answering. “You should invite them.”
Her expression brightened at once. “Truly?”
“Of course.”
“That is very generous of you,” she said, the sincerity in her tone unguarded. “I shall have a note sent at once. Or perhaps tomorrow. It would be better to allow for proper notice.”
“Whenever you see fit.”
She nodded, already considering the details, her hands moving slightly in her lap as she spoke. “We might host a small tea. Nothing too grand. Though I suppose it will depend on the number of guests they wish to bring. And the weather, of course. One never knows how it will turn.”
Maxwell listened without interruption, his gaze resting on her as she spoke. There was an ease to her now that had not been present before, a lightness that seemed to grow the more she spoke, as though the world she had stepped back into suited her in ways he had not fully understood until now.
The words came readily to her, her expression animated, her attention wholly engaged in the future she described.
And beneath it, the thought returned.
The week was over.
The understanding they had reached, the delay he had allowed, the space he had given her to adjust. It had all been measured, deliberate.
He watched her as she spoke, noting the curve of her mouth, the way her gaze bounced as she considered one detail after another. She was not thinking of it. Not in the same way.
“Arabella.”
She paused mid-sentence, her attention returning to him at once. “Yes?”
The carriage rocked gently beneath them as it continued through the streets, the fading light slipping through the window at her side.
Maxwell held her gaze, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, more quietly, “It is the eighth day we are wed,” he began.
She stilled.
The shift was immediate, subtle, but unmistakable. The ease in her posture tightened, her hands stilling in her lap as the meaning settled between them without needing to be spoken in full.
“Yes,” she said, her voice softer now.
The space between them felt smaller, but Maxwell did not look away, and neither did she.
And as the carriage slowed, the wheels crunching softly over the gravel of the drive, the silence that followed carried far more weight than anything either of them had yet said.
CHAPTER 12
“Must it be tonight?”
Arabella had not meant to say it aloud.
The question lingered in the air between them, softer than she had expected, threaded with something she could not quite disguise. She stood near the hearth, her fingers clasped together at her waist as though that might steady the restless energy that had followed her all evening.
