Page 58 of The Duke's Sinful Deal
Only that at some point, the quiet had grown too heavy to carry while upright, and the settee had seemed a reasonable compromise between rest and thought.
Poppet had settled against her without invitation, a steady warmth at her side, her purring low and constant. Arabella had meant only to close her eyes for a moment.
But the mind did not still. It moved backward. “You deserve to be content.” Jane’s voice, clear and measured.
Arabella shifted slightly where she lay, her brow tightening as the memory sharpened, reshaped itself into something more immediate.
“I am content,” she heard herself say.
But even within the recollection, the words felt insufficient. Jane’s expression changed, not unkind, but unconvinced. “That is not what I asked.”
Arabella’s fingers curled faintly against the cushion.
That was not how it had been said…Or perhaps it had.
She could not be certain, but before she could really dwell on it, the scene changed again.
“He is not known for kindness.”
This time it came more plainly, without softening.
Arabella’s eyes remained closed, though her breathing had changed, slower now, more deliberate.
“And yet,” she answered, more firmly than she had in truth, “he has shown it.”
Jane’s silence followed.
Arabella felt it now, even in memory. That quiet pressure to explain, to justify what could not yet be neatly defined.
“What he is,” she continued, the words forming with greater certainty now than they had earlier, “is honest.”
Jane’s gaze did not waver. “Honesty is not warmth.”
“No,” Arabella said. Her voice, even in imagination, did not falter. “But it is not cruelty either.”
The distinction settled between them, clearer and more deliberate than anything she had said aloud that afternoon. Arabella’s breath caught slightly.
Why had she not said that?
Why had she allowed the conversation to pass so easily, to drift away without pressing what she knew, what she had begun to understand?
The scene changed again.
“You deserve more than that.” Jane’s voice echoed in her memory, softer now. Concerned.
Arabella’s lips parted, though no sound left them in the quiet of the room.
“I do notwantmore,” she said at last, the words forming slowly, as though drawn up from somewhere deeper. “I wanthim.”
The admission settled with startling clarity. Even imagined, it did not feel uncertain. And yet it did not feel premature. It felt true.
Arabella’s eyes opened, and the ceiling came into view, unchanged, steady, offering no answer and no challenge. Poppet stirred slightly beside her, adjusting her position before settling again. Arabella exhaled slowly, her hand lifting to rest against her forehead.
“How curious,” she murmured.
Not that the thought had come, but that it had come so easily. She turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting toward the window where the light had begun to shift toward evening.
“I could have saidthat,” she said, quieter now. “Ishouldhave said that.”
