Maxwell’s gaze held hers for a moment longer before he turned his head, looking toward the window. The glass reflected more shadow than light, and whatever lay beyond it did not seem to reach him. “There was a time,” he said, slower now, “when I would have called restraint weakness.”
Arabella watched him, the line of his jaw, the tension still held there. “And now?”
He exhaled, not sharply, but with a weight that had not been there before. “Now I know there are worse things than being denied it.”
The carriage rocked again as it turned, and the shift pulled her slightly to one side. She steadied herself against the seat without thinking, her gaze never leaving him. “Then why did you stay?” she asked.
His eyes returned to her, immediate this time.
“Because you were there.”
The answer did not arrive with force, but it settled heavily all the same.
Arabella swallowed, her throat tightening before she could stop it. “I told you to go.”
“I heard you.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
There was no apology in it. No attempt to soften the choice.
She drew a breath that did not quite fill her lungs. “Why?”
Maxwell leaned forward slightly, his forearms bracing against his knees, the movement controlled but not entirely composed. “Because protecting you cannot mean leaving you the moment something else demands my attention,” he said. “And because if I had gone after him then—” He paused, his expression tightening briefly, as though the rest required more effort than he liked to admit. “—it would not have been for justice. It would have been for myself.”
The words lingered, quieter than before.
Arabella went still.
“You do not need to become someone else for me,” she said after a moment, though her voice lacked its usual certainty.
“I am not,” he replied, more evenly now. “I am deciding what I will no longer excuse.”
The carriage began to slow, the change in rhythm subtle but noticeable, the sounds outside shifting as they turned onto a quieter stretch of road. Neither of them acknowledged it.
“I thought you would stop me,” she said, her gaze dropping briefly before she forced it back to him.
A flicker crossed his expression—regret, sharp and unguarded, before it settled again.
“I should have.”
“You agreed.”
“I did.”
“It hurt.”
The words landed between them, simple and unembellished.
Maxwell’s hand shifted where it rested, his fingers tightening once before stilling. “I know.”
Arabella looked at him for a long moment, searching, as though something might yet be withheld if she did not look closely enough. “I do not want to leave,” she said at last.
Something in him sharpened—not defensively, but with attention.
“I want to stay because I choose you,” she continued, her voice steadier now, though her hands remained tightly clasped. “Not because of the child. Not because it is expected. Because I do.”
