He was about to be more so.
Thalia reached his side, and he stopped his conversation, glancing at her. His gaze passed over her plain dress, then lingered on her face, perhaps struggling to recall if he had seen her before.
“My name is Miss Partridge,” she lied baldly, “and I’m here on behalf of my master, Alessandro Rossi. Your new commission, as requested.”
She waved a hand at the manservant, who placed the sculpture on the floor beside Mr. Fagin. With a flourish, he revealed the sculpture.
Thalia stepped back, always loving this moment—when a client saw her work for the first time.
He had requested, rather uninventively, a nymph carrying a jug of water, but Thalia had even detailed the water dripping from the neck of the jug, as well as the nymph’s pretty face, soft lips, and beatific smile.
And, of course, the nymph wore a simple slip of a dress that hung off one shoulder, revealing a small, pert breast. For that,she had looked in the mirror, copying her own and changing its size and shape somewhat.
Mr. Fagin laughed, slapping his rotund stomach with delight. “Well now, this Rossi knows what he’s about, doesn’t he?”
Thalia nodded. “The debt is paid.”
“Yes, yes.” He waved an absent hand. “The debt is paid.”
Her work here was done. She didn’t linger, backing away from Mr. Fagin?—
Until she crashed into something behind her. If it hadn’t been so warm, she might have believed it was a wall.
Instead, she knew better.
When she turned, it was to see the Duke glowering down at her.
He was wearing a shirt now, but she couldn’t banish the image of him half-naked from her mind, and even though the material concealed the power of his body, she pictured what was underneath.
Now, she would never be free of that image.
She felt oddly breathless as she faced him.
“Lady Thalia,” he said, reaching out to take her elbow and draw her closer to his body. When she glanced back, she saw he had tugged her out of the way of a passing group of young men. “You are here again.”
“As you see,” she said pertly, making no attempt to free herself. “Do you often come here to box?”
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “That was not something a young lady ought to have seen.”
“Why?” She tilted her head as she looked up at him. “Do you think my sensitivities are so delicate that I cannot stomach a little violence?”
“No,” he nearly growled at her.
“Then why? Because you are improperly attired? There are other places I could go if I wished to seethat, I assure you.”
His eyes flashed. “And what places are those, my lady?”
In truth, Thalia had no real idea; she only knew about this place because of Elliot, and while he may have frequented more insalubrious places, he made sure never to share them with her.
Still, that didn’t mean she had to admit to such things.
“Here, I am not a lady,” she said, raising her chin. “I go by Miss Partridge.”
“At least you have some sense,” he muttered. “Although you could have chosen a name like Smith or Jones.” He led her to a corner of the room. “Why were you here?”
“Could I not be here to see you?” She fluttered her lashes, at once prevaricating and more than a little enticed by the vision of his fighting. “I had not known you were so skilled.”
“If that’s the case, then you could not have come here for my sake,” he retorted dryly, but she thought she saw a hint of a smile on the corner of his lips.
