“Then name your price,” he said evenly.
“She gets to name nothing.” Sir Thomas shook her, and Maxwell saw red. Before he could stop himself, he took the other man’s arm and bent it back.
“Release her.”
Sir Thomas made a choking noise as Maxwell bent his arm still further. People were staring, but Maxwell didn’t care. There might be rumors, but not enough to damage his reputation entirely. Particularly when such rumors originated in a place such as this.
Finally, Sir Thomas released Thalia, who stepped back, rubbing her wrist. Maxwell glanced over at the gesture, his eyes narrowing. If this brute had bruised her, he would suffer far more than a twisted arm.
“Now apologize,” Maxwell said.
Sir Thomas gasped in outrage, but when Maxwell showed no signs of letting him go—and true to form, no one seemed eager to step in—he did as he was commanded.
“I’m sorry, Madam Goode.”
Thalia’s eyes flashed, but all she said was, “Name your price, sir.”
“What is the highest anyone is willing to bid on this item?” Sir Thomas called.
A variety of answers followed, ranging from fifty pounds to five hundred. Maxwell folded his arms. The price was immaterial; he would pay whatever was necessary to get Lady Thalia out of that house.
“One thousand pounds,” Sir Thomas said, turning back to Maxwell.
For such a relatively small piece, which was vastly overpriced, Maxwell should have been appalled, but he merely nodded instead. “The deal is done. I will send my steward around tomorrow to negotiate the details.”
He glanced around the room, noting everyone who had seen what occurred. They would be unlikely to stand up and support him publicly if he required it, but the social pressure would force Sir Thomas to uphold his word. If he did not, he would lose respect.
“I will take my leave,” Thalia said, straightening her back, and Maxwell had the absurd desire to crush her in a similar embrace to that sculpture. No matter what she faced, she never let fear get the better of her, and he found the sight unreasonably arousing.
“Allow me to accompany you,” he said, extending his arm. “I would want to show an ambassador of Signore Rossi every respect such an esteemed gentleman deserves.”
She sent him a surprised, gratified glance and accepted his arm.
One thousand pounds lighter—yet all the richer—he left the establishment with Lady Thalia, and no one dared stop them.
CHAPTER 11
“Damnation,” she breathed to herself, the word scraped raw.
Thalia planned excuses in her head. Perhaps she could claim Elliot was Rossi, but that would cause too many problems in the future. If she claimed a mystery gentleman was Rossi, or that she worked for the Italian himself, would the Duke believe her?
Unlikely. The Duke saw through too many of her lies to believe that one.
So, would she have to tell the truth?
She spared him a glance. The muscles in his jaw were tight, and his brows were furrowed. This was not a man she wanted to get on the wrong side of.
Unfortunately, she had the impression she was already there.
But if that was the case, why had he saved her? No matter how she felt about the matter, she could hardly deny that: he had saved her. Something terrible would have happened if it weren’t for him.
They exited the house and stood on the cold street. Thalia took a deep breath to say her excuses, what few she had.
But instead, her mouth worked beyond her intentions, and what she actually said was, “Thank you. I’m very grateful.”
He looked down at her in the gloom of the night. He was so very tall, and she had seen him fight. There was brutality and strength in his movements.
If she was to have anyone on her side, fighting in her corner, she would have chosen him.
