He had said everything in such a mild tone, she might have dismissed it as a joke if it had not been for the flat look in his eyes.
“And if you disobey me,” he had said next, “I will be at liberty to punish you as I see fit.”
There would be no chance for her to complete her sculptures. No chance for her to do anything other than pretend to be the perfect little wife as he hounded their marital bed and dictated the gowns she wore for his convenience.
No, she would not marry him.
“Thalia!” her father thundered from behind her, and she knew she was about to face the consequences of her actions.
Slowly, standing beside the statue in the center of the room, the light from the lamps mounted on the walls barely reaching her, she turned. Her father stormed toward her, Lord Redmoor thankfully not in tow.
“How dare you,” he hissed as he came to stand over her. “I assured him you would be on your best behavior, and I have arranged the terms of your marriage. You humiliated him by leaving the dance floor and put me in a horrid situation. You are a disgrace to the family name. A failure. Do you know what kinds of ladies are not married even after this many seasons? The ones who are undesirable and poor. You are a laughingstock, and I will not stand for it. Youwillbe married, and I have chosen your husband after your spectacular failure to appeal to any of the gentlemen I have offered to you on a platter.” He grabbed her wrist, fingers digging in painfully. “Your mother would be disappointed thatthisis how her daughter chooses to behave,” he spat, and something in Thalia died.
Her father’s alliance with her mother had been his only redeeming feature, even if he had never truly loved her. It wasa mystery why the couple ever married. They were so very different from one another. Thalia had adored her mother. Even the condemnation her father slung at her now by invoking her mother’s name was untrue; it had been said to wound, and wound it surely did.
There was ice in her heart, and it was slowly freezing her through.
“Father,” she said, attempting to keep her voice steady, “I have no intention of marrying that man. I won’t do it, and if you care for my happiness at all, you won’t try to make me.”
“Why, you ungrateful littleharlot?—”
“Lord Gilford,” a voice rang out from behind them. “I recommend you stop this.Now.”
Her father slowly turned, the light of battle in his eyes. Thalia wanted to cry when she saw it was Maxwell, standing in all his pugilist glory, looking as though he was not considering pulling any punches.
How could anyone see him and not think he was a fighter?
If only he weren’t seeing her at her lowest after everything that had passed between them.
“Excuse me?” Lord Gilford sneered, and Thalia attempted to wrench her hand free. But he held her tightly, his grip a vice. “What business is it of yours how I address my daughter?”
“You make it my business by treating her so atrociously in my presence.” Maxwell took a step closer, and much as her father had loomed over her, Maxwell towered over her father. “Lady Thalia is of age and deserves to choose her own husband, particularly if you are offering her to a man such as Redmoor.” Maxwell’s lip curled in disgust. “The man has buried three wives and cannot retain maids at his household for the life of him. Do you know why?”
“What he does in his private time is no concern of mine,” her father said dismissively. “What he has is a fortune and a willingness to take my daughter despite her failed Seasons, and you have no right to interfere.”
Maxwell’s gaze narrowed in on the way Lord Gilford held Thalia’s wrist. “Release her.”
“Return to the ball, Your Grace.” Lord Gilford shook Thalia. “I will discipline my daughter as I see fit, and I will not permit you or anyone else to stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Maxwell held out an arm, preventing Lord Gilford from leaving. Thalia’s wrist ached where he held it, and tears pressed against her eyes. She knew as well as Maxwell must have that if she refused to marry Lord Redmoor, her father would ship her off to a distant aunt in the country, and she would become a glorified housekeeper, destined to die a penniless spinster. If there wasno way of marrying her off and profiting in that way, he would expect her to make her own way in the world.
There was no such thing as familial love, not for her father. He thought only of numbers and coins.
Maxwell met her gaze. His eyes were so cool and calm that she found strength in them. Heavens, but he was handsome, more so than ever in this shadowy room with the echoes of the ball framing him with mirth. All strong, cragged, masculine lines.
This might be the last time she saw him. She drank in his features so she might remember them in the future, if she ever had a chance to sculpt again, perhaps with wax or clay. Her fingers itched to commit his likeness in stone, so no one could ever forget it.
“Then I have a solution,” Maxwell said, still looking at her, even though his words addressed Lord Gilford. “I will marry Lady Thalia instead.” He finally turned his gaze from her and looked at her father.
It was as though a blow had connected with her stomach, leaving her breathless. Shock and disbelief and… relief.
“You?” her father spluttered. “You intend to marry my daughter? After dissolving the match? What sort of scandal is this?”
“There will be no scandal,” Maxwell said firmly, such conviction in his tone that Thalia believed him. “I will not stand by to watchher married to such a repugnant man, and if you will not protect her, then I will. A shame you don’t respect her the way I do.”
“I have not given my permission!”
“Your permission is immaterial, given she’s of age,” Maxwell said. “And more to the point, why would you? I am a Duke, a more than suitable match for your daughter. What about my offer is objectionable?”
