She would recognize that face anywhere. The Duke was the rugged, overwhelmingly masculine type of handsome that contrasted with the more urbane gentlemen she had become accustomed to seeing and dealing with. He dominated every space he entered, including this one.
The thug turned his attention from her to this new threat, and to Thalia’s horror, threw a quick punch. She cringed, expecting the blow to hit, but the Duke threw up one hand, catching the brute’s fist against his forearm and striking with his other.
Thalia was no expert at fighting, but she knew the moment the thug’s head snapped back, and he staggered that the fight was over.
The other two men fled.
Cowards, Thalia thought.
The leader would have turned to run as well if the Duke had not grasped him by the collar and shoved him against the wall.
“Do not ever come anywhere near this woman or her companion again,” the Duke said, his voice a gravelly rasp that conveyed threat and danger so successfully that Thalia felt her insides twist.
“Yes, sir,” the man babbled. “I won’t.”
The Duke dropped him, and the thug fled.
If Thalia had been a different woman, one prone to hysterics, she might have been tempted to indulge. As it was, she straightened her spine and raised her chin.
The Duke watched her with dark eyes, making no attempt to approach.
Does he even recognize me?
Perhaps not. One could be forgiven for forgetting a lady they had only officially met once, even if that once was in his library as she begged him not to marry her.
Perhaps it would be better if he did not recognize her after all.
“Sir.” Elliot bowed deeply. “I am most grateful you came along. Thank you, for acting on my behalf.”
He reached out for Thalia’s elbow, obviously indicating that she ought to bow and thank the Duke, too.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, dipping into her best drawing room curtsy.
He might have encountered her here, in a place no lady ought to be, but that did not mean she was incapable of using her manners.
The Duke stepped forward, towering over both Elliot and her. She had thought the thugs’ shoulders were broad, but they were nothing to the Duke’s. No wonder the men had whimpered in his presence and run.
“Lady Thalia,” he said, her name a reprimand, which meant that he did recognize her. “What are you doing here in such a place?”
His gaze traveled to Elliot, whom he no doubt immediately condemned.
Thalia bristled. “Retrieving my friend from a rather unfortunate situation.”
“One she ought not to have attempted,” Elliot said, frowning at her.
The Duke merely glowered. He was particularly good at doing that, she noticed. He had been good at glowering when she had been in his library, and he had demanded she drink some Scotch to warm her bones while she begged for his favor.
How humiliating.
“Indeed,” the Duke said in his deep voice.
Thalia noticed the bandages wrapped around his knuckles, as though he had not merely stumbled across them but had been engaging in a bit of brawling earlier and come looking for a further fight.
She knew little enough about him, but she could believe that.
Elliot glanced between them, no doubt sensing the tension. “Lady Thalia,” he said, his voice thin with exhaustion. “Am I right in saying you already know this gentleman?”
She considered denying it, but there would be little point, and she doubted the Duke would engage in such subterfuge. “Yes. This is the Duke of Marrowhurst. Your Grace, this is Mr. Elliot Calloway, my?—”
