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.
For the first time, she felt a surge of frustration at her former self. Then, she hadn’t known—how could she have done—that this would be the man she was turning down.
Then again, if she had married him, he would no doubt have prevented her from doing the thing she cared most about: her sculpting.
“Tell me something,” he said, and it sounded a little as though he was holding back far worse words. “Why do you persist in putting yourself in dangerous situations?”
“When I received—when…” She chewed on her lip and did her best to find a lie she could commit to. There were none. So, she gave a little of the truth. “If I had known what sort of party this was, I would never have agreed to attend.”
Another muscle in his jaw flexed. “Why were you there?”
“I was—”
“The ambassador to Alessandro Rossi?” This time, when he looked at her, she could practically see the skepticism in his eyes. “Yes, so Sir Thomas said. Is that who you have positioned yourself as?”
“Positioned myself as?” Thalia shook her head, anger replacing her nervousness. “Thank you for your aid, Your Grace, but I must take my leave now.”
He caught her arm. “Do you have a carriage?”
“I would prefer to walk.”
“What a coincidence.” She thought she beheld the flash of a smile as he fell into place beside her. “So do I.”
“I have no further need of your assistance,” she said stiffly.
“Until you find someone else who wishes you harm. Judging by your record thus far, we will not have long to wait.”
The audacity of this man.
Thalia stuck her nose in the air; having almost forgotten the reason she was attempting to take her leave.
Unfortunately, the Duke himself reminded her. “I don’t believe this nonsense about being an ambassador, Lady Thalia, and I’m not a man inclined to let things go when I am defied, so you may as well tell me the truth.”
“What do you care?” she tried. “I know you despise Rossi’s work.”
“Ah.” He tipped his head back to the sky for a moment. “I suppose I only have myself to blame for that.”
“You said as much.”
“Yes, and I freely admit to being wrong. Did you think I purchased that statue for your sake alone? You must think me very rich.”
“You are very rich,” she pointed out, but her certainty faltered.
Yes, he was wealthy, but had she thought he had spent so much just to rescue her? Buying the statue was unnecessary for that goal; he could have taken her away through force or the power of his rank.
“You like it?” she asked hesitantly.
“I do,” he said. “It’s an excellent piece of artwork. Admittedly, I am not a connoisseur, but I like to think I have some grasp of quality.”
Inwardly, Thalia beamed. Outwardly, she peered at him suspiciously. “This is a turnaround.”
“I am skeptical of new trends and find they are often wanting. However, I was pleasantly surprised by Rossi. Do you doubt me? I will display the piece with pride.”
“Well.” Thalia felt her cheeks heat; the sincerity of the compliment was undeniable. “I’m pleased to hear it.”
“For what reason?” He tucked his hands behind his back as he strolled by her side, and for the first time in her life, she found it was rather pleasant to walk at night, when the lights of the city lit up the sky, and the cool wind eased the burn of her cheeks.
“Could it be, Lady Thalia, that you are far more than a mere ambassador of Alessandro Rossi’s? ”
Thalia hesitated. “What are you asking?”
“Merely if you are the talented hand behind the sculptures?” His gaze scanned her face, and although she tried to hide her expression, she felt herself to be an open book. “I can see it’s true,” he mused. “Now this is a turnaround for the books. I presume your father does not know.”
She clenched her fists once, twice. Then let out a long breath.
“The only two who know are Mr. Calloway and Anna,” Thalia said, finally yielding her secret—and finding it came as a relief. “And they have been sworn to the strictest confidence. Even Simon doesn’t know.”
“I suspected as much,” he said. “And this is why you are attending so many places of dubious respectability.”
“Bold of you to consider Sir Thomas and his gathering of even dubious respectability.”
He gave a tiny chuckle. “You are right, of course. He has no claim on respectability.”
“And neither do I,” Thalia said, looking straight ahead.
“That is, I presume, why you have never married?”
“As a wife, I would have duties.”
“And you would rather…” He gestured ahead of them as though he could summon Passione back before them. “I see.”
“My father has expectations for me, but he also has many distractions and doesn’t notice when I slip out at night. I have no faith a husband would be so oblivious.”
“You would have to tell him, of course.”
Thalia almost scoffed. He said the words so easily, but everyone knew that he would not contemplate a wife who behaved in such a way. Women were not allowed room at the table of great arts, and certainly not well-bred, highly ranked women.
There were some, some few, ladies who made a name for themselves within the arts, but they never married well. Many never married at all. That was the burden of greatness when one was born female.
She didn’t bother explaining this to the Duke. There was little point in illustrating how it felt to be denied to a man who had been denied very little throughout his privileged life.
Even his brother’s tragic death and his unexpected thrust into dukedom had only added to his influence. When he wished to, he could go to a club and fight as a means of clearing his head and finding himself.
One could argue she had the same freedom, though not for bare-knuckle boxing. But she had to scrape for every scrap of independence; he had it granted.
As they strolled, her street came into view, and Thalia slowed a little. Much as she didn’t think the Duke would quite understand her situation, she didn’t want this walk with him to end.
He glanced from her to the shadowy street ahead, the lights largely extinguished from the large townhouses. “Is this where you live?”
“Can you believe it only took a handful of minutes to walk back?” She laughed a little, trying to find her way past this sudden awareness and embarrassment. “Enough time for you to know my secret, I suppose.”
He turned to face her, serious suddenly. “Do you think I will betray you?”
“I don’t know you well enough to say.”
“Then let me be plain now. I have no intention of telling anyone of your secrets; they are yours to reveal or not as the time comes. I must confess it’s a relief to know why you are so close to Calloway.
” He sighed in what appeared to be abject relief, and she wondered what about her friendship with Elliot had bothered him so much.
Anyone with eyes in their head could see that he had no interest in her.
Or, indeed, any woman. “You have nothing to fear, Lady Thalia.”
“You know my greatest secret,” she said saucily, extending a hand. “You may as well call me Thalia now. And might I address you as Maxwell?”
A faint smile touched his lips. “Is that what constitutes intimacy in your eyes? The sharing of mutually destructive secrets?”
“Do I have a secret that might destroy you, Your Grace?”
“Maxwell.”
“Maxwell,” she repeated, wondering why his name felt so well on her tongue, and what she was supposed to do about a duke staring down at her in the darkness as though she was his next meal.
Excitement squirmed in her stomach; if they were somewhere else, she might have leaned in and encouraged him to take what he so clearly desired. Their kiss replayed in her mind, and she lingered on every detail the way she had not allowed herself to since the moment it happened.
Good God, she wanted him to kiss her.
Perhaps they ought to have taken a carriage after all. At least there, they would have had privacy.
“Every man has his secrets,” he said slowly. “And no, you do not know them all. But you know more than most, Thalia.”
A thrill ran through her.
I would like to know them all, she didn’t dare to say aloud.
“Here,” he said and took her hand, bowing over it. “Come, let me see you to your door.”
“No.” She pulled her hand away, thinking fast. “My maid is loyal, but I cannot vouch for all the servants, and if anyone finds me sneaking back inside, it would be better to be alone. If they see you, then—”
“I understand.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound a little disappointed? “Then let me bid you farewell now.”
This was for the best, she told herself. What she wanted. They could not afford to be too involved. And she could certainly not invite him back to her house.
Had the circumstances been different, she might have been tempted to behave so boldly.
“Goodbye, Maxwell,” she said. “Until we meet again.”
His eyes were dark as they scanned her face. “Until then.”
Later that night, as Thalia stared at the ceiling of her bed chamber, her maid having successfully snuck her back inside, all she could see was the Duke’s face as he stared at her from across the room. All she could hear was his voice informing the crowd that he would be purchasing the sculpture.
He liked it.
She squealed and buried her head in her pillow before a rather devastating thought occurred to her.
This has gone beyond idle fancy. Beyond lust, even.
She didn’t just find him coldly appealing, and she didn’t merely admire his boxing or his propensity to be wherever she needed him to be.
No, she liked him in an entirely deeper, more intimate way.
And she had absolutely no idea what she was supposed to do with that.
Maxwell leaned back in his chair, one hand on his cock as he pictured Thalia in a negligee, those perfect breasts covered by mere slips of material.
He recalled the hungry way she had kissed him and groaned, pumping harder.
A small part of him knew this was a mistake to fantasize about her in this way, but the other part wanted her.
This desire was explosive, demanding. Unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
He knew, more than ever, that nothing could happen between them.
But the tilt of her chin as she confessed her greatest secret to him was captivating.
Her integrity, her bravery, her artistic merit.
She was talented and determined to pursue that talent, even if it meant excluding herself from Society.
He ought to have despised her unladylike behavior.
Instead, there was fire in his veins. His release neared, and he imagined putting her bold mouth to work on him, sliding up and down as he—
His hips bucked, and he fumbled for the handkerchief to catch his seed as he spilled, the mental image too much.
The sensible thing to do would be to avoid her. She was too much of a temptation—had been from the start, and he had ignored all his inner warnings.
Now it was too late; as he cleaned himself up, he considered all the ways they might meet again. If he could orchestrate it. Whether she would permit him to. The gathering that evening had been a farce, rich men playing at being artists while insulting those true artists among them.
What she needed, and what she would like beyond all else, was a true meeting of like-minded people. Artists who prioritized their art rather than merely appeasing their patrons.
He knew of just the place, and he rather thought he could secure them both an invitation.