"Come with me," Maverick said as he grabbed her arm.
"What?"
Lucrezia instinctively pulled back, ready to resist, but his grip tightened just enough to stop her.
"I said follow me."
His voice was lower this time. Though not loud, it was firm enough to leave little room for argument.
Lucrezia narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read his expression.
What was this supposed to mean?
Was he helping her?
She had only been slapped. It wasn't as though she was dying.
If anything, the person who actually needed medical attention was the elderly maid Carla had burned.
Lucrezia would be fine.
But Maverick didn't look like he was willing to debate the matter. The indifference on his face not long ago had changed into something stern, almost unyielding.
Realising quickly that fighting him here—surrounded by servants and guards—would only make things worse, she swallowed her irritation and stopped resisting, allowing him to pull her along.
