Maverick's heart pounded in his chest, but his mind remained razor-sharp. He forced himself to stay calm, even as Cavendish's hands slid under his coat and shirt, grasping his bare waist firmly.
Taking a deep breath, Maverick spoke evenly, his voice steady despite the situation. "My lord would be furious if you laid a hand on me, Lord Cavendish."
Cavendish's hands froze. His voice turned curious, tinged with suspicion. "And who is your lord?"
Sensing Cavendish's wariness, Maverick didn't hesitate. "Earl of Cardiff," he said with calculated precision.
A heavy silence blanketed the room. After a long pause, Cavendish released his grip, stepping back with a low chuckle.
"Well, well," he drawled, returning to his seat on the couch, picking up his pipe. "It seems there's more to you than meets the eye, Bailey."
