Derek laughed again, a hollow sound that hid the rage burning in his gut.
Liam didn't laugh. He swirled the wine in his glass, watching the red liquid vortex.
"The Duke truly enjoys his pleasures," Liam noted. His voice dropped, becoming lower, more dangerous. "He seems... not concerned."
The room seemed to get colder. The harp music continued, sweet and light, but the atmosphere at the table was deadly.
"Not concerned," Liam continued, "about the Thompson Army's annihilation at Strathmore."
Derek's heart slammed against his ribs.
Strathmore. The name of the place where his brother died. The place where his family's legacy was butchered.
He felt a scream rising in his throat. He wanted to leap across the table and wrap his hands around Liam's neck. He wanted to demand the truth.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
He forced his muscles to stay relaxed. He forced his face to remain slack and open.
