The Duke of Ford was not a man who enjoyed sharing. In fact, he was currently discovering that he did not even enjoy the illusion of sharing.
Rowan placed his silver knife down on the white tablecloth. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. He fixed a very polite, very deadly smile on his face.
"Tell me, Captain Smith," Rowan said. His voice was smooth, deep, and carried perfectly over the clatter of silverware.
The entire table went quiet. Even Lady Farrington stopped talking about the draft.
Smith looked up from his plate, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"It must have been very difficult," Rowan began, his brown eyes narrowing slightly. "Very difficult. Leaving your... precious treasures behind on the shore for months at a time."
Rowan purposely let his gaze drift to Delaney for a split second before snapping back to Smith.
Delaney swallowed hard, suddenly finding her muffin intensely interesting.
