Another figure stood at the door.
"Your… Your Grace?" Ashlyn stammered, the name a small, weak, choking sound in her throat. She instinctively curtsied, her body moving on its own, her knees almost buckling.
Derek did not acknowledge her greeting. He was the apex predator who had just walked into a fox's den. He moved with a slow, deliberate, and terrifying power, his gaze sweeping over the private room, the chessboard, and finally, his sister-in-law.
He walked past her, ignoring her as if she were a piece of furniture, and sat down in the very chair she had just been sitting in. It was an absolute, crushing assertion of dominance. He owned this room now.
"People at this gambling house informed me that someone from our estate owes them a great deal of money," he said, his voice a low, casual rumble. He leaned back in the chair, the very picture of bored, ducal authority. "They are in possession of debts, signed with the Thompson family seal."
