Chapter 118: The Game Beneath the Politeness
The chamber was warm, though the air within it felt anything but settled.
A fire burned steadily in the hearth, its glow casting long, shifting shadows against the polished walls, but even that quiet comfort did little to temper the energy that filled the room.
Two men were laughing openly and without restraint.
The sound rang sharp against the otherwise composed atmosphere, breaking entirely from the decorum expected of men of their standing.
At the center of it stood the owner of the chamber—Earl Hawthorne.
And he was not amused.
"You must be jesting," he said, though there was no humor in his voice.
His gaze moved between the two men as though waiting for one of them to admit it—to concede that this was some elaborate joke taken too far.
Neither did.
