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 , 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 ti."
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.
Smith smiled, playing his part with the easy confidence of a man earning a large sum of money. "It is difficult, Your Grace. The sea is a demanding mistress. But it teaches a man to hold very tightly to what is his when he finally returns to land."
To emphasize his point, Smith reached out and placed his hand lightly over Delaney’s hand, which was resting on the table.
Rowan stared at their joined hands. If looks could start fires, Smith’s sleeve would have burst into flas.
"Indeed," Rowan replied, his voice dropping an octave, becoming dangerously soft. "But land requires a much firr grip than water, Captain. Things can be easily stolen if left unguarded by a careless man. One must always be vigilant."
Ines took a very slow, very entertained sip of her tea. She was enjoying this imnsely.
"Oh, I am very vigilant, Your Grace," Smith countered, giving Delaney’s hand a gentle squeeze. "My wife is my anchor. She keeps grounded. I would never let anyone take her."
Rowan tilted his head to the side. The polite smile on his face did not reach his cold, furious eyes.
"Anchors are heavy, Captain," Rowan observed sharply. "They drag a ship down to the dark bottom. They prevent movent. I prefer to think a true partner is like the wind. They push you forward. They challenge you. They do not hold you in one place."
Delaney’s breath hitched. She knew exactly what he was doing. He was talking about her. He was talking about the way she challenged him, the way she had pushed him out of his perfectly controlled life.
She felt her cheeks heating up again. She gently pulled her hand out from under Smith’s grasp, pretending to reach for her teacup.
"Well," Aunt Margery interrupted loudly, completely oblivious to the thick, murderous tension in the room. "I think the wind is dreadful! It completely ruins Fifi’s curls. Look at her, she looks like a startled sheep!"
Lady Farrington offered a tight, polite smile to the older woman, but she looked back at Rowan, clearly confused by his sudden interest in nautical taphors. "Will you be traveling to the sea for your wedding trip, Your Grace?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation back to her daughter.
"I have not decided," Rowan replied flatly, not looking at Lady Farrington. He kept his eyes locked on the actor. "Tell , Captain, how long exactly do you intend to stay ashore after you leave from here? The Royal Navy must surely miss such a... dedicated and passionate sailor."
Smith picked up his coffee cup. He was beginning to sense that the Duke actually wanted to kill him, but he stuck to Ines’s script.
"I have an extended leave, Your Grace," Smith lied smoothly. "I simply could not stay away from my Delaney a mont longer. The separation was entirely too painful."
Rowan’s jaw ticked.
My Delaney.
The actor had said the na casually, easily, as if he had the right to it. Rowan rembered the way her na had felt on his own lips last night in the dark study. He rembered the ragged, breathless way she had gasped when he whispered it against her skin.
Rowan picked up his heavy silver butter knife. He gripped the handle so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Is that so?" Rowan asked. His voice was now entirely devoid of politeness. It was a low, aggressive challenge. "And does Mrs. Smith feel the sa way? Was the separation painful for you, madam?"
Rowan finally shifted his piercing blue gaze directly to Delaney.
He cornered her. He asked the question in front of everyone, leaving her absolutely no place to hide. He wanted her to look at him. He demanded it.
Delaney froze. The teacup rattled slightly against the saucer in her trembling hand.
She slowly lifted her head. She looked past Smith. She looked past the silver candelabras and the bowls of fresh fruit.
She t Rowan’s eyes.
They were burning with a dark, intense fire. He was asking her a question about the fake husband, but his eyes were asking a completely different question about last night.
Did you miss ? Do you want ? Tell him to leave.
Delaney felt her heart pound against her ribs. She was painfully aware of Celine sitting quietly across the table, watching them. She was aware of Lady Farrington’s sharp ears.
She had to play the ga. She had to protect the lie.
Delaney forced a soft, wifely smile onto her face. She looked at Smith, and then looked back at Rowan.
"Of course, Your Grace," Delaney replied. Her voice was steady, though it took every ounce of her willpower to keep it from shaking. "A wife always misses her husband when he is away. I am very happy he has returned to ."
Smith bead proudly.
Rowan did not smile.
The silver butter knife in his hand suddenly snapped.
Crack.
The loud, tallic sound echoed sharply through the quiet breakfast room. The thick silver handle broke completely under the sheer, massive pressure of the Duke’s grip.
The broken half clattered onto his china plate.
Everyone at the table jumped.
Celine gasped, her hand flying to her chest. Aunt Margery stopped feeding Fifi. Lady Farrington’s eyes widened in sheer shock.
Rowan looked down at the broken piece of silver on his plate. He did not look embarrassed. He did not look apologetic. He looked like a man who was fully prepared to break a neck just as easily as he had broken the knife.
He slowly opened his hand, letting the other half of the knife fall onto the table.
"My apologies," Rowan said. His voice was dangerously calm, a terrifying contrast to the violent act. "It appears the silver in this house is older and weaker than I thought."
He picked up his linen napkin, wiped his completely clean hands, and threw the cloth onto the table.
Rowan stood up. He looked directly at Smith Jones.
"Enjoy your breakfast, Captain," Rowan said, his voice dripping with icy contempt. "And do hold tightly to your anchor. It would be a terrible sha if you were to lose it in my ho."
Without waiting for a response, the Duke of Ford turned and walked out of the breakfast room.
Ines quickly raised her teacup to her lips to hide the massive, delighted grin spreading across her face. The Golden Duke was finally losing his mind, and she was going to enjoy every single second of it.
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