Philip leaned forward, his expression now cunning. "It would be good for us to lay our cards on the table, you and I. It would be good for us to find a way to work together."
Delia's mind was reeling. "Money he stole?" she repeated, the words feeling foreign in her mouth. "What are you talking about?" Her grandfather was a proud man, but she had never known him to be a thief.
Philip chuckled, a low, condescending sound. He then tapped his cane on the floor three times, a sharp, rhythmic sound that drew all attention to him. He stood up.
"Look, Lady Delia," he said, his entire demeanor changing. The mask of the sympathetic fellow outcast was gone, replaced by the cold authority of a Duke.
He walked closer to her, his steps slow and deliberate, until he had almost closed the distance between them. He loomed over her, a physically intimidating presence. "You need to understand the game you are playing…"
