SLAP!!!
The sound echoed sharply in the vast, quiet study. It was a violent, shocking noise that bounced off the dark walls and the rows of leather-bound books.
Lord Hawksley cried out. He held his face as he staggered backwards. His polished leather boots slipped on the thick Persian rug. He fought to keep his balance, his arms windmilling for a brief second before he finally caught himself against the edge of a heavy wooden armchair.
He stood there, breathing hard. His right hand was clamped tightly over his left cheek. The skin beneath his fingers was already burning, turning a bright, angry red in the shape of a large handprint. He did not dare to look up immediately. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Before him stood Lord Farrington.
