Lord Farrington leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the polished desk. The smoke from his cigar drifted between them, creating a hazy veil.
"I don't need the penalty money," Lord Farrington stated clearly.
He waved his hand, dismissing the massive fortune as if it were nothing more than a pile of dust.
"If the Duke refuses to marry Celine and pays the penalty instead, the consortium gains a million pounds. But that means nothing to me," Farrington continued. His voice was cold, flat, and dripping with arrogance. "I have my own resources that would last me for a very long time. My debts are managed. My lands are secure. Wealth is common, Hawksley. Any fool with a lucky investment can become wealthy."
He reached out and tapped the ashes from his cigar onto the edge of a heavy crystal ashtray. The soft tap, tapsound was the only noise in the quiet room.
Lord Farrington looked up. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth or human compassion.
