The doors of Rowan's study clicked shut. The sound was a solid, final barrier that separated the two men from the rest of the household.
Carcel walked across the thick rug. His heavy riding boots left faint traces of road dust on the woven fabric, but neither man cared. He walked directly to the large, comfortable leather chair opposite Rowan's massive desk.
Carcel sat down in the chair opposite Rowan. He let out a long, weary breath, the exhaustion of his rapid journey from London finally showing on his face. He rested his hands firmly on the polished surface of the table, his long fingers tapping a slow, thoughtful rhythm against the wood.
Rowan did not sit down immediately. He walked over to a small side table holding a collection of crystal decanters. He picked up a heavy glass bottle filled with dark amber brandy. He poured two generous measures into two crystal glasses. He knew they were going to need a strong drink for this conversation.
