Lord Montague is grasping at straws, and he knows it.
He watched Lord Montague’s expression shift from fury to frustration. The man’s lips twisted, but he had no retort; his authority crumbled under the weight of Raph’s resolve.
Lord Montague approached him slowly, like a snake planning an attack.
“How’s the shoulder?” he hissed under his breath, a sly glint in his eyes.
Raph’s blood ran cold, his mind flashing to the duel, the piercing sound of the gunshot, and Lord Montague’s smug face in the moonlight.
He dares bring that up now?
He kept his expression impassive, though his shoulder twitched with the memory of the scar.
“I believe you’ve overstayed your welcome, Lord Montague.”
Lord Montague grunted as he turned towards the Earl, who stood rigidly at his desk and remained silent. With a bitter sigh, he snatched up his papers, his movements jerky with resentment, and made for the door. But Raph stepped into his path, barring the way.
Leaning in, his voice dropped to a lethal whisper meant for Lord Montague’s ears only. “From this moment, every step you take is on borrowed time.”
The warning rang sharp and unmistakable.
Raph stepped aside with measured calm, allowing Lord Montague to sweep past him. He cast a venomous glare at Raph before yanking the door shut behind him, the echo reverberating through the study like a final note of his departure.
The room fell silent, save for Lady Camelia’s sharp intake of breath. She rounded on him, her eyes blazing as they did in the alley.
“What did you mean, ‘my duchess’?”
She’s relentless and in need of some discipline.
The dark thought swirled in his mind.
“It’s not your concern, Lady Camelia,” Raph said calmly, meeting her gaze with steady resolve. “The matter is settled.”
“Not my concern?” Lady Camelia asked incredulously. “You just announced something that involvesme! And what did Lord Montague mean about your shoulder? What history do you have with that man?”
She’s sharper than I expected.
His jaw tightened as the memory of that old wound flashed briefly. He kept his expression impassive, but her persistence grated on him.
“Lady Camelia,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re not my inquisitor. Focus on your family’s salvation, not my past.”
“And what exactly does your past with Lord Montague entail?” She seized on the topic, stepping even closer, her eyes searching his for answers. “Thereissomething! What did Montague do to you? Or did you do something to him? And why did you choose to save us from him?”
Raph’s hand twitched at his side; the old scar on his shoulder ached faintly under her scrutiny. Her sisters and father remained silent and stunned by the scene.
He cleared his throat. “Much as I enjoy a good verbal spar, perhaps I ought to introduce myself first?”
Lady Camelia blushed as she looked at her family apologetically.
The sight of her rosy cheeks took him back to the alley. He could still taste her sweet breath on the tip of his tongue. Her heady scent had clung to him long after he left her at her doorstep.
He desired more of her.
“Of course,” she said in a hushed tone. “Father, Iris, Margaret, this is?—”
“The Duke of Brentmere!” Lady Margaret blurted out and immediately reddened as she clapped a small hand over her mouth.
“You are correct, Lady Margaret. That is indeed who I am.” Raph allowed a slow smile to curve his lips, and the simple gesture deepened the blush on her cheeks.
