Raphael regained control of his horse, his shocked expression shifting to one of careful calculation. The momentary vulnerability disappeared behind a mask of aristocratic contempt.
"No one of consequence," he said, dismissing his earlier reaction with a wave of his manicured hand. "Just someone I once knew. A passing resemblance."
Lyra didn't believe him for a second. His initial shock had been too genuine, too visceral to be about a mere resemblance. But she filed the information away for later investigation.
Orla nudged her horse closer, her smile dripping with false sweetness. "Raphael, allow me to properly introduce you to my half-sister, Lyra. She's recently married Percival Covington, quite the surprise to us all."
Raphael's eyebrows shot up. "This is the illegitimate daughter? Lachlan's bastard?"
The crude word hung in the air like poison. Percival's arm tightened protectively around Lyra's waist.
"Watch your tongue, Moreau," Percival warned, his voice dangerously low.
