She laughed, the sound fulsome and whole. “Anthony!” she exclaimed a second time, proving that his ears had not deceived him, that this blithesome creature, an enchantress attired in a pale lavender gown, did, in fact, speak to him.

He shook his head tightly. “Forgive me,” he said tersely, for the first time wishing himself capable of smooth, urbane charm so he might have had a gentler murmured response than the current, and familiar to him, clipped tones.

His brusque tones, however, weren’t enough to dim that smile. “Anthony,” she said for a third time. She touched a hand to her breast. “It is me.”

She said it as though they had a past, which, given his wanderings and avoidance of polite affairs outside those involving his parliamentary affairs, was an impossibility.

And yet, she’d invoked his Christian name.

Her smile slipped slightly, and he braced for the discovery that she had confused him with some other chap who also happened to be in possession of Anthony’s same name.

She let her arm fall. “It is me, Lettie.”

“I do not—” That denial of knowing anyone by the name of Lettie went unfinished.

He froze and continued to stare hard at her. Because he did know a Lettie. Just one, but she was years younger and…and…decidedly not the breathtaking temptress who stood before him, staring expectantly, as if trying to will him to remember.

His breath hitching in his chest, Anthony drew back. “Impossible.”

“I assure you, quite possible,” she said. She did a small circle that set her skirts lifting slightly as she turned, revealing a trim pair of ankles.

His cheeks went hot for having noticed.

“I’ve grown up, Anthony.”

Aye, he’d noted that, too.

The lady lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug, as if to say, Time. She wore that seemingly permanent smile affixed to her mouth.

Suddenly, she sprinted forward.

“What—?”

The lady threw herself at him, cutting off his question, and his entire body tensed as he caught her in his arms to keep her from falling.

“It is ever so good to see you!” she cried, and over the top of her auburn tresses, he searched his gaze about, fearing discovery was imminent, and the world would enter to find him alone here with this woman—the last woman he should ever be alone with—in his arms.

Alas, she revealed none of the same reservations or unease. “I mean, I kept thinking you’d come around,” she prattled happily. “But then you never did, and I heard you’d been traveling some years ago. Or at least that was what I was told whenever I asked.” She scooted out of his arms, and he felt a brief loss at the absence of her slight weight against him. Lettie rapped him slightly on the forearm. “Shame on you for never keeping in touch.” A mischievous sparkle glittered in her eyes.