“Me?” he echoed, and relief sent him falling back on his heels.

“You,” she repeated. “I missed you.” And a more serious look he’d never seen her don. But then, she’d been a small girl the last time he’d seen her.

I missed you.

His gut clenched. “We were children.”

“And that means I should not think of you or the time we spent together?” she shot back.

“It means a lifetime has passed, and we are different people now.”

“Well, I’ll allow you certainly seem different. I, however, am very much the same Lettie Brookfield I always was.” With that, she sauntered off, in search of her glove.

His eyes were inextricably drawn to the slight sway of her luscious hips as she walked, and another wave of desire bolted through him. Anthony drank in the sight of her. Nay, she’d been correct in only one regard—he might have changed, but she was entirely a different woman. The duck had become a swan.

He set out after her.

Lettie paused and glanced up at the balustrade overhead, assessing it and then skimming her gaze along the row of vibrant hyacinth that lined the wall of the garden just below that terrace.

Dropping her hands on her hips, she stretched on tiptoe. “Where is it? Where is it?” she repeated to herself in an endearing little way. Suddenly, she dropped back on her heels. “There it is!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing loudly enough to make him wince.

He gave thanks as she rushed forward to retrieve that glove, because that meant he’d done his duty to Rhys’ sister and could see her safely inside. Then he could extricate himself from the many perils to be found with her.

Lettie went back up on her toes and arched forward, attempting to grab that glove, but the white satin article remained just beyond her reach.

Oh, bloody hell.

She slanted a frown his way. “You needn’t sound so bothered.”

“Did I say that aloud?”

“Bloody hell?” She repeated the curse with the same casualness she might issue a good morning, and he felt another reluctant smile pull. “Yes, yes, you did. And I’ll have you know,” she went on as he reached her side, “I’m quite adept at—”

“Scaling walls?” he drawled.

She blinked, seeming startled by that droll interruption. “Hmph,” she muttered. “I was going to say”—he plucked her glove free—“retrieving my own glove without your assistance.” Lettie gave a toss of her head. “Thank you very much, though, for your efforts.” She slipped that satin article from his fingers and pulled the glove slowly on. “Now…”

The click of the door opening above sounded like a shot in the night.

Swallowing his curse this time, Anthony caught Lettie and rushed her between the bushes, taking cover from discovery and trapping her between the wall and his body.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered.