Annoyance brought her back up, and she flashed a droll grin. Cupping a palm around her mouth, she spoke in a teasingly loud, conspiratorial whisper. “I’ll give you a hint, Anthony. This is where you say how very good it is to see me.”

*

This was where he was supposed to say it was so very good to see her.

It wasn’t. Or, rather, it shouldn’t be. Because she, Rhys’ sister, definitely should not be here.

Only, despite all judgment and reason and the chains of the past, he found the ghost of a smile forming on his lips. “It is very good to see you, my lady,” he said softly, finding against all better judgment that he meant those words.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll provide you with another etiquette lesson. At least sound as though you mean it, Your Grace.”

The minx was as bold as she’d ever been.

Brazen as brass.

And refreshing for it.

He felt another grin tug. Ironically, he had meant those words, too.

The young lady headed over to the table, where forgotten refreshments remained.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as she slid into one of those seats.

Lettie raised her teacup and took a slow sip, swallowing the brew and then lowering her glass before she deigned to answer. “However are you faring this day?”

“Not well,” he muttered as she made herself at home on that robin’s-egg blue sofa.

Concern filled her eyes. “Oh, dear. You do look flush in the cheeks.”

“At your being here,” he clarified.

Her lips formed a perfect moue of disapproval. “Well, that is downright rude. You really are bad at this.”

Anthony found himself torn between laughing, crying, and tearing his hair out. “Lettie…” he began, his voice pained to his own ears.

“I will help you, as I’ve had some years to practice social pleasantries. Are you enjoying this fine weather we’re having today?”

A streak of lightning cut through the sky outside the windows, and a moment later, the foundation of the townhouse shook with the force of the thunder that rumbled.

“Uh…” He glanced pointedly at the window. “I do trust you’ve seen the weather?”

“I have.”

That was it.

“And you find this to be fine weather?”

“Absolutely, I do.”

Do not engage her. Drop a bow and take yourself off. Distance was better between them, and no longer just because of her relationship to Rhys, but because he’d pinned her body against a stone wall last evening and had had his mouth and hands on her. Even so, against all better judgment, his legs moved of their own volition, and he found himself crossing to take the seat near her.

“This I have to hear,” he drawled, because, in truth, he did.

“Well, there are always gray skies and rain in England,” she explained.

He looked pointedly at the window.