Because he was wise enough and knew her enough to gather hers wasn’t a normal social visit.

She lowered her teacup, returning it to the porcelain plate. “I need to know, Anthony,” she said softly.

He stared confusedly at her.

Lettie came to her feet in a graceful rustle of pale yellow silk skirts. Had he ever seen her so graceful? Had he ever known any woman so graceful?

Anthony swallowed hard.

She glided over, and he followed her with his gaze as she walked toward him. Then she stopped, and—God help him—she slid onto the edge of his armchair so that their legs touched. He smelled the hint of apple blossoms that clung to her skin, the perfect fragrance for this woman who was a veritable Eve to him, dangling that most forbidden of fruits. He closed his eyes.

“Lettie,” he said, her name a hoarse entreaty. “Please.”

She misunderstood, lowering her hand to his and twining their fingers.

“What happened?” she asked hesitantly.

Anthony forced his eyes open. “Lettie, it is not my place to tell.” If her family had wished for her to know, then they would have told her. Also, the sordid details were not fit for her ears.

Rage sparked to life in her eyes, setting those blue depths aglitter, and she released him quickly.

Good. He deserved that.

“What did he do?” she seethed.

Anthony cocked his head.

“My brother,” she said, and without allowing him a moment to answer, she stormed to her feet and began to pace before him, muttering all the while under her breath. “Shameful. I’ve never been disappointed in Rhys…until now.”

Disappointed in Rhys.

Her faith in him was so great that she’d once again come to the erroneous conclusion that the sin lay at Rhys’ feet and not his own. Coward that he was, he wanted to let her to that incorrect supposition. She was endearing in her distracted fury.

He wanted to leave it so that she remained oblivious to Anthony’s past transgressions and did not look at him…well, the way he looked at himself every morning. Because he’d come to…covet the eager way she’d greeted him both times their paths had crossed these days.

“Lettie, you misunderstand,” he said guardedly, and the lady continued pacing, her agitated steps slowing and then stopping altogether.

She looked at him. “Anthony?”

“Rhys… He did not do anything, Lettie. As I explained last night,” Why could she not understand this. “I was the one at fault.”

Lettie reeled like she’d been dealt a blow. “Impossible.” That denial exploded with such force from her lips that he found his own tugging up in a small smile. “I don’t believe it.”

And it was that faith that penetrated the madness that had compelled him to join her in this parlor, alone. “Your faith in me is appreciated, but also…misguided.” He stood. “Now, given that—”