“Surely you don’t expect I’ll simply leave at that.”

He should have known better than to expect that would ever suffice for Lettie Brookfield.

“Hope?” he ventured, a slight sheepish uptilt of a question in his voice.

She folded her arms at her chest, plumping an already ample bosom, and his mouth went dry. He yanked his gaze up to the ceiling.

“You cannot even look at me,” she said, drumming her slippered foot rhythmically upon the floor.

“No,” he admitted hoarsely. Not, however, for the reason she expected. That very dangerous reason being that he’d seen her as a woman, and God help him, he could not unsee the sight of her.

The lady, thankfully and blessedly wholly unawares of this awareness of her, released an exasperated sigh and stopped that incessant little tap of her foot. “I’m not just Rhys’ sister, you know,” she said softly, drawing his gaze slowly back to her.

No, he knew that. She was a lady all grown up, a siren who tempted him far more than was safe and certainly far more than was good.

“We were friends, too, and as friends—”

“You were a child,” he said, for his benefit as much as hers.

She frowned and stuck a finger in his chest, hard.

He grunted.

“We swam and watched for shooting stars and spoke about the future, Anthony,” she said flatly. “So don’t go simply dismissing me as though we didn’t share anything in the past.”

“Lettie, I’m not discussing what happened,” he gritted out. “If you want answers, speak to your brother. Given the fact he’s not shared anything with you…” And, really, with good reason. What had occurred between him and Rhys’ former lover wasn’t a topic one shared with a lady, let alone one’s sister. “Well, it leaves me to believe he’d rather it not be spoken of.”

Their chests heaved slightly as something palpable shifted in the air between them, more powerful than the recent lightning strike. His gaze slipped to her mouth, to those lips he’d had under his just last evening, and hunger raged with the same primal force as the storm outside.

Lettie darted her tongue out, following the seam of her lips, an innocent invitation, and it was then he knew…knew that he’d fail Rhys—for a second time.

Knew he was helpless to resist the lure of her lips and this potent yearning to make love to her mouth. Even with his mother destined to arrive back in the parlor, even with any servant a moment from entering the room.

He lowered his head as she angled hers up.

A breathy little sigh slipped from her lips, caressing his own.

Boom.

Alas, the Lord was determined to right Anthony’s reason.

The resonance of that loud report of thunder shook the room, and he jumped back several feet, feeling like he’d been struck.