Lettie found her footing. “I can’t believe that.”

A wry grin twisted his lips. “I would not have believed it either if I’d not discovered them with my own eyes. She was an actress.”

His tone through that retelling was matter-of-fact and not the bereaved tone of a man still pining for a lost love.

“What…happened?” Because surely there was more to it. Everything she knew to be true about Anthony could not be wrong.

“I was going to marry her,” he said quietly. “I knew that. The only other soul I trusted with that information was Anthony. I’d secured the necessary documents to wed. Several days before I was to elope with the young woman, I paid a visit to Anthony and found them together.”

A viselike pressure squeezed mercilessly at her heart, for the pain of what her brother had surely known, and yet, there was more to this vicious tightening.

Envy.

It was the second time she’d felt this most horrible of emotions today, this time for a woman she did not know who’d known Anthony’s embrace.

To give her fingers something to do, she picked up her teacup and toyed with the delicate curved handle of the porcelain piece. Surely there was more to that day. Or mayhap that is what you want to believe so you can pretend that long-ago embrace didn’t mean what you fear it meant.

“He must have loved her very much to have betrayed you so,” she murmured, making herself give life to the only truth that made sense. Another round of envy sluiced through her shameful soul.

Rhys shrugged. “I never much wanted to hear why he did it, or what he had to say.” He grimaced. “Though he did make a pest of himself trying.”

She clasped on to that and clung tightly. “See?” she said excitedly, scrambling to her feet. “That proves—”

“That proves he felt guilty.” He cut off her attempt to find an explanation. “As he should have.”

“But, Rhys—”

“Let it go, Lettie.”

“But—”

“I said let it go.” His tone carried an unfamiliar impatience, and if she were a better person and sister, well, then she’d have honored that faint plea for her to quit defending Anthony.

Only, she couldn’t, because if Rhys didn’t approve of Anthony—nay, if he actively despised him, then nothing would ever come of her time with Anthony, nor could she have a future with him—

Lettie recoiled. Time with Anthony? A future with him? Where had those thoughts come from? There was absolutely nothing with Anthony and almost something with the Marquess of Exmoor.

Lettie suddenly found herself possessed of an overwhelming urge to cry.