“But then I came to find I prefer rising before the rest of the world. It’s quiet and peaceful, and the extra time is mine,” she said softly.

Intrigue piqued, he dropped to his haunches and sifted through her collection of papers. “This is about the trains,” he remarked, glancing up with some surprise.

They weren’t gossip columns. Though, knowing the inquisitive mind she possessed, he should be anything but surprised by her interests.

Lettie scooped one newspaper up. “The earliest rails were built by mine owners, and it was only about shipping coal, but not twenty years ago, they even began carrying people.” As she spoke, she jabbed excitedly at the middle of the page. “People!” she repeated. She paused. “Do you know anything of these?”

“I do,” he said. “I’ve been on them several times.”

Her eyes radiated her excitement. “Indeed?”

“I helped pass the Act of Parliament in ’26 that allowed for the construction of a passenger train between Liverpool and Manchester.”

Her jaw went slack. “That is magnificent,” she whispered.

Never in all his thirty-four years had a woman looked at him so, as if he were the most fascinating figure in the world. All because of some parliamentary work he’d been involved in.

“I’ve read that rail will completely transform society,” she said, and gathering up a different newspaper, she scooted closer and pointed to the page. “They expect roads will never be able to compete with rails once they are completed. Travel by train will one day be both more affordable, but also quicker.”

There was such an infectious joy in her tones that, despite himself, his eyes were drawn not to the paper she indicated, but rather, to the lady herself. Even in profile as she was, it was impossible for him to not detect the bright flush of color upon her cheeks.

“Can you imagine that?” she asked excitedly, turning her attention from the newspaper and up to him.

Her lips parted in a soft, silent moue.

The air crackled all around them, charged and electric.

He lingered his stare upon her mouth, helpless to look away and even more helpless to think of anything beyond that kiss they’d shared, imagining himself tasting of that forbidden fruit once more.

And she was forbidden, as forbidden as the tree within that fated garden.

Lettie dampened her mouth, the delicate pink tip of her tongue tracing the seam of her lips.

Then, just like that, the magic pull was broken.

“I spoke to Rhys.”

She might as well have shoved him sideways and knocked him into the Serpentine.

Anthony’s body jerked, and he went whipcord straight. He passed his gaze over her face, taking in her eyes, which were as serious as he’d ever seen them.

“You know,” he said, his voice flat, his tones dead to his own ears.

Lettie slowly folded the newspaper she’d been holding and set it aside. “I do,” she murmured.