“Anthony,” she called after him.

He glanced back over his shoulder.

“I’m here every morning,” she murmured. “That is, if you find yourself wanting to…”

He waited, hanging on whatever that unfinished word would be.

“Talk,” she finished, and he could not explain the rush of disappointment.

“That wouldn’t be wise, Lettie,” he said gently.

“Why? We’re friends.” She lifted her shoulders in a matter-of-fact shrug.

Friends.

She was Rhys’ sister, whom he was endlessly desirous of.

And she was destined to marry the Marquess of Exmoor.

For those two reasons alone, she was off-limits.

“Lettie,” he murmured, and when he left this time, she didn’t try to stop him.

As he took his leave, he felt Lettie following him with her eyes, and he couldn’t keep from thinking that, even though this should be the last he saw her, he wasn’t certain he had the resolve to not accept her invitation to meet her again.

Chapter 7

When Anthony had taken his leave of her in Hyde Park, Lettie had been convinced that was the last she would ever see of him.

He’d been clear in his opinion that it was unwise for them to be together. Given everything that had passed between him and Rhys, his sense of guilt and honor were strong enough to keep him from visiting her during her morning visits to the Serpentine.

There was also the fact that he’d been manipulated by her mercenary mother, a mother who’d rather see her children wed to the most powerful person possible than truly happy.

Oh, Anthony was entirely too good and honorable to ever speak unkindly about the dowager marchioness, sentiments and words the woman would entirely deserve.

For those reasons alone, he was well within his rights to want nothing to do with Lettie—or any member of her family, for that matter.

Which was why she’d been so stunned when he had come along the following morn, astride his chestnut mount and halting along the riding path to exchange pleasantries with her before continuing on his way.

He’d returned the next day and spent several moments longer.

On the fourth day, he’d dismounted and joined her again on the blanket.

Since that day, he’d never failed to come visit.

And it was so…comfortable and right and easy.

They’d secured themselves a secluded little spot, below a slight hill, and alongside the river, away from the world.

Sitting with him and looking over the newspaper stories about the industrial innovations transforming London, she had a glimpse of what she’d long ago ceased to believe she’d ever know for herself—companionship. Nay, he was not just a companion. Cats and dogs were companions. Arranged matches—like the one her mother expected Lettie would make with Exmoor—were designed based on companionship, at best.