“But then,” Rhys went on, “my sister Lettie… She pointed something out to me the other day.” He took a step nearer to Anthony. “She pointed out that had I not been betrayed by you and Lillian, I would not now be married to my wife, whom I love beyond measure.” Rhys gestured beyond Anthony’s shoulder. “And I would not have the children I do. And I would not undo any of that for all the world,” he said, his voice thick.

From that emotion, Anthony felt hope spring anew. Hope that at last there could be forgiveness.

“But, Anthony,” Rhys continued, “neither does that mean I want in my life someone who is capable of betraying me.”

Just like that, the dream was dashed.

“I certainly don’t want that same someone paying my sister any attention.”

Had the words been snarled, shouted, or hissed, they would have been easier to take than this almost gentle set-down. Anthony’s hands formed fists at his sides, and he welcomed the sting of his nails biting into the flesh of his palms.

Rhys held his gaze. “I trust, having a sister of your own, you understand those sentiments in terms of the man whom your sister might one day wed?”

He managed an even nod. “I…do.”

Ice hardened Rhys’ gaze once more. “The next time I find you alone with my sister, or anywhere near her, I will not be as forgiving as I am being this day.” He arched an equally frosty eyebrow. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Abundantly,” Anthony said tersely. In all matters. He turned to go, but then stopped. “It was not her fault, you know,” he murmured.

Rhys stared questioningly at him.

“Miss Hart’s. She did not seek me out. I asked her to pay me a visit. I told her I was going to kiss her, and she did not protest, but neither did she ask for it.” Neither had she protested until after Rhys had arrived. None of those details, however, mattered. Anthony had been in the wrong.

Rhys turned a hand up. “Either way, it is done.”

It is done.

No truer words had ever been spoken.

This was the closest to a truce he’d reach with his onetime best friend. And it was also the furthest he’d ever find himself from Lettie.

Oh, God. Pain ripped through his chest, and in a bid to escape that tightness, he bowed, and with all the aplomb he could muster, he gathered up his belongings and left.

Or he attempted to.

He’d made it no more than fifteen or so paces before Lettie came charging over. “You are leaving?” she asked, her tone faintly accusatory.

Not breaking stride, he kept walking. “I am attempting to,” he gritted out.

She nearly jogged to keep up with him.

God, she was determined to make this impossible for him.