The dowager marchioness stopped before her children and gave each of them a look before fixing her furious stare upon Lettie. “It had better not be a certain marquess who is very much here and who has an even larger bouquet of flowers than usual for you,” she whispered, a sharp warning contained within that statement.

“I’ve already made it clear to Lettie that I’d not have her wed for any reason other than her happiness and love,” Rhys said, and she was grateful for that infusion of support when she suddenly found herself unable to speak.

“Stuff and nonsense,” their mother scoffed. “Lettie is a spinster, who because of Caroline’s scandal and your father’s death had to delay her London Season. As such, she is without a single prospect behind Lord Exmoor.”

There’d been, for a brief minute, Anthony.

Oh, God. When would this stop hurting?

“Are we certain of that?” Rhys directed that solemn question to their mother. All the while, his gaze remained locked with Lettie’s.

Their mother’s frown deepened, and she switched her gaze from her children to the doorway and then back again to the trio. “What nonsense is this?” she hissed. “If you are suggesting there is some other gentleman than the marquess, then he’s certainly not made any appearances here, and as such, he would never be considered a realistic possibility for Lettice. Now, Lettie”—she held her hand out and snapped her four fingers toward her palm—“come along. We’ve already kept his lordship waiting longer than we should.”

Rhys opened his mouth to object for a second time, but Lettie shook her head. “No,” she said softly. “It is fine.”

And yet, as she fell into step alongside her mother, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling of hers being a gallows march.

For the gentleman waiting on her was not the one man she wanted to be with, and he never would be.

Anthony was the only man she’d ever want.

Chapter 9

It had been a week since she’d walked off.

Seven days since he’d followed her for as long and as far as his gaze would allow through Hyde Park before she’d disappeared altogether.

He’d thought of her every day since.

Seated at the breakfast table, his sister across from him, Anthony stared over the rim of his coffee cup, his unseeing gaze on the window.

He’d believed there could have been nothing harder than the end of his friendship with Rhys and knowing that his betrayal had been the reason for it.

But he’d been wrong.

Watching Lettie walk away from him had gutted him.

He curled his fingers around the edge of the table, his nails leaving marks upon the soft mahogany surface.

Not just walking away. Walking away after he’d hurt her.