“I didn’t mean about the flowers. That is, I mean she won’t care about that bouquet. She will, however, care very much about your being here. She—”

Anthony looked at the other man, his best friend from long ago, wanting him to finish that thought. “Yes?”

Rhys cleared his throat. “It is not my place to speak for Lettie. I will only say I believe she will be happy to see you.” He flashed another crooked grin. “Even with that sorry stack of headless stems you’ve arrived with.”

Anthony contemplated them again. At some point in his flight, most of the blooms had shed their petals, leaving all the flowers nearly headless. “Perhaps I should—”

The young voyeurs up above and Rhys spoke in unison. “No!”

“You should get going inside now,” Rhys said. “before Exmoor gets down on a knee in the drawing room and—”

Sorry excuse for flowers forgotten, Anthony charged up the steps. The doors were immediately thrown open, and the Brookfield butler greeted him.

“I’m here to see Lady Lettie,” Anthony rasped.

“The lady is not receiving guests,” the butler murmured.

The hell she wasn’t.

Anthony raced past the startled head servant.

Chapter 10

There was always a quiet between her and the Marquess of Exmoor when he paid her a call.

And she hated the quiet—with him and quiet in general.

It was awkward and uncomfortable, the kind of silence that punctuated the ticking of the clock or the clattering of carriage wheels in the streets below.

In days past when Lord Exmoor had come to call, she’d always sought to fill that void.

This day, however, she did not have the energy to don a smile and regale him with some story or another, or jest, or anything.

For, she’d learned her hatred of quiet wasn’t necessarily the case. Not with everyone.

With Anthony, she’d been as comfortable beside him in the quiet as she had been when they’d spoken.

In fairness, Anthony had been an equal participant in their discussions. They’d spoken of anything and everything, from railroad construction and transport to which lord and ladies had the liveliest orchestra, from their favorite desserts to—

Suddenly beset by an urge to cry, Lettie shifted her gaze away from the almost obscenely large bouquet Lord Exmoor clutched in his fingers to the windows overlooking the streets of Mayfair.

“I… These are for you,” Lord Exmoor said quietly, and the floor planks groaned as he stood and walked the short distance around the table to proffer the beautiful, scented blooms, forcing her to look at them. Forcing her to look at him.

She accepted them with a murmur of thanks, clutching them close and studying them. The white and pink roses mixed with pale blush peonies were so voluminous they nearly filled her arms.

“They are lovely,” she said softly.

He cleared his throat. “You were wearing pale pink and white.”