“Your name,” he murmured. “It means joy, and it very much suits you.”

Her heart should hammer for the right reasons. His words were the perfect ones. Beyond perfect, really. They were tender and considerate and romantic, and yet, her heart thudded with an impending feeling of doom at the inevitability of the words to come.

He shifted, and her mind screeched to a stop as she, at the same time, screamed internally.

I cannot marry him.

Lord Exmoor started to sink to a knee.

I do not want to marry him. I so very desperately want him to be another man.

She wanted another man to be the one about to drop to a knee and offer her his name and a future together and—

“Lettie!”

Oh, God. She was even hearing him in her mind.

“Lettttie!”

She went absolutely still as that thunderous shout from outside the parlor spilled into the room, muffled but close…and not the stuff of her imagination, but rather, very much real.

Door after door slammed.

“You cannot go—” The rest of the butler’s warning was cut off as, a moment later, the parlor door exploded open.

And then he was there.

She shot to her feet.

Slightly out of breath, his chest heaving forcefully. He looked briefly at Exmoor, lingering his focus on the marquess still on one knee, and then his eyes darkened and narrowed, and he dismissed Lord Exmoor outright, moving all his attention to Lettie.

Anthony.

“Lettie.” He repeated her name in that deep baritone that washed over her with a warmth and confirmed he was real, that this moment was real.

“Anthony,” she whispered.

Or she thought she spoke his name.

Everything in this moment was all jumbled.

He inclined his head. “Lettie,” he said again, and her mind, which had come to a complete stop, churned slowly and then spun rapidly.

Anthony was here.

Why was he here?

And…with flowers.

Lettie cocked her head.

Or at least with something that resembled flowers. With most of the petals now missing, it was hard to say for sure.

His gaze followed hers. “They are flowers.” He paused, and a frown toyed with his hard lips. “Or they were flowers. I quite destroyed them in my haste to get here.” He started toward her.

“I tried to tell him that you were not receiving visitors, my lady,” Cranston said as a pair of footmen appeared behind Anthony.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lettie’s mother appeared with Caroline close behind, and both women staggered to a stop, staring incredulously at Anthony.

“Your Grace?” the dowager marchioness squeaked.

“I will see him out,” Cranston vowed, motioning to the burly servants.

“No!” Lettie, Caroline, and their mother all shouted that denial at the same time.

Lettie held a hand up and shook her head. Immediately, the butler fell silent.

Anthony stopped at the arm of her seat and held out the bouquet.