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“We never spoke of you.”
Lottie pressed her lips together against his blunt admission. Not once infiveyears? That stung more than she would have liked. “Well. I suppose I finally did something worth mentioning, then,” she said with a hint of satisfaction.
Alec jerked his head toward her. Their close proximity made the weight of his gaze even heavier than usual. “Is that what this was all about? A bid for Sir Alfred’sattention?” His lips curled into something close to a sneer on the last word. Goodness, he really did look like a haughty Italian count.
This time Lottie couldn’t hold back her snort. “Of course not.”
Alec pushed up the brim of his hat and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Would you mind explaining it to me, then? For while it may be painfully obvious to you, I’m at a loss.”
Lottie matched his glare even while her heart beat furiously.
Why do you care? You were perfectly happy to go fiveyearswithout one word between us.The retort nearly tumbled from her mouth. “I have a reason,” she snapped instead. “And it has nothing to do with wanting attention.”
“Then you should have taken more care instead of sneaking off like a thief in the night,” he ground out as he pulled away and turned back to the road. “When I received Sir Alfred’s telegram, I nearly—” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. “I went to Florence immediately.”
Lottie ignored the flush of shame that burned her cheeks and crossed her arms. “Fine. I suppose I did want attention, but not…not in the way you mean.”
She had wanted Uncle Alfred tolistento her for once. To understand that she could no longer live the shallow, stifling existence society demanded of a woman like her.
When Alec had first left, Lottie threw herself into the whirl of the season and sought to become the perfect debutante. She accepted as many invitations as she could, said yes to every man who asked to dance, and smiled until her cheeks hurt. Anything to distract from the constant ache in her heart that threatened to consume her. The more mercenary part of her had even fantasized about falling passionately in love with the mysterious heir of a dukedom. A man who had traveled the world and wore an eyepatch but decided to give up his life of intrigue to marry Lottie.
Thatwould show Alec.
But of course nothing of the kind happened. None of the gentlemen she met were anything close to mysterious, and the only person she knew who wore an eyepatch was Abigail’s ninety-year-old grandmother. By the end of her first season, her efforts had led to several proposals, but she couldn’t keep the charade up any longer. Lottie rejected them all. And with no remorse.
Sir Alfred had supported her decision at the time. “I confess, I am not ready to part with you yet, my dear,” he said.
Though Lottie had been surprised to hear her venerable uncle admit to such a feeling, she did not question it. The next few years passed in a similar fashion, with Lottie attending fewer and fewer entertainments each season in favor of other, more stimulating pursuits. She visited a number of salons all over the city and became involved in the movement to secure women the vote. At home Uncle Alfred helped her practice her ciphering skills, and she even assisted him in publishing a collection of Edward Gresham’s poems.
But just as Lottie had come to accept—nay,enjoy—her burgeoning spinsterhood, Uncle Alfred became fixated on her marrying. And marrying well. He barred her from participating in anything that contributed to her growing reputation as a woman scandalously interested in intellectual pursuits, leaving her with nothing to do aside from mind-numbing society activities. Lottie did not care for balls or tea dances or interminably long musical evenings. She did not want to be another object d’art on the arm of a man who could be interchanged with any other, as long as he had the right pedigree. But her pleas had fallen on increasingly indifferent ears, until the night last spring when she publicly rejected Ceril Belvedere.
Then she had all of Uncle Alfred’s attention. Much more than she had ever wanted.
“Was it a man?”
Alec’s jarring question drew her from her thoughts. “What?”
His jaw was set and his brow furrowed, but his eyes flashed with an edge of something dark. Something dangerous. “I saw your trinkets. The flower and thenote.” He wrinkled his nose as if the word itself had spoiled. “Mrs. Wetherby believed you had run off with someone.”
Lottie’s pulse raced. It had been rather distressing how easy it was to create the illusion of her own ruin. Strange to think that something that was given such power could be destroyed by nothing more than a scrap of paper and some dried flower petals. This had only further convinced her that she was making the right decision.
But if Alec discovered it was all a sham, Uncle Alfred would know as well, and she would have no leverage. “You—you do not approve of such missives?”
The darkness grew. “I think it should take far more than that to win your heart.”
The organ in question wrenched painfully in her chest. Did she dare take him into her confidence? This man who had once known everything about her? The confession trembled at the edge of her lips.
“But then you wouldn’t be the first young lady to fall victim to a few sweet words,” Alec said dismissively as he turned away. “And Florence is filled with conniving men who live to prey on English tourists. Especially women.”
The bitterness underlying his words was surprising. Even greater was how much they hurt. She had meant to create that exact illusion, and yet a part of her hoped Alec would see through it.
Lottie focused on the horizon and fought to control her breathing. “That is the only reason you can think of for me running away?”
Enjoy your time in Florence, my dear, and prepare yourself. Because jilt or no, you will bemarriedby the end of next season.
“The only one that make sense,” Alec muttered.
Lottie closed her eyes and exhaled through the disappointment—theanger. But it was always better to be underestimated. She had been foolish to think Alec might understand. He was so like Uncle Alfred. The last thing she owed him—either of them—was her truth.
