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Alec assumed that Lottie didn’t exactly trust him, but to hear her actually say it. To admit it seemed entirely plausible that he would lie about Sir Alfred’s illnessas long as it got him what he wanted?
It was a shock to learn how very little she thought of him.
Alec wasn’t anything close to an idealist. He had spent most of his adult life toeing lines that were constantly shifting. The world wasn’t blackorwhite; people weren’t goodorevil. In his experience, anyone was capable of nearly anything, if given the right motivation. But there were certain things that even he swore to never do: harm a woman or child, double-cross someone who had risked their life to help him, and break the trust of those he was closest to. Abiding by those tenets mattered, for once a man started breaking his own rules, there was no telling where he would stop.
Yes, all right, he didliein the course of his work when necessary. But he wouldn’t lie to Lottie. Not if he could help it. And not about something important. Unless lies by omission counted.
We never spoke of you.
That was the truth, and yet it hid so much.
When he had left, Alec arranged to receive regular updates on Lottie. He needed to know how she was getting on—for her own benefit, of course. Not his. Sir Alfred had politely suggested that any communication between them would only prolong the inevitable, to which Alec agreed, but he had his own methods for securing information. It was nothing that wouldn’t be printed in the gossip pages—he had no wish to invade her privacy—and at first he skimmed the reports with a decidedly clinical eye. But if she was heartbroken or disappointed by Alec’s sudden disappearance, she certainly hadn’t consoled herself by staying in. No, she was clearly enjoying her status as a celebrated debutante and made rather a grand splash that first season.
But as the comforting numbness that had allowed Alec to leave in the first place faded, and the reality of his Lottie-less future began to set in, he found that this approach wasn’t as clinical as he thought—it wascompulsive. He read each report looking for the slightest indication of partiality, either on her part or a gentleman’s. Had she danced once or twice with Lord Crawford? Why did she go see that production of the insufferableEast Lynne? Lottiehatedmelodramas. Mr. Wellesley had also been present at the Trenthams’ musical evening. That was thethirdevent they both attended that week; it couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
By the end of her first season, Alec’s stomach was in knots waiting for an engagement announcement. But despite the many proposals she received, none came. He shouldn’t have felt so relieved, as most of Sir Alfred’s prediction had come true—she was indeed admired by the cream of society. And she was still young. It was only a matter of time.
In order to spare his sanity Alec requested to be informed only of major developments. That was how he learned of her rejection of Ceril Belvedere last spring. The public nature of Ceril’s so-called jilting and his status as the Earl of Southdown’s heir caused a minor scandal. Alec had been in Greece on Crown business at the time and hadn’t been able to give it much thought. But now…
Sir Alfred was close to the Earl of Southdown both personally and professionally; he would have much to gain by uniting the families via marriage. Though he might have been publicly indulgent of his niece, Sir Alfred would not have borne her rejection of Ceril quite as easily as the others. He couldn’t force her now, as Ceril had immediately gone on to marry an American heiress, but perhaps he had found someone else. That could certainly explain why Lottie had decided to run off with a Florentine.
Alec’s stomach turned, but it was difficult to determine which was more sickening: that Lottie would have been forced into marriage or that she didn’t trust him enough to admit it.
Lorenzo must have noticed his stricken expression. “All right, signore?”
Alec nodded. “I’m fine,” he said briskly as he refolded the map and tucked it back into his bag.
Lorenzo gestured with his chin. “Signora comes.”
Alec scrubbed a hand over his face. Now wasn’t the time to ask questions. Though there was no telling if she would ever answer them. He turned as she came up behind him, and he took the basket and blanket from her without a word. When they were secured in the cart, he held out his hand and finally glanced at her. The irritation from earlier had vanished. Now she only eyed him warily, but this time she didn’t hesitate as she slid her palm against his. Alec helped her into the cart, and she uttered a soft word of thanks.
“No need,” he said as he climbed in beside her. “It’s the very least I can do.”
They passed the next several hours in an increasingly uncomfortable silence. Every time the cart went over a bump, which was rather often, Alec’s knee would nudge against hers. And every time that happened, he clenched his fist. Lottie almost wished she could take back what she had said at the riverbank. His anger was surprising, but how could he possibly expect her to think anything different? And yet, that nagging pang of guilt was still there. But more than that, more than anything, she wished she didn’t believe it.
Now and then Lorenzo would point at something—a crumbling monastery, a Roman ruin, a road that led to nowhere—and Lottie would nod with polite interest, but Alec barely spared her a glance until they rolled into the bustling city of Pistoia.
“The railway inn is up the road there,” he grumbled.
Lottie closed her eyes and let out a little sigh of relief. She couldn’t spend another minute in this cart. Then they pulled into the inn’s yard. It was nothing like the quaint, tidy pensionaries she had stayed in that catered to English tourists. She caught Alec studying her reaction. He probably expected her to throw a fit, like the fussy, spoiled blueblood she was.
Any remaining guilt she had carried from luncheon vanished. She smoothed her hands over her wrinkled traveling skirt. “How charming.”
Alec raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he climbed down from the cart. He handed her down without looking at her, then said a few words to Lorenzo and pointed toward the stables.
Lottie frowned. It was getting close to sunset. The boy would likely be spending the night here. Alec turned back to her and gestured to the inn’s entrance. “Lorenzo will bring the trunk in shortly.”
“Where will he sleep?”
Alec stopped in his tracks, surprised by the question. “The stables. He’ll want to get an early start home and leave by dawn.”
Lottie glanced back toward the stables. There were a number of rough-looking fellows hanging about. “It doesn’t look safe. Shouldn’t he sleep here, too?”
Alec held the door of the inn open and she stepped inside. It was dark, and the ceilings were low. “Lorenzo will be fine,” he said from behind her. “He’ll want to stay by his horse anyway.”
The innkeeper, a thin-faced man with a well-oiled mustache, took notice of them speaking English and his eyes lit up, likely already dreaming of how he could spend their money.
Lottie had seen that same expression on the faces of countless men over the years.
