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“Yes,” he said, with a hint of pride. “Every last crumbling bit.”
“Who does Nico live with?”
“His mother and aunt. They are seamstresses.”
Lottie met his eyes and her brow tensed with worry. “No father?”
“Not one that makes himself useful,” he muttered. Then they stared at one another in silence until he motioned for her to enter again. They couldn’t stand in the damned doorway forever. Lottie gave herself a little shake and moved past him into the entrance hall.
The palazzo was once a grand place but had fallen into disrepair over the years. Alec was slowly trying to bring it back to its former glory, but that required a great deal of money he didn’t have. He had spent nearly all his savings cleaning the place and seeing to the most pressing repairs, like the rather large holes in the floor. Now it was reasonably tidy, and safe for a curious boy like Nico.
Lottie craned her neck as she took in the entrance hall’s high ceilings. Her lips parted as she noticed the massive Venetian glass chandelier hanging above their heads. “How beautiful.”
Alec and Nico had spent the better part of a week polishing each individual crystal droplet. The boy was always eager to help, and his mother was grateful to have her energetic son occupied.
“My flat is on the top floor.” The words came out gruffly, but Lottie only nodded and headed toward the sweeping staircase. They ascended in silence, but as soon as they reached the landing outside his door, she abruptly turned around.
“Please, let me help you. It’s the least I can do,” she pressed. “You did agree to bring me here.”
Alec stuck out his chest just as Nico used to do before he learned to mask his charitable efforts. “No.”
“If you won’t do it for your own sake, then do it for the boy’s. And his mother.”
That was far harder to dismiss, but he still had a scrap of pride left. “I can take care of them. Keep your money.”
Lottie flinched ever so slightly before changing course: “Then we should go to the signore’s dinner tonight. He said there would be a collector there.”
Alec’s jaw tightened at the very thought of that bastard conversing with Lottie once again. “I don’t want you involved with him,” he said through gritted teeth.
Lottie folded her arms across her chest. “You’re being absurd. This collector would pay for your expertise. And Signore Cardinelli likes me. If we go, you’ll stay in his good graces.”
Alec leaned forward. “That you would even make such a suggestion demonstrates how very little you know,” he snapped. “He is a dangerous man.”
She snorted. “He can’t harm me by flirting. Or is this about my reputation again? Are you still determined to save me fromruin?”
His breath quickened at her mocking tone. If the signore had any clue who Lottie really was, and how desperate Sir Alfred was to see her safe, he would manipulate the situation to get what he wanted. And Alec simply wouldn’t let that happen.
“I’m not some helpless little girl anymore,” Lottie continued with a stamp of her foot. “I’m capable of taking care of myself. And I don’t need your protection.”
She said the words so dismissively. As if his concern meant nothing to her.
“Oh, I see,” Alec said with deadly calm as he slipped his hands in his pockets and took a step toward her. “I didn’t realize you knew how to defend yourself.”
She hesitated and backed away. “Well, not exactly—”
“Ah. Then you must be able to wield a dagger.”
“No—”
“Shoot a gun?”
Lottie shook her head. A faint blush stained her cheeks, but Alec would not stop. He stepped forward until Lottie’s back was against the wall and there was nowhere for them to go. Until he was close enough to count the freckles on her nose.
“So, you’ll justtalkyour way out of any trouble. Is that it?” he demanded. “Make a few quips and hope that tongue of yours is sharp enough to save you?”
Her eyes fell. “I…I hadn’t thought—”
“No, you most certainly have not. ButIhave.” Alec slammed his palm against the doorjamb and Lottie straightened. His eyes burned into hers with all the intensity of his anger. His fear. “I know you’re proud for eluding your ancient chaperone, but this isn’t flouncing around Tuscany. This isn’t bloodyballroom gossip. That man has half of Italy’s blood on his hands. It’s already bad enough he thinks you’re my cousin, but if he had any idea who you really were. If he knew about your uncle, he would—”
