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“We’ll talk about that later. For now I’m more concerned with removing any doubt about our relationship. Your housekeeper’s been watching us this entire time. From the window.”
Lottie cast a subtle look past him. “Oh, Marta,” she grumbled.
Alec caught her wrist and drew a small circle with his thumb. The impulsive gesture was something he had done when they were children and she was upset. Sometimes—manytimes—they had only each other for comfort. Lottie froze and stared down at his hand.
“I know I’m in no position to ask, but please trust me. At least with this. Whatever your issues with Sir Alfred are, whatever led you to do this, go to him now. Make your peace while you still can.”
Lottie’s pulse quickened under his thumb as she slowly lifted her eyes. With some effort, Alec was able to maintain his impassive expression.
“Is that why you came? So I would not have any regrets?” Her voice had taken on a husky note that ribboned through his body, leaving a trail of molten need in its wake.
Alec kept his tone carefully neutral. “I already told you why. It was a favor.”
Only a state of extreme desperation would have led Sir Alfred to involve him in the first place but calling it a “favor” was quite a stretch. The thought of anyone else being sent after Lottie had been unbearable.
“And what of your regrets?” Her hooded gaze wandered over his face, his eyes, his lips. “Or do you not have any?”
Sir Alfred’s refusal suddenly came to him. He had not thought of it in years—hadn’tallowedhimself to.
Sorry, Alec. I know you’re fond of her, but I can’t give my consent.
Fondhad not even begun to describe it.
And yet, as with all of Sir Alfred’s commands, he had obeyed. Without question.
How little some things changed.
His fingers tightened around her wrist. “Everyone has regrets,” Alec said more forcefully than he intended. Then he let go of her. His hand was practically throbbing.
Lottie furrowed her brow for an endless moment while she chewed her lip—a welcome sign of serious consideration. Alec nearly sighed with relief at the sight.
“The note Uncle Alfred sent you,” she began. “Was…was he very angry?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Furious.”
Lottie gave a resigned nod at the massive understatement.
The telegram had been only a few lines, but Sir Alfred always knew how to make his point.
Alec expected her to be more upset—she had been sensitive to her uncle’s moods as a girl—but Lottie merely sighed and shook her head. “I certainly don’t want him to die. I only wanted him to listen. Perhaps I should…” But she didn’t finish, only stared off, lost in her thoughts.
He cleared his throat. The longer they stood like this—tense and distant—the worse it looked to Marta. The woman had let him into the house, but she was still suspicious. One contrary word from Lottie could ruin everything. She might not care about her reputation, but Alec certainly did.
“As I was explaining earlier,” he said a touch too briskly, “I have an idea to help convince your housekeeper, but you’ll need to follow my lead. Can you do that?” He did his best to sound skeptical. Lottie had always hated being underestimated.
True to form, she gave him a withering look. “I’m sure I can manage, but I don’t see why I should.”
He stepped closer and brushed a stray curl behind her ear. She inhaled sharply at his touch but didn’t object. To any observer this would look like a welcomed lover’s caress. “If Marta sees me kiss you,” he began, “she won’t doubt a thing. She won’t even remember these past weeks.”
Lottie’s expression didn’t change, but her breathing quickened slightly. “How impressive. I didn’t realize merelywitnessinga kiss could lead to memory loss.”
Alec’s lips curved. “Though I’ve been told my talents in that realm are substantial, the point is that it makes for a better story. We need something that takes attention away from you. Imagine: Instead of a dubious young widow staying here alone and arousing suspicion, we’re a young married couple on their honeymoon. The groom kept delaying their journey because of business in Florence, so the bride grew cross and came without him—very sympathetic. No one would blame her.”
As he spoke, Lottie watched closely. She still hadn’t learned to play the coy, bashful lady. Alec had forgotten how penetrating, and slightly unnerving, her gaze could be. It set his blood moving far more than any saucy wink or fluttering eyelash ever had.
“But when he finally arrived, and after a fine bit of groveling, all was forgiven.” The corner of his mouth lifted at the thought of all the ways he could beg forgiveness from her. “Who could resist that?”
Lottie’s cheeks took on the most becoming shade of pink, but she let out an indignant huff. “Why is it that people always seem most titillated by stories of fallen women or romance?”
