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“And I didn’t realize history professors could look likeyou. Thank goodness I was educated by nuns, or I never would have learned a thing!”
The Frenchwoman let out a full, throaty laugh and briefly touched his wrist. She must have been beautiful once, and the years had still been kind. She could be mistaken for much younger, in the right light. But she carried herself with an innate confidence that came only from age—and experience.
Under different circumstances Alec would have enjoyed her company. Tonight, however, it was torturous.
All he wanted was to be back in his flat with Lottie. They didn’t have to touch, or even speak. It was enough to sit in companionable silence and watch as she took in her first Venetian sunset.
And far more than a coward like him deserved.
It was unnerving how well she still knew him after all these years. Alec had forgotten what it meant to be truly understood by another person, as well as the heart-stopping pain that came from disappointing them. Lottie was clearly hurt by his managing behavior, but she would see the wisdom in their separation soon enough and be grateful he had taken such measures. Tomorrow afternoon she would board a train bound for London with her reputation still intact and a limitless future to look forward to. His only regret was that he hadn’t been the one to tell her his intentions, and so he accepted her punishing silence.
As soon as they arrived at Signore Cardinelli’s palatial home they had been whisked out onto the terrace for drinks. Lottie ignored his offer to fetch her something and walked away. The Etruscan collector, if there had ever been one, never appeared, but Madame Noir had sidled up to him once he was alone. Apparently she had a preference when it came to gentlemen, and he fit the bill perfectly. No doubt she would be open to any suggestion he made; they could slip upstairs where he could draw a promise from her any number of ways. It would be the work of only a few minutes. And yet he couldn’t make himself do it.
The dinner gong sounded, and guests began to move toward the dining room. There must have been thirty or so people in attendance. Far more than Alec had assumed. It made monopolizing Madame Noir much easier, but he kept losing track of Lottie. Alec cast a subtle glance over the well-dressed crowd—a mixture of lesser European nobility, distinguished locals, and wealthy foreigners from around the world—but there was no sign of her cinnamon tresses.
“I believe yourwifeis with Mr. Drakos.” There was a distinct edge to Madame Noir’s voice.
So much for subtlety.
Alec turned to her with a rueful smile. “She’s not my wife.” He couldn’t lose Lottieandbotch this assignment.
“Oh?” Madame Noir maintained her bored tone, but Alec hadn’t missed the slight rise of her dark brows.
He placed a hand over his heart. “Dear Miss Gresham is my cousin. The youngest daughter of my late mother’s favorite sister. This is her first time in Venice and her chaperone has fallen ill, so I offered to act as her escort this evening.”
Madame Noir’s brown eyes slowly warmed as he spoke. Not even she was immune to a man sodevotedto family.
She flashed her enigmatic smile once again. “Oh, how very sweet of you to watch over her. I wish I had such a thoughtful cousin protecting me when I was her age. He might have saved me from my first husband,” she added with another laugh and fluttered her fan. Then Madame Noir quickly scanned the terrace. “There she is.” She nodded toward the far end of the crowd. “See? She is talking with Mr. Drakos. I’m told he owns a very successful olive oil company. He even has his ownisland.”
Alec squinted. He had met the Grecian businessman earlier—late fifties or early sixties, a head shorter than Lottie, and a downright bore. He had wrangled Lottie into what appeared to be a deep conversation. Her head was bent slightly and her delicate brows were pulled together in concentration, but in that exquisite gown she seemed otherworldly. A celestial being brought down to earth. It was as if the goddess Flora was listening politely to an undergardener’s petty lament. Relief swelled inside him, and he turned back to Madame Noir.
She gave him a knowing smile. Her eyes then lingered on Lottie. “A lovely girl, your cousin. Even with that hair.”
Alec bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out. He offered his arm, and Madame Noir eagerly took it while pressing her sizable décolletage against him. He glanced down and managed to flash her a smirk.
Bold lady.
As they shuffled toward the dining room, he kept the conversation light, and she laughed at all his terrible jokes.
Good. She liked him already.
For nearly two centuries the palazzo had belonged to a powerful Venetian banking family, and the dining room was the house’s showpiece—a cavernous space painted a rich, sensuous red that gave way to a brilliant frescoed ceiling that rivaled the Sistine Chapel, while the walls were adorned with priceless art and antiques. It seemed that everywhere one looked, there was something even more magnificent. Alec still lost his breath just a little whenever he entered the room.
Even Madame Noir seemed impressed. “My goodness,” she whispered.
As they paused to take in the room’s many treasures, his gaze tangled with Lottie’s. Mr. Drakos was still talking beside her, but she didn’t appear to be listening this time. She was worryingly pale once again, like she had been in his flat. Alec was a moment away from casting Madame Noir aside and gathering Lottie in his arms when her gaze fell to where the Frenchwoman pressed against his side, her arm wrapped snuggly around his own. Lottie’s mouth tensed, as if she had tasted something bitter.
Something like disgust.
Alec’s neck burned under her inspection. Lottie, who had been born with everything and seemed determined to throw it away, had no right to judgehim.
Her eyes snapped back to his, as if she had heard his thoughts, and her stare bore into his from across the room.
Mr. Drakos began pointing to a suit of armor against the far wall, and she reluctantly let him lead her to the other side of the room. Alec inhaled slowly and pushed her from his mind. He had done it exceedingly well for years. Surely he could manage the next few hours.
Alec turned to Madame Noir, who was still taking in their surroundings. “Shall we sit, Madame? I’d love to hear more about your life in Berlin.”
She squeezed his arm with her free hand. “And I would be happy to oblige, Professor.”
