That evening Marta insisted on preparing a feast to celebrate the return of Lottie’s wayward husband. She brought out course after course from the kitchen until even the strapping Alec had to admit defeat.
“Please, Marta,” he groaned when the housekeeper set a tray bearing an impressive meat pie on the table. “Have mercy on a poor soul.”
She clucked her tongue in disapproval and gestured to his body. To anyone else, Alec’s lean, muscular frame was an ideal found in great works of art, but not Marta. “Mangia. You must eat.” She then began cutting him a generous slice.
Lottie had to bury her laughter in her napkin at Alec’s agonized expression. The cunning agent Gresham felled by a diminutive Italian woman. He had washed and changed before supper. Now freshly shaved and wearing a finely tailored dark jacket, he looked the very picture of a mysterious Italian count.
She should have insisted he wear a sack over his head as one of her conditions.
Alec caught her eye across the table and arched a brow. “Marta, I think my lovely wife wants some.”
Her heart spiked at the word wife. “Oh, no. I can’t—”
“Even bigger than mine.” He gestured to the meat pie and then to Lottie.
Marta gave him a conspiratorial nod and whispered something. Alec flashed the woman a smile and shook his head, but a faint blush stained his cheeks. Marta laughed as she moved to cut Lottie an even bigger piece. Before today, the woman must have smiled a grand total of twice in Lottie’s presence. But then Alec always had that effect on people. Lottie envied that about him, even now. Even though it was all artifice.
He smiled warmly at her over his full plate, the candlelight bathing his rich olive skin in an alluring glow.
Anyone looking in on them would think this was real. Anyone.
Don’t ever forget that.
“For the bambino,” Marta pronounced as she slapped a hefty slice down.
Lottie jumped and clasped her hand to her chest. “Yes, thank you,” she said absently. “It smells wonderful.”
Marta shot Alec a knowing look. “See? Una donna sa sempre queste cose.” Then she patted Lottie’s shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen.
Lottie turned back to Alec. “What did she say?”
“‘A woman always knows,’” he murmured.
Lottie furrowed her brow, but Alec didn’t explain further. He managed a few more bites before he threw down his napkin and pushed his chair back from the table. “If I eat any more, I will burst. And I doubt Marta will appreciate the mess.”
“No, she would not.” Lottie had known this moment would come all evening, and yet her hands still began to tremble. She set down her fork before Alec could notice.
“Besides,” he began, “we should leave as early as possible tomorrow.”
Lottie glanced up at the sound of his chair scraping back. Alec took his time approaching her end of the table. His heavy steps echoed as ominously as they had earlier that day, until he loomed over her; it put her in mind of a big cat toying with his prey.
“Come to bed, Contessa.”
Her breath caught at the honorific. Death by a thousand Lotties suddenly seemed merciful. “Is…is Marta still watching?”
“Not at present. But that could change any moment.” His eyes remained fixed on her, his face sphinxlike, while he held out his palm. An offering. The candlelight flickered against his bare skin. How many times had she grabbed it so carelessly as a girl, never understanding the power in such a gesture?
He raised an eyebrow at her hesitation. “And a man escorts a lady from a room, especially his wife.” He added, with a hint of challenge, “Surely you can endure something so trivial.”
“Of course,” she scoffed, sliding her palm against his. It was larger now, and the skin was rougher, but she felt that bone-deep spark of recognition again.
As she rose to her feet, Alec placed her hand in the crook of his arm. Lottie flinched at the powerful warmth rising from him; it instantly penetrated the layers of their clothing to caress the bare skin of her arm before spreading lower. Alec’s dark gaze bore into hers, the candlelight still lapping at the sharp angles of his devastating face. “Do you really hate me that much?” The question was practically a whisper, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
Lottie hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. “Heavens,” she huffed. “I don’t hate you. I could never…” She shook her head and glanced away. That was more than enough of an answer.
“But you do dislike me,” he offered. “Violently so.”
Her gaze snapped to his and she raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t use the word ‘violently.’”
That spoke of emotions too strong, too raw, to be controlled.
Alec smiled at that, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Fair enough.” He moved toward the entryway, but Lottie hung back.
“Why did you never—”
Just then Marta swept into the room to clear the table and saved Lottie from her blunder. “A letto, tutti e due! Go! Go!” She waved her hands toward the door, practically shooing them out of the room.
Why did you never write?
There was no answer that could possibly satisfy her.
No acceptable reason that would take away the sting of his rejection. Of being cast aside so easily and forgotten by a man she had thought a friend.
Her great friend.
Once they were in the hall, Lottie didn’t resume her question and Alec didn’t ask. They silently ascended the staircase to her bedroom, their footsteps echoing on the worn stone. With each step, Lottie’s heart beat ever faster. By the time they reached the bedroom door, it was as if she had finished a race. Alec pushed it open and gestured for her to enter first. Lottie swallowed and stepped inside. A fire was lit and the room freshly turned down. Marta had even placed a vase of cut flowers by the bedside.
A young couple on their honeymoon.
The door shut softly behind her, but Lottie couldn’t move. Alec swept by and retrieved his battered satchel from the corner. He pulled out a small leather case then glanced up and noticed her still standing there. Lottie’s eyes skittered toward the bed.
The corner of his mouth lifted almost in apology. “I’m going to sleep on the floor.”
Was that relief or disappointment swelling within her? “I—I know.”
Why not both?
She hurried toward the wardrobe and retrieved her nightgown before darting behind the changing screen. She began unbuttoning her dress, listening to the sounds of Alec rifling through his bag, no doubt preparing for tomorrow. She was pulled from her thoughts by the room’s sudden silence. Now clad in only her chemise, Lottie gave herself a shake and finished changing into her nightgown. On the other side of the screen it sounded like Alec had developed a cough. “Are you all right?” she asked as she pulled on her dressing gown.
“I’m fine.”
He sounded a bit hoarse. Lottie stepped out from behind the screen. Alec had removed his dinner jacket, and his braces hung limply by his sides. He seemed rather flushed.
Lottie raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
“Quite,” he said tightly as he walked toward the hearth and leaned a forearm against the wall.
Lottie removed her dressing gown and climbed into bed. Only then did he turn around. His cheeks weren’t red anymore but his gaze was wary. Disturbed. Unsettled. He cast her a quick glance and then continued to sort through his things.
Lottie relaxed against the pillows. “Good night.”
He didn’t look up. “Sleep well.”
She turned on her side and furrowed her brow. Only then did she catch sight of the dressing screen. She had thrown her dinner gown haphazardly over a chair and, thanks to the angle of the fire, the shadowed outline was clearly visible on this side of the screen.
Alec must have seen her changing.
She cut a glance toward him. His back was still to her as he looked over a map, but his entire frame radiated tension. Lottie’s gaze lingered over his form until she noticed the sizable bulge at the front of his trousers. She wasn’t exactly an innocent. Many of her friends had been married for years, and she hadn’t spent all that time in Florence looking at statues without learning something about the male anatomy. Alec was clearly aroused.
He, who had so easily stopped kissing her and seemed entirely uninterested in repeating it, had been thoroughly unnerved by her mere shadow.
Lottie rolled her lips between her teeth. She could not smile. Not at that.
One big hand moved to rub the nape of his neck and he turned his head slightly toward her, but Lottie shut her eyes and pretended to be asleep.
In a few moments she drifted off to the image of Alec’s rattled expression.
Alec was used to sleeping in all sorts of odd, uncomfortable places, but it wasn’t the floor that kept him tossing and turning for most of the night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lottie. Five years keeping thoughts of her at bay, and now he couldn’t stop remembering their last encounter.
Lovely Lottie, nineteen and fresh out of finishing school, on the night of her coming out ball. Though most girls were eager to debut at seventeen or eighteen, she claimed the thought filled her with dread, so she had asked Sir Alfred to delay her own, and he had been happy to oblige her.
She and Alec had not seen one another since a brief visit at Christmas, as Sir Alfred had sent Alec to help with the excavation of a Roman ruin outside Edinburgh once he completed his master’s work. It had been a thinly disguised punishment for Alec’s reluctance to join the Foreign Office. Though he secretly harbored hopes to return to Oxford and become a history lecturer, Alec had dutifully gone to Scotland as a kind of mea culpa. Yet when the opportunity arose to escape the dig for a day or two, he didn’t think twice. Not even the threat of invoking his guardian’s legendary ire could keep him from this.
In their letters, Lottie admitted to feeling nervous at the prospect of waltzing in public: You know what a tomboy I always was. Now I can’t help but worry I’ll step on a gentleman’s toe or turn the wrong way.
Alec wrote back that he had complete faith in her abilities but promised to waltz with her himself one day: I’ll gladly sacrifice a toe for the honor.
So of course he would take the train down from Edinburgh.
Of course he would buy a new pair of evening gloves, both expensive and impractical.
Of course he would surprise her.
She was his oldest friend. A sister, really.
Except his friends didn’t seem to cherish letters from their own sisters, half of which were written in ciphers they created, or talk about them quite so much. Alec had never noticed how often he mentioned Lottie until another fellow on the dig made a crack about apron strings. Alec asked if he wanted to settle it outside. He didn’t, but Alec made sure never to mention Lottie again, either.
Lottie was his secret. His safe space. His home.
And he would never do anything to jeopardize that.
When Alec arrived at Sir Alfred’s grand town house in South Kensington, rather than have the hackney cab pull up alongside some of the finest carriages in the empire, Alec requested to be dropped off across the street. He had learned long ago how to navigate these upper echelons—smiling through the subtle jabs, laughing at his own expense first and loudest, showing that he knew he wasn’t one of them and didn’t particularly care. It was true most of the time. And much easier when he wasn’t surrounded by the wealth and status he would never possess.
He watched as fashionably late guests entered the stately home just in time for the dancing to begin before looking toward the darkened landscape of Hyde Park close by. He and Lottie had mostly been together at Haverford, the Lewis family seat in Surrey. But on the rare occasions when they both weren’t away at school and found themselves in London, they had spent drowsy afternoons wandering around the park with picnic baskets and one of Lottie’s hawk-eyed governesses.
A kind of wistfulness came over him as he stood there in the shadows, listening to the easy laughter floating across the road. The men’s freshly polished shoes glinted in the gaslight while they escorted women in glittering gowns that cost more than most people’s annual salaries. Alec’s own evening suit was in excellent condition, but it was also four years out of fashion, and someone was sure to remark upon it at some point this evening. As with everything else of quality he possessed, it had been given to him by Sir Alfred. Alec took a deep breath and unclenched his fist. “Remember why you’re here,” he muttered. Then, before he could lose his nerve entirely, he set off across the street, but instead of joining the increasingly long line of guests at the front entrance, he headed toward the back of the house.
The kitchen was a madhouse, with servants rushing back and forth as Mrs. Houston barked orders. She traveled between London and Surrey at Sir Alfred’s insistence, and was considered one of the most exacting housekeepers in the city. Many had attempted to lure her to their own households over the years, but Mrs. Houston turned them all down.
As soon as she spotted Alec, her commanding expression melted into a heart-stopping smile. She gave a few more directions to a footman, then came over. “Oh, it’s such a treat to see you here, Alec,” she said as she grasped his hands. She still retained a soft lilt from a childhood spent in Ireland’s West Country, and her doe-brown eyes glistened with genuine warmth as she took him in. “My goodness, how handsome you look!”
Alec couldn’t help blushing at the compliment and glanced down at the remarkably spotless floor. “Commanding the troops, I see. Don’t go too hard on them now,” he teased.
Mrs. Houston threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, they’re useless. The lot of them,” she said with a wave of her hand. “But it will do for tonight.”
She had been a great beauty once, and was handsome still, yet she had never married, preferring instead to dedicate her life to Sir Alfred. Alec had never given it much thought when he was younger, but now he suspected something far greater than money had kept her in the Lewis household all these years.
“And Miss Lottie will be so pleased you’ve come,” she added, watching him carefully.
Mrs. Houston had been a sort of motherly figure to both Lottie and himself. Back in Surrey they had often spent rainy afternoons in front of the hearth in her sitting room, sharing cups of milky tea and listening to stories of her wild Irish childhood. Alec could nearly taste the shortbread she always served.
He swallowed past the tightness in his throat and forced a smile. “I noticed quite the well-heeled crowd outside. No doubt she’s too busy dancing with a duke to pay me any mind.”
To his amazement, Mrs. Houston reached out and cupped his face right there in the kitchen. Her sharp gaze had always fascinated and repelled him. She seemed to know things, deep things, about people only by looking at them. “My boy, we both know that is impossible.”
His cheek heated under her palm, which was rough from decades of work. She gave him another warm smile, but there was no hiding the sadness in her eyes as she pulled away. “Now, get out of the way,” she said with a flick of her wrist. “Unless you plan to play footman for the night.”
“I trust you don’t want Sir Alfred’s expensive champagne to end up on the guests,” he quipped, relieved to retreat back into the safe confines of good-natured banter.
“Off with you, then.”
Alec did as he was told and traveled up a back staircase that deposited him into a hallway near the receiving room. As was usually the case, Sir Alfred was surrounded by a circle of admirers of all ages looking every inch the distinguished pillar of society in his black tails and carefully styled salt-and-pepper hair. He guarded his reputation as fiercely as the Crown’s secrets and had never been attached to even a whiff of scandal.
Taking in the son of the tragic poet Edward Gresham, and so soon after assuming guardianship of his niece, only increased his already esteemed character. Now in the autumn of his life, Sir Alfred was thoroughly above reproach. Virtually untouchable.
And if he weren’t a man of honor, that could make him very dangerous.
“Alec! Isn’t this a welcome surprise.” He reached out and gave him an enthusiastic handshake. Anyone else would think Sir Alfred was speaking the truth, but Alec had spent almost as much time at the poker table fleecing his wealthy classmates as he had in the Bodleian Library. Now he was much more adept at noticing the small details that gave people away. Sir Alfred’s tell was a slight tapping of his right foot. The man was profoundly annoyed, and Alec couldn’t fathom why. He had been wallowing in icy mud for months now. Other members of the excavation team were given leave if they could be spared. And Alec certainly hadn’t shirked any of his duties in coming here.
Sir Alfred pulled him closer and lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Don’t tell me you came from downstairs. How egalitarian of you.” Alec ignored the remark as the crowd of sycophants chuckled along with him.
“I hope you don’t mind the imposition, sir, but I couldn’t miss Lottie’s first ball.” Alec gave him a sincere look and held on to his hand a moment longer than was polite. “I’m staying with a friend nearby, so I won’t trouble you for a room.”
Never mind that the massive town house had upward of eight bedrooms.
“Of course not.” Sir Alfred flashed him a cool smile. “She will be delighted.”
As a committed bachelor, Sir Alfred wasn’t in the habit of entertaining, but he had spared no expense that night for his beloved niece. The ballroom of the lavish town house was transformed into an enchanted garden with live trees, fresh flowers, and lights covered by shades with drawings of fairies. Alec couldn’t stop smiling as he moved through the crush of people. If only he could have seen the look on Lottie’s face when she first entered. She must have been delighted. He searched and searched but couldn’t catch sight of Lottie’s cinnamon hair.
Finally he recognized Miss Abigail Thorne, Lottie’s closest friend from school, though in her low-cut gown and massive crown of curls, she bore little resemblance to the awkward creature he had met only last summer. “Miss Thorne! I’m looking for the lady of the hour. Where is she?”
“Why hello, Mr. Gresham.” She gave him a simpering smile and fluttered her eyelashes. “I didn’t know you would be here.” Someone moved behind her, and the young lady took the opportunity to press against Alec’s side.
“It’s a surprise.” Alec smiled tightly as she placed her hand on his arm.
But she didn’t seem to hear a word over the din of the crowd, though she did use the noise level as an excuse to lean closer to his ear. “Wherever have you been all this time? Don’t tell me Lottie’s been keeping you away with her upstairs.”
“I’ve only just arrived. She’s upstairs?”
“Yes.” Miss Thorne scoffed. “Lord Exeter made a joke. He’s very droll, you know. A renowned wit. But of course Lottie mistook him. She didn’t say anything—Lord Exeter couldn’t even tell she was offended—but went directly to her room. That was nearly thirty minutes ago. People will start to notice soon. Really, it’s so unbecoming to exhibit such childish behavior during her own debut. If I had done such a thing at mine—”
“Thank you, Miss Thorne. I must go.” Alec pried her hand off him and maneuvered through the crowd. He exited the ballroom and took the servants’ staircase up to the third floor, where Lottie’s room overlooked the back garden. Her bedroom door was opened a crack, and a sliver of light illuminated the hall. The rich carpet masked Alec’s footfalls as he spied Lottie sitting on her bed with her back to the door. She wore an ivory satin ballgown that exposed a good bit of her slumped shoulders. Only in private would she allow her true feelings to show.
That old familiar surge of protectiveness flooded through Alec. Wit or no, Lord Exeter would not leave without hearing from him. He pushed the door open and Lottie turned around. Her cheeks were streaked with recently shed tears.
Lord Exeter might encounter his fists as well.
Lottie peered into the dark hallway as she hurriedly wiped her cheeks. “Is someone there?”
If Alec could have captured one perfect image from his entire life, it would have been the moment he stepped into Lottie’s bedroom. No one had ever looked so overjoyed, so relieved to see him. Not before, and certainly not since.
“Surprise,” he said with a smile as he held out his arms.
“Alec!” Lottie sprang up from the bed and ran right to him. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face against his chest. Alec hugged her close, not like he had in many years. Not since they were both children. But he hadn’t missed the way Lottie’s perfectly cut gown clung to her figure, or how her elegant coiffure, far more refined than Miss Thorne’s, showcased her delicate, heart-shaped face. She had grown into a beautiful young woman.
“Did the excavation finish early? Uncle Alfred said it wouldn’t end until December.” She pulled back. “Or have you come to tell him about Oxford?”
Lottie was the only one who knew of his secret wish. Her face was so full of fragile hope that Alec had to press his lips together to hold back the grimace. “No, it’s still going on. I could only get away for the night,” he reluctantly admitted. “And I…I haven’t decided about Oxford yet.”
What a coward he was.
“Oh.” She lowered her head, not even bothering to hide her disappointment.
He placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up. The sheen in her eyes tore at his heart. “Dear girl, I came here for you. Now, tell me. Why are you in your room?”
She shook her head. “It’s so silly. Really.”
“Tell me.” He gripped her shoulders and leaned his head closer to hers. Lord, had her eyes always been such a brilliant shade of green? However had he not noticed?
“It was only something Lord Exeter said,” she demurred. “He was trying to be funny. I think.”
“What did he say to you?”
Lottie’s eyes widened at his dark tone, then she looked away. “He remarked on the number of guests in attendance, then said they all must have come to get a glimpse of Sir Alfred, as I certainly wasn’t the draw,” she explained with a wince, flushing with embarrassment at the memory. “He’s right, of course. I’m hardly the most promising debutante of the season, but he said it in front of so many people. And most of them laughed…”
Alec inhaled slowly, controlling the anger that suddenly thundered through him. Her familiar rosewater scent further calmed him. “He’s not a wit. He’s an ass. Forget about him.”
Lottie’s lips parted in shock, but then her gaze turned adoring. Alec nearly lost his breath. She hadn’t looked at him quite like that since she was a young girl. He’d forgotten how powerful her admiration made him feel. The hairs at the back of his neck prickled with a dangerous new awareness.
He patted her arm. “Come. I want a waltz.” The idea of going back downstairs where any man could dance with her, touch her, whisper sweet words to her, was suddenly unbearable. But they needed to get out of this room before he was tempted to keep her there.
“Oh, no. I feel so silly now—”
Alec grabbed her hand and pressed his thumb against her wrist. Her pulse was steady, strong, and swift. “Please, Lottie. Do it for an old man like me.” He moved his thumb in small circles and her heart beat even faster. As she stared at him, the very nature of the air seemed to change. They were no longer Lottie and Alec, but something more. Something that had been building for years, steadily growing without either of them noticing. But it had been there all along, biding its time. In every letter, every charged silence, every accidental touch.
And Alec could no longer ignore it.
“All right,” she said softly.
He smiled and placed her hand in the crook of his arm, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Because it was. Because it always had been.
Alec let her enter the ballroom a few minutes ahead of him to avoid any hint of a scandal, then proceeded to dance with her not once, but three times. Sir Alfred’s frown seemed to deepen a little more with every turn, but Alec was tired of living to please that man. Not if he could live to please someone else.
As the night wore on, Alec laughed harder than he had in ages, while Lottie radiated with a happiness he hadn’t seen in years. And slowly, all his reservations dimmed. Though he bore no title, was not even recognized by his own family, and had no inheritance beyond the pittance his father’s copyright earned, he had a world-class education and, more important, a driving hunger to succeed. Perhaps that could be enough.
By the end of their final waltz, Alec had made a decision. He drew Lottie a touch closer than propriety deemed appropriate and lowered his voice. “May I call on you tomorrow morning, before I return to Scotland?”
She beamed up at him. “Of course. Did you think to slip away without saying a proper goodbye?”
Alec grinned. “I could never dream of doing such a thing.”
If there was even the slightest chance she would have him, he was going to marry Lottie Carlisle one day. And no one would stop him.