Chapter Five

Alec awoke to purple dawn breaking across the Tuscan sky and a nasty crick in his neck. He was twenty-eight. Far too old to sleep on a cold stone floor. He sat up with a grunt and rubbed his throbbing shoulder. A bullet had gone clean through the top over two years ago during a skirmish in a Turkish market, and Alec was usually fastidious about the injury, but that simply hadn’t been possible last night. Then his eyes fell on the very reason for his negligence.

Lottie slept peacefully, her hair splayed across the pillows like a lush, russet crown.

He had risked his life countless times over, fought hand-to-hand with men hell-bent on killing him, looked death straight in its black, bloodless eye, and he had always kept his head. But catching just a glimpse of Lottie behind the dressing screen last night, knowing how close he was to her barely clad figure, had strung him tighter than a bow. Hours later and he was still ready to snap. He felt like the favored target of a vengeful, ancient God. Having his heart cut out every night only to awaken and find it whole again.

Alec imagined climbing in beside her and drawing her sleeping form against his chest. He would bury his face against her neck, her hair, her soft skin, and wake his wild maiden slowly with gentle kisses until she gave him a drowsy, knowing smile. Then he would roll her body beneath his own and all her treasures would finally be his.

If only they could stay right here, forever.

Alec pressed his head against his palms and breathed deeply, ridding the fantasy from his mind. For that was all it was. He certainly hadn’t imagined Lottie’s full-bodied flinch when he held her hand last night, nor the look of sheer terror when she thought they might have had to share a bed. And thank God for that.

All he had to do was bring her to London. They could be there in four days. If he bungled this up in any way, Sir Alfred could end his career. Then Alec would truly be left with nothing.

Their past hadn’t mattered in five bloody years. And it couldn’t matter now. He had responsibilities that went far beyond his pitiful, boyish desires. Keeping Lottie safe, and safe from him, was chief among them.

“This is an assignment,” Alec muttered. “An assignment. An assignment…”

He repeated the demented chant until it was seared onto his brain.

Unavoidable. Unforgettable. And unbreakable.

  

Come to bed, Lottie…

Alec’s dark voice called to her, pulling her down into the deepest recesses of her mind.

In that shadowy space, Lottie couldn’t see his face, but it was Alec all the same. His rough, wide palms slid over her skin, knowing just how to touch, how to stroke, how to tease. She twisted under his hands, trying to move out of his reach, unable to take any more of this torturous pleasure, but he only held her harder, moved faster. No one could make her body feel like this, like a fire scorching her from the inside.

Only Alec.

It had only ever been Alec.

“Lottie.”

Lottie’s eyes shot open. Her heart pounded nearly as hard as the pulse between her legs. Alec stood at the foot of her bed, already dressed for the day in a fresh white shirt. Sunlight streamed through the balcony, casting him in a rosy glow.

He looked concerned. “You still have nightmares?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You were tossing back and forth. I thought…” His voice trailed off as he studied her face.

Oh God. Her dream.

Lottie pressed a hand to her cheek. She was flush and damp. Their eyes met and his widened slightly. Then her heart stopped. He knew. Alec knew what she had been dreaming of.

Lottie turned away, wishing the bed would open up and swallow her whole. “I need to dress.” Her voice trembled ever so slightly. “I’ll be ready shortly.”

Alec stood there for an agonizing moment. She could feel his eyes still on her, feel his hesitation, but she didn’t look back. “All right,” he finally said. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

She waited until he shut the door behind him, then let out a breath.

It took her longer than usual, as her hands stumbled over the buttons. Lottie had chosen another mostly practical ensemble for traveling: a dark skirt, a white blouse, and sturdy walking boots. But there was a decided streak of whimsy in some of her pieces. Such as the fitted scarlet jacket trimmed in velvet she now donned, which saved her from looking like a rather dowdy missionary.

Back in London Mrs. Wetherby had decried the jacket as highly unsuitable and urged Lottie to choose a different fabric in dull tan, sober black, or perhaps navy blue. But Lottie had absolutely no regrets about her purchase and was now doubly grateful that she had asked the tailor to nip it in closer at the waist. For much of her youth she had a thin, almost boyish figure, and even now her curves weren’t anything close to voluptuous. She knew she would never be considered a great beauty. Knew she possessed too many traits deemed undesirable by the fashionable crowd. And she had made her peace with it. Lottie enjoyed dressing for herself and tried not to linger on the things she had absolutely no control over, like other people’s opinions. But as she wound her braided hair into a loose knot aided by the dressing table mirror, those old insecurities suddenly gripped her. It felt as if she were entering a London ballroom for the first time all over again. Preparing to be judged and ranked by a hundred pairs of eyes—and found incredibly lacking.

That is Sir Alfred’s niece?

She isn’t as pretty as her mother, is she?

Shame about the hair.

Before she could silence the impulse or consider its origin, she dabbed a bit of rose-tinted salve on her lips and cheeks and finished packing her belongings in a small carpet bag.

Lottie then savored the view from the bedroom’s window one last time. The very air seemed to call to her: Leaving so soon? She felt a faint pang of regret. Only days ago, the idea that she would leave so suddenly, and with Alec, would have been laughable. But now wasn’t the time for second thoughts. If life had taught her nothing else, it was that she could endure whatever fate held in store. Lottie then picked up her bag, straightened her shoulders, and marched from the room.

  

Downstairs a plate of freshly made custard tarts was set on the worktable. Marta must have discovered they were Alec’s favorite, but the woman was nowhere in sight. Lottie took a bite, savoring the buttery sweetness. She was seven the first time she ever tasted one. It was shortly after Alec had come to live at Uncle Alfred’s house.

“His parents are both gone, and he has nowhere else to go,” her uncle had explained beforehand, even more sober than usual. “It hasn’t been an easy life for him these last years. But I know you’ll be good to him, Lottie dear.”

She had lost her own parents the previous summer and was intrigued by meeting another child who might be able to understand the crushing pain that had become her constant companion, to help her make sense of this strange new world. Then Alec arrived: thin, sullen, and already handsome, with the most charming accent she had ever heard. He had the self-possession of a boy much older than his eleven years—and he made no effort to hide his contempt. But upon their introduction, Lottie saw the flash of wariness in his hazel eyes. Even at her young age, she recognized that perhaps this older boy needed comfort more than she did.

Lottie spent that entire first month trying her hardest to befriend him, but Alec thoroughly rejected her every overture.

After all, she was only a silly child, while he was practically a man.

They had nothing in common.

Nothing.

Until one day she asked him questions. About his home. About his mother. His father. Then he began to talk. Slowly at first, and then all at once, like a great, rushing waterfall. How lonely he must have been. And how angry, to keep so much inside. A part of her understood, but she did not yet have the words to explain, so she listened. That was how she learned about the tarts, and how he had them on Sunday afternoons when his mother was still alive.

Lottie asked the cook to make them for tea the next day and explained in great detail exactly how they should be prepared. The astonishment on Alec’s face when he saw them piled next to the scones and jam was well worth the weeks of barbs.

Then he turned to Lottie. “You…you did this? For me?”

Lottie nodded and gave him a shy smile. It was such a small thing. And she would do so much more, if he would only let her.

His expression transformed to something else, something her young mind couldn’t quite decipher. He seemed both terribly happy and incredibly sad. Then he grabbed her hand and kissed it before her governess could intervene. “Forgive me, Lottie,” he begged. “I’ve—I’ve been so awful to you.”

“Of course,” she said easily.

She could forgive him anything—endure anything—as long as she had his friendship.

Alec was right. Lottie had been a silly child.

She set down the half-eaten tart, no longer having a taste for it.

Just then Alec’s deep voice floated through the house. He was talking to someone out front. Lottie left behind the tart and went outside. A horse and cart that both looked far past their primes sat in the drive, while a boy who couldn’t be more than ten held the reins. He was speaking to Alec in rapid Italian. Alec smiled and patted the boy’s arm, then began to lift Lottie’s trunk onto the back of the cart. He wore the same pants and jacket from yesterday afternoon, but both had gotten a good brushing at some point, as they were now entirely free of road dust.

“What’s this?”

Alec grunted as he pushed the trunk onto the bed of the cart. “Our transportation to the rail station.”

Lottie lowered her voice, even though the boy likely didn’t speak much English. “He’s a child.”

“Lorenzo is twelve,” Alec said. “I was about the same age when I took us to the village in the dogcart for the harvest festival.”

Lottie did not return his amused smile as the long cherished but deliberately suppressed memory surfaced. It had been the first of many outings for them. He bought her a roasted apple, and they had their fortunes told: Alec would become a great explorer, while Lottie would make a name for herself on the stage. Then she fell asleep against his shoulder on the ride back to Uncle Alfred’s house. She hadn’t felt so safe since her parents died. Or so cared for.

“This is hardly the same.”

Alec sighed and turned serious. “Marta says he’s a responsible lad, and this is a good opportunity for him. He’s the man of the house and his mother is ill.”

“Oh.” She could hardly deny the boy the chance to earn some coin.

“It will be fine. He’s only taking us to Pistoia. We’ll spend the night, then take the express to Venice from Bologna.”

“Bologna?” She had assumed they would travel through Florence, as the city was much closer.

Once again Alec seemed able to read her thoughts. “We can’t go back to Florence,” he said as he focused on strapping her trunk to the cart. “You spent weeks there. It’s possible an acquaintance might see us together, which would only fuel the speculation I am trying to snuff out.” Lottie couldn’t help blushing at the idea of Alec as the dashing Italian suitor she had ruined herself over. “It’s a slight chance, to be sure,” he continued, “but I’d like to avoid it all the same. Bologna is closer to Venice anyway.” Then he met her eyes. “Are you nearly ready?”

Though his words were brief, they belayed a wealth of experience. But then, he had been living like this for years now. The realization shouldn’t have been such a surprise to her, and yet it was. Yesterday Alec said he knew a diversion when he saw one. But Lottie had completely missed the one right in front of her: a smooth, unflappable, and mildly flirtatious man. Even now, Alec’s neutral expression betrayed absolutely nothing, but she began to think beyond their shared past. And what, exactly, he had been doing while they were apart.

“I—I need to pack my paints. And canvas.”

“Already done.” Alec gestured to the cart where the canvas was expertly wrapped, with her case of paints and brushes tucked beside it.

That he would have bothered with such a thing, while planning everything else, was an even greater surprise. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll get my hat.”

Alec nodded. “And I’ll be here.”

As she retrieved her hat, gloves, and parasol, Marta came charging out of the kitchen with a basket.

“For signore and signora,” she explained, with that wide smile on her face yet again. Lottie hadn’t seen her so pleased during her entire stay.

“Grazie, Marta. This is lovely.” Lottie accepted the heavy basket.

“The signore is a good man,” Marta pronounced seriously. “You will be happy now.”

Lottie’s smile tightened. “Grazie.” Even if she had been fluent, there was nothing more she could possibly say.

They both walked outside but as they headed toward the cart, Lottie gasped. “Signore Ernesto! He should be here any minute!”

“Parlerò con lui. I will tell him,” Marta waved a dismissive hand and continued to move Lottie along. “Ti stai stressando e non va bene per il bambino.”

There was one word that Lottie absolutely picked up on.

Bambino.

As she turned to gape at Marta, she tripped over a crack in the path, sending the basket and parasol flying. Marta shrieked and reached out but she was too far away. Just before Lottie hit the ground, a pair of strong arms gripped her. She looked up straight into Alec’s hazel eyes.

“Careful now, or our journey will end before it can even begin,” he murmured, giving her an easy smile, but his arms tightened around her.

Beside them Marta clasped her hands to her chest and let out a slew of words Lottie could only assume were testaments to Alec’s superior reflexes.

“Thank you,” she breathed and straightened. Alec wordlessly pulled her hand through his arm and led her the rest of the way to the cart, where Lorenzo perched patiently on the driver’s seat.

Alec introduced her as his wife, then carefully handed her up into the rear seat. He watched closely as she settled herself.

Lottie raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine. Really.”

Alec’s brow puckered and his lips parted but then Marta hurried over with the hastily repacked basket and the parasol. She handed both to Lottie and then exchanged a few words with Alec before warmly embracing him like a long-lost son. He murmured something that made her laugh like a schoolgirl.

Lottie rolled her eyes as she placed the basket at her feet and the parasol by her side.

Marta patted his cheek then turned and waved to Lottie. “Arrivederci, signora! Come back with the child.”

All Lottie could do was smile weakly and wave back.

Alec climbed into the seat beside her. The cart was rather narrow, and his firm thigh briefly grazed hers, but it was more than enough for the startling warmth of his skin to seep into her own, setting off a confounding mixture of relief and restlessness.

It was barely nine in the morning, and her nerves were already in tatters. Lottie scooted away until there was no more chance of them accidentally touching. Alec glanced over but said nothing. He had put on a dashing, wide-brimmed slouch hat that suited him perfectly and looked well worn. He must have gotten it in some faraway place while saving a beautiful foreign woman or stealing government secrets. Most likely both.

Lorenzo clicked his tongue and jiggled the reins. The ancient mare jerked forward, along with the cart. Alec shot his arm in front of Lottie to keep her from hitting the back of the driver’s seat, but she pressed her hand against the wood panel and steadied herself.

She arched a brow. “You know I’m not really with bambino. There’s no need to act as though I’m made of glass.”

Alec placed his hand against his knee. “Of course.” Then he turned back toward the house and waved to Marta. “You are made of steel. Always were.”