A Rogue to Remember Page 2

  “You know exactly why I’m here, Lottie. And on behalf of whom.” Then he raised a dark brow to further emphasize that she had been very bad indeed.

  She rolled her eyes. “I did leave him a note.”

  “Oh yes,” he scoffed with surprisingly grating sarcasm. “The one your chaperone was too terrified to send him: ‘I know what I’m doing. Please don’t be too cross’? Did you really think that was going to convince Sir Alfred?”

  Lottie shrugged, unrepentant. The note had been a hastily dashed afterthought. Uncle Alfred should have been happy with two lines from her. But it was vexing to hear that Mrs. Wetherby hadn’t passed the message along. “As you very well know, trying to convince that man of anything is useless. I thought my time was better spent begging for forgiveness. And I know why you’re here in the general sense. What I’m wondering is what you’re hoping to accomplish today.”

  For once Alec looked puzzled. “You’re to come home. With me.”

  Lottie couldn’t stop the laugh from bursting forth. “My goodness, does Uncle Alfred always send you on his errands? I’d have thought you would be doing something far more important these days.”

  Apparently, agents of the Crown did not appreciate sarcasm. His jaw tightened as all traces of mirth vanished; in its place was an unfamiliar, world-weary expression that bordered on hostile. “He asked for my help. I’m here as a favor.”

  Lottie managed not to flinch at the trivial description. She expected to be considered as little more than an annoyance, but they both knew Uncle Alfred never asked. He demanded.

  “And is that really all you thought it would take? You show up here unannounced and I would simply go off with you?” She laughed again. “That’s even less convincing than my note.”

  Alec moved closer. “This isn’t a game, Lottie,” he began in a low, harsh voice that sent goose bumps racing up her spine. He then brushed his fingers against her elbow, and the light touch was so immediately recognizable, and so shockingly familiar, that Lottie nearly gasped. As the warmth from his fingertips sunk deeper into her skin, a heady, comforting feeling settled over her until she very nearly swayed against him. “You aren’t playing house up here,” he continued, unaware of her reaction. “And I don’t need to provide a list of reasons because you know you cannot stay.”

  Lottie pulled away from the hypnotic grasp and matched his glare. “I’m afraid I can, actually. I didn’t wander off and end up here by accident. I’ve let this house for the next year.”

  Alec’s eyes went nearly black as he leaned closer. It was impossible not to notice how much larger he was now. “Then I hope your landlord will honor a refund. As it stands, you have been traveling unaccompanied in a foreign country for over a week. Did you not consider what would happen when you deserted your chaperone while staying in a pension that is extremely popular with British tourists? Did you actually think your disappearance would go unnoticed?”

  His tone remained cold while only the barest hint of color stained his cheeks. It appeared that Alec had finally learned to control his temper. However, after insinuating that she was both remarkably inane and grossly incompetent, Lottie saw no need to bother with civilities.

  “What kind of a fool do you take me for?” she seethed. “The whole point was for them to notice.”

  By running away in such a dramatic fashion, Lottie had hoped to create a scandal so irresistible that it would be written about before the day was out. Those letters would then reach the finest drawing rooms in London before spreading even further with the relentless drive of the most potent plague until her ruination was achieved. And if the letters didn’t do the trick, Lottie had every faith that Mrs. Wetherby herself would make sure word spread. The older woman had her own reputation to maintain, but no one would blame her if a willful young lady ran off with an Italian.

  It would be the scandal of the season, if not the year. Lottie was counting on it.

  Alec stared as if she was a stranger. “You mean you…you wanted to be ruined?”

  Lottie lifted her chin. Proud. Defiant. And entirely unrepentant. “I’d be very disappointed to learn otherwise, Mr. Gresham.”

  Finally he was seeing her, really seeing her for the first time; now he would know how strong she was, how determined, how capable.

  “Oh, Lottie,” Alec sighed, as if in deep pain, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What have you done?”

  Chapter Two

  The heart-stopping relief that came over Alec when he stepped out onto the terrace and saw Lottie standing there, the picture of health—and alone—was entirely too short-lived.

  He had forgotten so many things, like the exact shade of her hair or the dimple on her left cheek that came out only when she laughed. He had also forgotten how damned stubborn she could be.

  And how disarmingly alluring it was.

  Over the years, in the rare moments when Alec dared to picture her, it was only as the girl he had first met: the sweet, seven-year-old orphan afraid of the dark who insisted she had an invisible pony named Buckles. Even earlier, while he was traipsing up this godforsaken hill, he was determined to prove that everyone else was mistaken. Lottie hadn’t run off with anyone. No, she had merely wanted to visit the little medieval village where her late parents spent their honeymoon and hadn’t even considered the havoc her little folly would cause.

  Silly, lovely Lottie.

  It never occurred to him that Charlotte Elizabeth Carlisle, born into one of the finest families in England, and beloved only niece of the illustrious Sir Alfred Lewis, would knowingly do anything to destroy her sterling reputation.

  But the steely-eyed young woman before him suggested otherwise.

  Alec had vastly underestimated her.

  A careless error. Inexcusable for an agent of his experience. It would not happen again.

  Lottie watched him with hawklike concentration. Her brows, a few shades darker than her hair, pulled together, but Alec couldn’t speak. It had taken him years to learn how to control his emotions, but this anger had come on so suddenly, so fiercely, that it nearly took his breath away. How long had it been since he let such raw feelings surface?

  Oh, about five years or so.

  He moved next to her and pressed his palms against the balustrade. He took a few deep breaths until the vibrant pulse of anger faded into that cool, familiar numbness. “I won’t pretend to understand what possessed you to do such a thing, or why,” he said, turning to her. “But to no one’s regret but your own, your reputation is still somewhat intact.”

  Lottie let out a frustrated huff. “Well, that is disappointing to hear,” she said dryly. “I had hoped Mrs. Wetherby would be hysterical. She threw a fit at the slightest inconvenience. I thought my leaving would at least elicit the same response as being served a lukewarm pot of tea.”

  Her cynicism was even more provoking. And bizarre. She had never been so cold before.

  What happened to you, Lottie?

  The question was on the tip of his tongue, yet he could never ask such a thing. He might have enjoyed her confidence once, but that had been a very long time ago.

  “I assure you, she was in great distress,” he growled instead. “But she has no wish for word of your little jaunt to spread, so she made up an excuse to explain your sudden disappearance from the pension.”

  She cut a glance at him, genuinely curious. “Did she? What was it?”

  “That you went to Rome to meet some school friends, where she would shortly join you.”

  It was a decent enough lie, though Mrs. Wetherby had already been cracking under the pressure when Alec met her in Florence. The woman was exceptionally incompetent, but at least that toad Wetherby had guaranteed his aunt’s discretion.

  “Huh. I hadn’t realized she was capable of such a deception. Was it accepted by the other guests? There was a trio of spinster sisters staying there who seemed to live exclusively on bits of gossip.”

  Alec gritted his teeth. He was unfortunately familiar w
ith the women she spoke of. “Barely. Mrs. Wetherby had to leave the pension the day I arrived to keep up appearances. But it will all be for nothing if you don’t return to England very soon.”

  She lifted her chin. That mulish look was another thing he had forgotten. “I won’t be going anywhere. And certainly not with you.”

  “If you don’t come with me now, your uncle will only send someone else later,” he countered grimly. “And they might not be as considerate of your well-being as I am, especially if they learn the circumstances that preceded your visit.”

  No doubt there were scores of men who would be all too happy to escort her back to England. Alec was prepared to drag her kicking and screaming down the hillside for that reason alone. She swallowed hard but made no response. He glanced down and noticed that one hand was balled in a tight fist by her side. Perhaps she wasn’t so composed after all…

  “You should also know I didn’t come here merely to save your reputation,” Alec continued, taking pains to soften his tone. “Though that was the initial reason, the situation has grown more urgent. Your uncle suffered some kind of apoplexy a few days ago. Mr. Wetherby sent a telegram while I was still in Florence.” Alec had never met Wetherby in person. All communication between them was strictly limited to telegrams and letters, yet that hadn’t stopped him from concluding that the man was a complete ass. “He indicated that it was fairly mild, as far as these things go, but there is the danger your uncle could have another.”

  It was difficult to imagine Sir Alfred, who always exuded power and control, suffering from any kind of impairment, but age spared no one. Lottie’s frown deepened and she looked out across the landscape. Once Alec had been able to read her so easily, but she had no reason to hide anything from him then. Now he could only guess at the conflicting emotions warring inside her at the news. As his guardian and her uncle, Sir Alfred had, for lack of a better word, raised them both. But Alec’s relationship with the enigmatic man wasn’t nearly as complicated as Lottie’s was. And, given the circumstances, one could assume that things hadn’t exactly improved over the years. “If he does, he may die.”

  Lottie did not respond. At this angle, without those eyes hinting at the steel underneath, she could be the very picture of fresh, English innocence. Her slight curves had grown more pronounced over the years, but her peaches-and-cream complexion was still as smooth as polished marble with a faint dusting of those freckles he had always adored. The last time he saw her, Lottie had been trussed up in yards of white taffeta for a ball held in her honor. She had looked lovely then, but he much preferred her like this. In her sensible dark blue skirt and well-loved silk blouse, with wisps of hair coming loose from her braid.

  Alec fought back the urge to trail his finger down her cheek. Would she be warm and soft, or cool and hard? He leaned closer and faintly inhaled that familiar rosewater scent now mixed with the sharp tang of the oil paint that stained her fingertips. She had never looked more like herself than she did at this moment. Or maybe it was simply that he had missed her. So very much.

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said stiffly as she shifted away from his reach. “And for delivering the news in person, though it seems hardly worth the effort on your part. If I choose to see him, it will be on my own terms. I’m sure you have a long journey back to wherever it is you live now. On your way out, be sure to tell my housekeeper you were mistaken in coming here. You—you must have thought I was someone else.”

  There was a slight catch in her voice. A chink in her armor. And Alec wouldn’t let it slip by.

  “That might be difficult,” he began, “seeing as I already told her I was your husband.”

  Lottie abruptly faced him, her green eyes round and wide. “You what?”

  Alec gave her a lopsided smile. “Well, I had to get inside somehow. And I didn’t think she would believe I was your brother.” He gestured to the thick russet braid that snaked down her chest. Lottie’s hair had always been her most prized possession, and for good reason. It was glorious. Here, with those golden Tuscan hills as a backdrop, it gave her the otherworldly glow of a Titian goddess.

  “But I told Marta I was a widow!” Lottie hissed and clapped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, what must she think now?”

  Alec’s lips quirked. “She seemed rather delighted by your subterfuge, actually. I believe she imagines you came here to punish me.” A corner of her mouth lifted. Apparently that was an appealing idea. “I was properly scolded for not arriving sooner,” he went on. “According to her, you are much too lonely up here all by yourself.”

  The housekeeper had also sworn that the only man who had been inside the house was an elderly chap from the village who gave Lottie painting lessons, which blessedly spared him from the ugly task of forcing some wayward suitor’s hand. Mrs. Wetherby was convinced Lottie had run away with a man, though the evidence hadn’t amounted to more than a single dried rose and a pathetic note that read amore mio. Alec had roundly dismissed the notion that such piddling trinkets would have swayed her. But now he was questioning everything.

  Though Lottie claimed she had deliberately tried to ruin her reputation, that might not have been her original plan. She could have been abandoned en route, or perhaps her suitor had failed to materialize at the agreed-upon meeting place. It was understandable why she would not admit such a thing to Alec. Less understandable, though, was why she hadn’t returned to Florence immediately.

  Unless she is still hoping for his return.

  “Marta doesn’t know anything,” she snapped. “We can barely understand one another.”

  “Loneliness is a universal language, Lottie,” he murmured. One he had mastered long ago. “And it’s better for you this way. If she thinks we’re married, there won’t be any talk when we leave the village together.”

  She snorted at his caution. “That wouldn’t matter.”

  Alec narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t exactly in Timbuktu. Tourists come to this village. If people connect your actions in Florence with your stay here, it will make things worse for you. It matters.”

  “Only if I cared about my reputation.”

  Alec’s jaw tensed. Fresh heartbreak could certainly make a person act with such recklessness. It was difficult to see anything beyond the scorching pain that burned as hotly as any fire. But what would she do weeks, months, or even years later when the pain finally faded and she was left with nothing but the charred remains of her life?

  “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—many times—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’t
allowed himself to.

  Sorry, Alec. I know you’re fond of her, but I can’t give my consent.

  Fond had 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.”