A Rogue to Remember Read online

Then again, after only an afternoon in that woman’s company Alec had been ready to head for the hills, and Lottie had endured weeks of her. Surely that deserved a stroll around Saint Mark’s Square and a damned gondola ride.

  “Fine. We’ll go. But only for a day.” His heartbeat quickened as he said the words, and a droll voice suggested that he was not doing this merely for her benefit.

  Lottie smiled in triumph and reclined grandly in her chair. She took a leisurely sip of tea and gazed at the horizon.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  Her eyes cut back to his. “Oh yes. The second condition.” She placed the cup and saucer down and folded her hands. “Once we leave here, your conduct must be as gentlemanly as possible. At all times.” Alec opened his mouth, but she pressed on. “That means you are not to use my Christian name.”

  He kept his tone neutral. “I would never use it in public.”

  “You may not use it in private, either. There is no need for us to be so familiar with one another. No one calls me Lottie anymore, anyway,” she added softly.

  Alec gripped his thigh hard under the table. “My humblest apologies for my carelessness. I will address you formally from now on. And refrain from being too familiar.”

  Lottie gave him an irritatingly beatific smile. “In that case, I will be happy to accompany you to England, Professor.”

  Alec failed to suppress the little thrill that shot through him at the title. “I’m afraid you’ll need to pose as Mrs. Gresham while we’re traveling. It’s a common enough name, and we certainly won’t be moving in the circles you’re used to, so your reputation should be safe.” Then he gave her a rather caustic smile of his own.

  “I told you. I don’t care about my rep—”

  Alec held up a hand. “I am thoroughly aware of your feelings on the subject. But I assume you still care about your safety. You cannot stay in a room at a damned railway inn by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

  Lottie seemed primed to argue but then she crossed her arms. “Fine.”

  “Then we are in complete agreement.” Alec pushed away from the table and stalked off.

  When he had received Sir Alfred’s command—for Sir Alfred still never asked anything of him—he anticipated some awkwardness with Lottie. She had spent these last years moving among the very cream of society and would not wish to reconnect with an old, forgotten playmate like him.

  But nothing could have prepared Alec for the utter contempt she now demonstrated toward her own well-being. She appeared not at all concerned by the prospect of being banished from society forever. The only world she had ever known. And even if she was personally indifferent, did she have no compassion for those who cared for her? Lottie might not have any family apart from her uncle, but she had friends, certainly. If her reputation was destroyed, she would never see any of them again. Couldn’t she see how much she stood to lose? It seemed unimaginable that she would not only willingly leave but set herself on fire in the process. Even for love. Then again, not everyone shared his utter contempt for romance.

  Alec had noticed the canvas on the easel when he first stepped onto the terrace. Now seemed a fine time for a closer look.

  “Of course,” he muttered after a quick perusal. It was remarkably similar to a small painting Lottie’s mother had done when she came here on her honeymoon. The original was one of Lottie’s most prized possessions and had always occupied a place of honor in her childhood bedroom. After a little while, the artist herself came beside him.

  “It’s good. I had no idea you painted.”

  “I started a few years ago.”

  Long after he had left, then. “I trust you haven’t given up your ciphers.” Lottie always had a head for puzzles and developed several when she was younger. They had often written encrypted letters to each other at their respective boarding schools.

  She gave a half-hearted shrug. “I had been helping Uncle Alfred transcribe some.”

  “Really?”

  “Mr. Wetherby gave them to me now and again. It was all very hushed up, of course. And I never tried to decipher the codes myself. He said my uncle didn’t trust anyone else to do it,” she explained, unable to fully mask the pleasure behind her words. “But it kept me occupied.”

  The back of Alec’s neck tingled. Sir Alfred had always adamantly maintained that Lottie could never be involved in his work in any way. The risk was too great. Before he could ruminate on that further, Lottie continued: “I haven’t written my own in ages, though. I didn’t see the point.”

  For there was no one to send them to.

  She stared at the view with a wistfulness that, for a moment, made her seem years younger. Alec swallowed past the lump of guilt in his throat and turned back to the canvas. “Why not paint the sunset? I’m sure it’s magnificent.”

  “It is, but my painting instructor said I had to master daytime first. Now, though…” Her voice trailed off. He would have given anything to touch her again, even a comforting pat on the shoulder, but he doubted she would appreciate the gesture. And Alec was, if nothing else, a man of his word.

  “You’ll come back to finish your sunset. I promise.”

  Alec disappeared into the cottage soon after, leaving Lottie to stew in her thoughts. Chief among them was the wish for one more bedroom. She sat down at the terrace table and flipped through the Italian pocket dictionary until she reached the Mar section. Lottie dragged her finger down the page and stopped at the entry for Marito: m. Husband. Spouse.

  She pressed a hand to her forehead as her face flushed yet again. Her measly conditions had been a desperate bid to gain some control over a situation wildly spinning away from her. She had come here to show Uncle Alfred that he could not manage her anymore, but if her actions had contributed to his illness in any way, she wasn’t sure she could live with herself.

  Of course, there was the chance it was all a lie, with Alec acting as an accomplice. But he had agreed to her terms. Hopefully that would be enough time to determine the truth. Then she would either return to England or slip away once again. She idly touched two fingers to her lips, remembering the sensation of his mouth upon hers. Alec kissed exactly like how she’d expected a man used to manipulating people would—with confidence, experience, and just a hint at the end of barely suppressed passion to make it seem genuine.

  Lottie knew this. Knew it meant nothing to him. And yet that old, pathetic desire still coursed through every vein.

  For goodness’ sake, get ahold of yourself.

  She let out a defeated sigh and buried her head in both hands. It had been a mistake to stay in Italy, born of a maudlin girlhood wish to see this village. But she would not let maudlin sentiment guide her any longer. After this she would travel farther east. Perhaps to Palmyra. Not even Alec would think to look for her there. Like painting, her interest in exploration was relatively new. She had many idle hours to fill these last years, and Sir Alfred’s library was well stocked. The memoirs of Lady Hester Stanhope and Isabella Bird had been particularly inspiring. Lottie felt like she had found kindred spirits in these female explorers who had also yearned for lives beyond drawing rooms and dared to make them happen.

  Sir Alfred was her mother’s older brother by well over a decade, as the late Mrs. Carlisle’s conception had been something of a surprise to her parents. When Lottie’s parents died in a carriage accident, he was her closest living relative. But as Sir Alfred was a committed bachelor, there had been few guiding female presences in Lottie’s life aside from Mrs. Houston, his fiercely loyal Irish housekeeper. When she was younger, her uncle had been indulgent, or perhaps negligent was the better word. Despite the interventions of some well-meaning but weak-willed governesses, Lottie had run a bit wild—especially once she found a coconspirator in Alec. But her uncle, when he was around, seemed delighted by her impudence. When she demanded a pair of bloomers so she could ride astride a horse like Alec, Sir Alfred merely laughed and called for the tailor.

  It wasn’t until Lottie was se
nt to school at thirteen that she realized how unconventional her upbringing had been. Her classmates were not impressed by her ciphers or her horse riding. They found it shocking that she could barely thread a needle or play the piano and whispered about her being “unnatural.” By then Sir Alfred was no longer quite so charmed by her willfulness. From then on, Lottie worked hard to win his approval by appearing more ladylike. The one person who hadn’t ever made her feel deficient was Alec. As the son of an infamous poet and his lowborn Italian wife, he was having troubles of his own fitting in with England’s elite.

  We’re a pair of misfits, you and I, he had written to her once.

  And misfits must stick together. Always.

  But in the end, Alec had found his own way in the world. And there was no room for her on his path.

  Lottie slammed the dictionary shut and headed for the cottage. The terrace had grown uncomfortably warm in the midday sun, but a nap would help to clear her addled mind. And provide fortification for the night ahead.

  It promised to be a long one.

  Chapter Four

  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 ho
arse. 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.