For once Lottie didn’t protest. She merely nodded and slipped into the bedroom, but not before she glanced behind him. When the door was safely shut, he spun around. Rafe watched from across the room, looking like the cat that got the cream. He would be expecting the full rundown, as usual. But this was different. This was Lottie.

As Alec walked toward his friend, he tried to return that smile, but it felt more like a grimace.

Rafe pointed his chin toward the bedroom. “I see you picked up something on your trip down south. I thought you didn’t like English women.”

“What makes you think she’s English?”

Rafe let out a hearty laugh at his caginess. “I heard you talking in the entry hall, you oaf. And the landing.”

“Were you listening by the bloody door?” Alec scoffed.

“Well, you weren’t exactly quiet,” Rafe pointed out, still amused. “Why, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a woman speak to you that way.” Then he tilted his head, considering. “Come to think of it, I could say the same for you. And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

Rafe was a few years older and had served the Crown far longer, first as a naval officer before his recruitment as an intelligence agent. His father, the late earl of Fairfield, had been working in the diplomatic service after the death of his first wife when he met Rafe’s mother, an eccentric young actress on the cusp of stardom after one of her performances. Rafe spent most of his childhood abroad, due to both the nature of his parents’ careers and the scandal their marriage created. His four half siblings still refused to acknowledge his very existence. Yet Rafe rarely seemed bothered by this and instead embraced life with a breezy joie de vivre that was at turns irritating and infectious. Now he eyed the door with a level of interest Alec couldn’t stand.

“She’s a redhead, isn’t she? Bit hard to tell under that absurd hat. Is she as feisty as she sounded?”

Alec’s hands fisted. “Fuck. You.”

That caught Rafe by surprise. Not an easy feat. “Why don’t we sit down. I’ve brought a bottle of that beastly local wine I know you like.”

Alec shook his head. “I’m busy. And you can’t stay here. State your business and then leave.”

Rafe gave him a pitying look, as if he were an obstinate child crying over nothing. “Alec, you know I can’t do that.”

They stared at one another for a solid minute, but they both knew it was only so Alec could maintain some shred of dignity. Rafe was a damned good friend. Alec would have to find a way to thank him later when he didn’t hate him quite so much.

“Fine,” he grumbled and sat down hard on the flat’s threadbare sofa.