She replaced the frame and picked up the other, much smaller portrait. A miniature, really. The woman must be Alec’s mother. Lottie had never seen her likeness before. The late Mrs. Gresham had been a simple laundress here in Venice when she met Alec’s father and, at least according to the startling number of poems he had written on the subject, it was love at first sight. Edward Gresham must have had this portrait commissioned after they married. The corner of Lottie’s mouth turned up. How very like him to eschew the convenience of photography for the romance of the painted image.

Mrs. Gresham was, unsurprisingly, strikingly beautiful, with fair hair and hazel eyes. It was easy to see how she could kindle true love in the heart of any man. Lottie squinted and drew the frame closer. There was some kind of inscription along the bottom: Contessa Maria Petrucci.

That name…

It’s a very old, very well-respected family in these parts.

The blood rushed to her face as she stared at the inscription. Perhaps this wasn’t Alec’s mother after all. Lottie scrutinized the woman’s face again. No. The likeness wasn’t as strong as his father’s, but it was there all the same in the color of her eyes and the sensual shape of her mouth. And she certainly matched Edward Gresham’s descriptions of his great love. But if that were true, then she hadn’t been a common laundress at all. She was a noblewoman.

Lottie slowly returned the miniature to its place. There could be any number of perfectly valid, perfectly boring reasons why Edward Gresham hid his wife’s identity, and why Uncle Alfred hadn’t corrected the information even after their deaths. But the simplest—and most salacious—rose to the surface:

Maria Petrucci was never Edward’s wife.

And if that were true, then Alec was illegitimate.

Shuffling came from the other side of the door. Someone was approaching. Lottie quickly replaced the dust cover and returned to the edge of the bed, doing her best to hide her shock. Questions burned in her brain, but she couldn’t ask them. At least not now. If Alec wanted her to know the truth, he would tell her. Wouldn’t he?

The door swung open and Alec entered. He looked tense and agitated, but his eyes immediately softened once they fell on her. How badly she wanted him to share the truth with her. To trust her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “Is your…friend still here?”

“He just left.” Alec sat down beside her and stared at the floor. “But he’ll be back.”

Goodness, how tired he looked. Lottie had the urge to stroke away the tension from his brow, but that insurmountable wall seemed to separate them once again, now built of more secrets than she could count. “He’s an agent, isn’t he?”