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.