It was unnerving how well she still knew him after all these years. Alec had forgotten what it meant to be truly understood by another person, as well as the heart-stopping pain that came from disappointing them. Lottie was clearly hurt by his managing behavior, but she would see the wisdom in their separation soon enough and be grateful he had taken such measures. Tomorrow afternoon she would board a train bound for London with her reputation still intact and a limitless future to look forward to. His only regret was that he hadn’t been the one to tell her his intentions, and so he accepted her punishing silence.

As soon as they arrived at Signore Cardinelli’s palatial home they had been whisked out onto the terrace for drinks. Lottie ignored his offer to fetch her something and walked away. The Etruscan collector, if there had ever been one, never appeared, but Madame Noir had sidled up to him once he was alone. Apparently she had a preference when it came to gentlemen, and he fit the bill perfectly. No doubt she would be open to any suggestion he made; they could slip upstairs where he could draw a promise from her any number of ways. It would be the work of only a few minutes. And yet he couldn’t make himself do it.

The dinner gong sounded, and guests began to move toward the dining room. There must have been thirty or so people in attendance. Far more than Alec had assumed. It made monopolizing Madame Noir much easier, but he kept losing track of Lottie. Alec cast a subtle glance over the well-dressed crowd—a mixture of lesser European nobility, distinguished locals, and wealthy foreigners from around the world—but there was no sign of her cinnamon tresses.

“I believe your wife is with Mr. Drakos.” There was a distinct edge to Madame Noir’s voice.

So much for subtlety.

Alec turned to her with a rueful smile. “She’s not my wife.” He couldn’t lose Lottie and botch this assignment.

“Oh?” Madame Noir maintained her bored tone, but Alec hadn’t missed the slight rise of her dark brows.

He placed a hand over his heart. “Dear Miss Gresham is my cousin. The youngest daughter of my late mother’s favorite sister. This is her first time in Venice and her chaperone has fallen ill, so I offered to act as her escort this evening.”

Madame Noir’s brown eyes slowly warmed as he spoke. Not even she was immune to a man so devoted to family.