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.”