The cottage’s lone diamond-paned picture window was partially covered in ivy, letting in only a bit of fast-fading daylight. Lottie found a remarkably dry pack of matches in the table’s drawer and set to lighting the lantern. Once the room was cast in a comforting glow, she curled up on the window seat, tucked her skirts around her legs, and rested her head against the glass.

Her heavy sigh filled the room. Mr. Wetherby had been thwarted, and she had every faith that Mrs. Houston would inform the suitable parties, but instead of planning her future and reveling in the independence she had sought for so long, here she was hiding away again in another cottage. But the loneliness that had once been so constant she’d barely noticed now chafed against her skin, rubbing her bruised heart raw. And there would never be any relief. She wanted something that was beyond money, beyond machinations and subterfuge. She wanted to be needed by a finite heart, even if it meant enduring pain when it ceased to beat. She wanted to give love and be loved in return, even if it meant giving up possibilities. She no longer wanted to live for herself alone, guided only by her own desires, but to be deeply known, like she had once been.

And she could not have it.

Eventually Lottie dozed off, but her dreams provided no respite. Alec was here in the cottage, wrapping her in his strong arms, murmuring her name against her ear. Lottie’s heart ached so badly for it to be real that she was wrenched awake. But, strangely, the dream did not end.

She blinked up sleepily into Alec’s face. “You…you can’t be here,” she whispered in confusion. He was a thousand miles away.

Alec’s eyes filled with hurt and he gave a brief nod. “I’m sorry. I needed to know you were safe. I’ll go.” He began to pull away but Lottie’s fingers dug into his arm, her body already recognizing what her mind could not.

“This is real?” She feared uttering the very words would make him vanish.

A relieved smile broke across his face. “I’m afraid so,” he said. When she pressed her face against his shoulder, she could have sworn he whispered Thank God.

“How,” she gasped. “How did you get here so quickly? Mrs. Houston only just contacted you.”

“I’m not here because of her.” Alec clasped the nape of her neck and she wanted to cry from the tenderness of his touch. “I left Venice the day after you did. I came here for you.” He crushed her even closer. “But when I got to London, I discovered what Mr. Wetherby had planned. Rafe and I came just as the vicar was arriving. I nearly lost my mind when I realized you went through the window.” Alec gently tipped up her chin. “I thought you were afraid of heights.”