“How poetic.” She broke into a genuine smile he couldn’t bring himself to share.

He could still picture his father in his prime—tall, hale, and happy, with his arms wrapped around his mother as they stared across the Grand Canal from the big window in their palazzo’s front parlor. His eyes were filled with childlike wonder, even though he saw the image nearly every day. But then, his father had known what he had. And how precious it was. That was why he couldn’t survive when it was all ripped from him. Edward Gresham knew life would never be the same. That the magic was well and truly lost. Forever.

Alec shrugged again. “Someone said that to me once years ago. I suppose there are moments when I still believe it.”

Lottie continued to study him. “Only moments?”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I think a moment of magic is more than enough for me these days.”

Her eyes softened a little further, but they stopped short of pity before she turned back to the horizon. Alec let out a breath. If being in Lottie’s presence didn’t kill him, the memories she roused just might. Thankfully, Lorenzo turned around and mentioned that they would pass a brook with a shady spot perfect for a picnic lunch. “For signore and the signora,” he added in heavily accented English. His tender young gaze then fell on Lottie, looking for her approval, but she didn’t notice his attentions.

Alec felt a pang of sympathy for the lad. “Yes, that’s fine.” Then he addressed Lottie: “We’ll stop for lunch soon.”

“Oh, good,” she said, still looking at the horizon. “I was about to start rifling through Marta’s basket.”

“We’ll have time to rest here. Then it’s another few hours to Pistoia.”

Lottie nodded but her spine tensed ever so slightly. They would spend the night there before catching the early train to Bologna. Alec’s shoulder was already twinging at the thought of sleeping on the floor again. No doubt they would both be more comfortable in separate rooms, but he wouldn’t risk her safety. No, it would have to be one room.

One room for Mr. and Mrs. Gresham.

And there it was. That damned spark again.

After a little while, the cart trundled past a bend in the road and revealed a healthy swell of rushing water. A cluster of cypress trees on the bank would provide plenty of shade for their picnic. Lorenzo brought the cart as close to the little glen as he could manage. They were perched on a gently sloping hill that led down to the glen and the brook beyond. Alec was up and out as soon as the wheels stopped. He stretched his long arms over his head and took in the scenery. As his jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, Lottie pictured the shape of the corded muscles beneath, and how they would bunch and tighten with each movement. Like any respectable English tourist, she had spent many an afternoon filling a pad with pencil sketches of statues. He was as well built as any she had seen here, but Alec wasn’t made of marble. His skin would be warm, and smooth. It would give ever so slightly when touched. Maybe even tremble.