They passed the next several hours in an increasingly uncomfortable silence. Every time the cart went over a bump, which was rather often, Alec’s knee would nudge against hers. And every time that happened, he clenched his fist. Lottie almost wished she could take back what she had said at the riverbank. His anger was surprising, but how could he possibly expect her to think anything different? And yet, that nagging pang of guilt was still there. But more than that, more than anything, she wished she didn’t believe it.

Now and then Lorenzo would point at something—a crumbling monastery, a Roman ruin, a road that led to nowhere—and Lottie would nod with polite interest, but Alec barely spared her a glance until they rolled into the bustling city of Pistoia.

“The railway inn is up the road there,” he grumbled.

Lottie closed her eyes and let out a little sigh of relief. She couldn’t spend another minute in this cart. Then they pulled into the inn’s yard. It was nothing like the quaint, tidy pensionaries she had stayed in that catered to English tourists. She caught Alec studying her reaction. He probably expected her to throw a fit, like the fussy, spoiled blueblood she was.

Any remaining guilt she had carried from luncheon vanished. She smoothed her hands over her wrinkled traveling skirt. “How charming.”

Alec raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he climbed down from the cart. He handed her down without looking at her, then said a few words to Lorenzo and pointed toward the stables.

Lottie frowned. It was getting close to sunset. The boy would likely be spending the night here. Alec turned back to her and gestured to the inn’s entrance. “Lorenzo will bring the trunk in shortly.”

“Where will he sleep?”

Alec stopped in his tracks, surprised by the question. “The stables. He’ll want to get an early start home and leave by dawn.”

Lottie glanced back toward the stables. There were a number of rough-looking fellows hanging about. “It doesn’t look safe. Shouldn’t he sleep here, too?”

Alec held the door of the inn open and she stepped inside. It was dark, and the ceilings were low. “Lorenzo will be fine,” he said from behind her. “He’ll want to stay by his horse anyway.”

The innkeeper, a thin-faced man with a well-oiled mustache, took notice of them speaking English and his eyes lit up, likely already dreaming of how he could spend their money.

Lottie had seen that same expression on the faces of countless men over the years.

“Welcome to the Inn at Pistoia!” he said, opening his arms grandly. “I am Signore Garda, owner and proprietor. How can I be of service to you?”

Alec was not the least bit impressed by his simpering. “My wife and I require a room for the night,” he said gruffly and handed the man some coin. “And I’ve a boy who needs to keep his cart and horse in your stable.”

The innkeeper wasn’t put off by Alec’s short response. “Splendid, sir. I’m happy to inform you that the finest room in the inn is available. The views are magnificent. Some even say they are the greatest in all of Pistoia.”