Alec whipped his arm away with such force that Lottie jerked back. “Dammit. I’m sorry,” he burst out and pulled a hand roughly through his hair. It seemed he couldn’t talk about his parents without going a little bit mad himself. He began to say more but was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door.

Lottie immediately moved to answer it. “That must be your amenities,” she said lightly, as if his outburst had never happened.

Alec could only stare after her, frustrated and helpless. Her cool mask had descended once again. And he must bear it.

Chapter Eight

Lottie’s hand trembled as she gripped the doorknob. She shouldn’t have pushed Alec to talk about his father. He would never touch her in anger—that was the only thing she could say for certain—but the force of his outburst had still been a surprise. Alec wasn’t made of stone, after all, and she hadn’t seen him lose his temper like that in years. Not since he was much younger. But for a very brief moment, she caught a glimpse of the passionate creature he had once been, of the boy who had simply blazed with life.

Even he couldn’t have put on that kind of devastation. Blistering anguish like that came only from within. Built upon a foundation forged from extreme loss. Lottie had the same scaffolds inside, but her walls were erected to protect what few memories she had of her beloved parents.

Alec’s, though…Alec’s held back pain. And rage.

I’m not upset. It was ages ago. I barely remember either of them.

They were lies. Every one.

He had spoken of his mother a little when they first met, but never his father. Lottie had always assumed he hated the man. That he had been a brute. And so she hated him, too. It wasn’t until she worked with Uncle Alfred on the collected poems that she learned anything about the mysterious Edward Gresham and came to understand that Alec’s silence wasn’t born out of hate at all, but agony.

I don’t believe I ever knew a more dedicated father, Uncle Alfred had explained. There was always a darkness to Edward, even when we were schoolboys, but Alec brought him such joy. He had been well for so long that no one expected him to fall as far as he did after the loss of his wife. I was in Venice at the time, but Edward refused to see anyone. Even Alec couldn’t pull him out of it. No matter how hard he tried. I never saw anything so heartbreaking as the image of that boy pounding helplessly on the door of his father’s study. Sometimes he spent all day at it. But Edward never let him in. Not once.

This revelation had stunned Lottie. What must it have been like to fight so desperately for his father’s life, she had wondered, and still lose?

Alec had been gone for three years at that point, and so her newfound sympathy eventually faded away; but now, in the face of his obvious grief, her heart broke all over again for him. He certainly wouldn’t want her pity, though. And it seemed that he didn’t want her help, either. She pulled open the door to reveal two maids holding a sizable tin tub, while two more carried a large cistern of steaming water between them. All four were dark-haired beauties, likely sisters, who looked incredibly perturbed to be there. Until they caught sight of Alec.