“Why? Is it not true?” As she said the words, something lifted inside her chest. It was a moment before she recognized it as hope.

Alec hesitated, but then the wild look faded. “No,” he admitted. His voice had gone soft. “It’s true…I’m sorry.”

Lottie bristled. “You needn’t apologize to me for doing your duty,” she mumbled through her disappointment. What a fool she was.

Alec watched her closely. “Perhaps, but I want to anyway. And for just now,” he added. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. I wasn’t trying to shame you. I only meant…” He paused and furrowed his brow, searching for the right words. “I only meant that such things are better when they truly mean something.”

The implication being that with her it meant nothing. She certainly wasn’t the woman he had been dreaming of. Lottie lifted her chin. “Then perhaps you should take your own advice,” she tossed off.

Alec let out a surprised laugh. “You know, I quite agree with you on that,” he said bashfully. Then he turned around and moved toward his bag. “Shall I send for a maid to help you dress? The train is supposed to leave at nine.”

“Yes. Please do,” Lottie answered despite the wretchedness churning inside her.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

When they arrived at the station in Bologna, Alec dashed off a quick cable to Mr. Wetherby in London explaining that they were traveling through Venice to avoid meeting anyone in Florence. Wetherby had been adamant in his instructions, but hopefully Sir Alfred would be so overjoyed Alec had found Lottie that he wouldn’t care about their little detour. What Alec really should have done was scrap the plan entirely and send Lottie home on her own, but he simply couldn’t.

Or wouldn’t.

The express train to Venice was, remarkably, on time for once. As they took their seats in first class, Alec sent up a silent prayer to every saint and god in charge of travel to spare his tattered nerves. Lottie slid into the seat across from his own and turned to the window, a vision in a demure pink-and-black plaid traveling gown and matching wide-brimmed hat. It was trimmed with a few blooming pink roses that bordered on obscene. He should have made her change. She would never blend in wearing that, but since their argument at the inn, they hadn’t spoken beyond what was necessary. Everything was perfectly polite. Eminently civilized. And yet, Alec couldn’t stop thinking of her body eagerly pressing into his, of her fingers curling into his hair, and of his hand moving between her thighs. Whether it had been real or part of his fevered dream mattered little; he wanted it all.