Silly, lovely Lottie.

It never occurred to him that Charlotte Elizabeth Carlisle, born into one of the finest families in England, and beloved only niece of the illustrious Sir Alfred Lewis, would knowingly do anything to destroy her sterling reputation.

But the steely-eyed young woman before him suggested otherwise.

Alec had vastly underestimated her.

A careless error. Inexcusable for an agent of his experience. It would not happen again.

Lottie watched him with hawklike concentration. Her brows, a few shades darker than her hair, pulled together, but Alec couldn’t speak. It had taken him years to learn how to control his emotions, but this anger had come on so suddenly, so fiercely, that it nearly took his breath away. How long had it been since he let such raw feelings surface?

Oh, about five years or so.

He moved next to her and pressed his palms against the balustrade. He took a few deep breaths until the vibrant pulse of anger faded into that cool, familiar numbness. “I won’t pretend to understand what possessed you to do such a thing, or why,” he said, turning to her. “But to no one’s regret but your own, your reputation is still somewhat intact.”

Lottie let out a frustrated huff. “Well, that is disappointing to hear,” she said dryly. “I had hoped Mrs. Wetherby would be hysterical. She threw a fit at the slightest inconvenience. I thought my leaving would at least elicit the same response as being served a lukewarm pot of tea.”

Her cynicism was even more provoking. And bizarre. She had never been so cold before.

What happened to you, Lottie?

The question was on the tip of his tongue, yet he could never ask such a thing. He might have enjoyed her confidence once, but that had been a very long time ago.

“I assure you, she was in great distress,” he growled instead. “But she has no wish for word of your little jaunt to spread, so she made up an excuse to explain your sudden disappearance from the pension.”

She cut a glance at him, genuinely curious. “Did she? What was it?”

“That you went to Rome to meet some school friends, where she would shortly join you.”

It was a decent enough lie, though Mrs. Wetherby had already been cracking under the pressure when Alec met her in Florence. The woman was exceptionally incompetent, but at least that toad Wetherby had guaranteed his aunt’s discretion.

“Huh. I hadn’t realized she was capable of such a deception. Was it accepted by the other guests? There was a trio of spinster sisters staying there who seemed to live exclusively on bits of gossip.”

Alec gritted his teeth. He was unfortunately familiar with the women she spoke of. “Barely. Mrs. Wetherby had to leave the pension the day I arrived to keep up appearances. But it will all be for nothing if you don’t return to England very soon.”

She lifted her chin. That mulish look was another thing he had forgotten. “I won’t be going anywhere. And certainly not with you.”