“If you don’t come with me now, your uncle will only send someone else later,” he countered grimly. “And they might not be as considerate of your well-being as I am, especially if they learn the circumstances that preceded your visit.”

No doubt there were scores of men who would be all too happy to escort her back to England. Alec was prepared to drag her kicking and screaming down the hillside for that reason alone. She swallowed hard but made no response. He glanced down and noticed that one hand was balled in a tight fist by her side. Perhaps she wasn’t so composed after all…

“You should also know I didn’t come here merely to save your reputation,” Alec continued, taking pains to soften his tone. “Though that was the initial reason, the situation has grown more urgent. Your uncle suffered some kind of apoplexy a few days ago. Mr. Wetherby sent a telegram while I was still in Florence.” Alec had never met Wetherby in person. All communication between them was strictly limited to telegrams and letters, yet that hadn’t stopped him from concluding that the man was a complete ass. “He indicated that it was fairly mild, as far as these things go, but there is the danger your uncle could have another.”

It was difficult to imagine Sir Alfred, who always exuded power and control, suffering from any kind of impairment, but age spared no one. Lottie’s frown deepened and she looked out across the landscape. Once Alec had been able to read her so easily, but she had no reason to hide anything from him then. Now he could only guess at the conflicting emotions warring inside her at the news. As his guardian and her uncle, Sir Alfred had, for lack of a better word, raised them both. But Alec’s relationship with the enigmatic man wasn’t nearly as complicated as Lottie’s was. And, given the circumstances, one could assume that things hadn’t exactly improved over the years. “If he does, he may die.”

Lottie did not respond. At this angle, without those eyes hinting at the steel underneath, she could be the very picture of fresh, English innocence. Her slight curves had grown more pronounced over the years, but her peaches-and-cream complexion was still as smooth as polished marble with a faint dusting of those freckles he had always adored. The last time he saw her, Lottie had been trussed up in yards of white taffeta for a ball held in her honor. She had looked lovely then, but he much preferred her like this. In her sensible dark blue skirt and well-loved silk blouse, with wisps of hair coming loose from her braid.

Alec fought back the urge to trail his finger down her cheek. Would she be warm and soft, or cool and hard? He leaned closer and faintly inhaled that familiar rosewater scent now mixed with the sharp tang of the oil paint that stained her fingertips. She had never looked more like herself than she did at this moment. Or maybe it was simply that he had missed her. So very much.