Time ground to a halt as Kit’s heart ceased to beat. He stared at Littleton, hoping the reporter hadn’t discovered Alice’s identity. “Who?”

Littleton’s eyes studied Kit’s face—watching for a reaction, no doubt. “Miss Alice Lusk of Boston. She and her mother are staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, which is where Franconi happens to work.”

Holy fuck. How on earth had this come to light? It was now imperative to throw the reporter off the scent—or both he and Alice would be ruined. She’d never forgive him, either. Any hopes of marrying her would be dashed.

He tilted his head back and laughed. “A debutante? Here? If I were to hire any woman, I’d use the cook from my own household, who is more than competent in the kitchen. I can promise you, Lucciola was not Miss Lusk. I’d be ruined if that were true.”

“It did sound strange, I have to admit.”

“Of course, because you are a logical human being. How would a debutante like Miss Lusk learn to cook like Chef Franconi, one of the greatest chefs in the world? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well.” He scratched his head with the tip of his pencil. “Franconi did work for the Lusks in Boston for a number of years. It could be that she was friendly with the chef . . .”

“And? Keep going.” He leaned back and smirked. “I cannot wait to hear the rest of it.”

“I know,” Littleton chuckled, appearing slightly sheepish. “I hardly believed it myself.”

“The idea of Franconi teaching this young girl to cook . . . and her mother allowing it? No, no. Whoever gave you that information clearly has never met a society mother. Such a thing would never be condoned, and no girl would have the freedom to come here and cook for three days.”

Littleton nodded. “That makes sense. Yet, these sources are very compelling.”

“You may believe me, Mr. Littleton. And I sincerely hope you do not pursue this further and ruin a young woman’s reputation.”

Littleton closed his journal. “Well, I should get going. I have to type this up for tomorrow’s edition.”

They both stood and Kit led Littleton to the door. As he pulled open the wooden panel, a sense of unease prickled the back of Kit’s neck. “I assume we have put this Lucciola business to bed?”

“As long as I am able to confirm the man’s existence, yes. Good evening, Mr. Ward.”

Watching the reporter head toward Broadway, Kit began to sweat under his suit. This was bad. Very bad. He must warn Alice immediately. They had to find someone in Franconi’s kitchen willing to pose as Lucciola to fool Hearst and his reporters.

Because if they didn’t, everything would be ruined—especially Alice.

Chapter Twenty-Six