Charlotte struggled to decide if she was getting the brush-off. “She’s really not here?”

He didn’t answer, but his expression became crisper and even more formal, if that was possible.

“Because, if you could just let her know-”

“A problem, Henri?” came a gravelly, masculine voice.

Oh no. Not Alec.

“Non, monsieur.”

Charlotte reflexively drew back as a tall, aristocratically handsome man moved into the doorway, displacing the butler. Raine’s brother was supposed to be in London. Charltte had seen his picture in the tabloids just yesterday, dancing at some posh nightclub on Whitehall.

“I’m afraid Raine’s away on-” He suddenly stopped speaking. A wolfish smile grew on his lips. “Charlotte Hudson.”

She didn’t answer.

“Thank you, Henri.” Alec’s dismissal was polite but clear, his gaze never leaving Charlotte.

As the butler drew back, Alec leaned indolently against the doorjamb. He wore a charcoal Caraceni suit, a classic white shirt and a dark silk tie that was scattered with bright red flecks. The flecks, it seemed, were miniatures of the Montcalm family crest, painstakingly embroidered into the fabric.

Her heart pounding with a mixture of awareness and trepidation, Charlotte decided to bluff. She held out her hand and gave him a breezy smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”

At least that part wasn’t a lie. There’d been nothing remotely formal about their one and only meeting. It had been humiliating, and her only defense was to pretend she’d forgotten all about it.

“Oh, we’ve been introduced, Ms. Hudson.” His warm, callused hand closed over hers, sending a shiver along her spine.

She painstakingly schooled her features, raising her brow in question.

“Three years ago.” He cocked his head to one side, clearly challenging her to acknowledge him.

She held her ground.

“The Ottobrate Ballo in Rome,” he continued, eyes mocking. “I asked you to dance.”