The dull headache turned like a switch into a pounding migraine. “Mother, I don’t—”
“I understand you are engaged to Robert.” The hen huffed. “I would expect you’d wait until after the marriage, though.”
Would a fit of hysterical laughter be enough to drive her mother from her home? If Esther Helton had any idea of what really went on last night, she might very well explode. The idea of her precious daughter passionately embracing a dirty foreigner and having wild sex with him might cause her to burst. Thankfully, she would never know.
But she’d have to be told about the canceled wedding.
Not today. Tomorrow.
Lise hid her left hand behind her back. The last thing she wanted to deal with at this moment was her mother’s horror at a broken engagement. Robert had been a prized future son-in-law for Esther Helton. She’d gone on and on about his ancestry, his wealth, his elegance. If her mother spotted the absence of a ring, she would be off and running. Not only the lack of a ring, but a lack of a fiancé, meant determined questions about where she had been last night, if not with Robert.
“Mother.” She pinned a weak smile on her face. “I’m not feeling well. Is there something you need or can it wait until tomorrow when we go out to lunch?”
“What’s wrong?”
“One of my migraines.”
The older woman clucked. “If you hadn’t stayed out all night—”
“Yes, Mother. I’m sure you’re right.” She’d had enough. She needed to be alone. She needed sleep. She did not need her mother. It had been years since she needed her mother.
Another disloyal thought. Yet accurate. Things really, really needed to change.
Walking to the front door, she swung it open. She glanced over her shoulder and gritted her teeth in another tight smile. “I’m asking you to leave now.”
“Well!” Her mother stiffened, her face flushing once more. “I never thought I’d see the day—”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” The ache in her head pounded like a drum.
Her mother marched out the door and up the path towards her ancient Rolls Royce. Her hat’s plumes bobbed in the morning breeze in stiff offense. “I cannot believe my daughter would treat me in such a fashion.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” She slammed the door behind her. There would be ruffled feathers flying tomorrow, in definite need of pacifying, but right now she could not care less.
Plodding down the hallway, she walked into her bathroom. For good measure, she slammed this door closed, too.
She never slammed doors. Who would have known it felt so good?
A shower. She wanted to wash every bit of him off her body and out of her mind.
Liar.
Ignoring the word once more, she stripped off the scratchy wool skirt and jacket, tossing them into a pile in the corner. Never again would she wear those clothes. She wanted to remember the passion, not the details.
The water, hot and soothing, slipped over her skin. Lise sighed and leaned back on the cool white tile.
Home and safe.
For at least the next forty-eight hours, she didn’t have to think about anything dealing with Vico Mattare. Taking some small comfort from this, she opened her favorite bottle of cleanser and spread a large swath of lavender-scented soap across her shoulders and arms. She only used it on the weekends because she thought the scent too vivid for everyday work life. It didn’t convey the right image. But today she needed this, needed the soothing, flowery smell on her skin. The suds dribbled down her breasts and sides.
Glancing at her body, she sucked in a deep breath.
She might be safe from his presence, but not his mark. The scrapes of his beard patterned her chest and a red blotch branded the one small mole on her left breast. Palming her hand over her skin, she couldn’t help the memories surging through her, along with a heated blush and a hot rush of response between her legs.
The sex had been amazing and a revelation. Last night had blown everything, every particle of what she believed about herself and sex, to bits.
Flipping off the stream of water, she stepped out of the shower. She slowly dried off using a fluffy green towel, watching as the bare left hand moved the cloth across her rosy skin.
Astonishing.
No hurt, no pain. Only relief.
She wouldn’t miss Robert and his picky snobbishness.
She didn’t want to marry Robert. Now she knew the sex they’d had had been less than perfect. Far less. More like a duty than a pleasure. More like an A slotting into B then a passionate encounter.
Robert had been right.
Lise stared into the mirror.
A short bark of laughter erupted from deep inside her.
She’d been a bit of an idiot, hadn’t she? No, really, she’d been a huge idiot.