‘It can be uncomfortable.’
Itchy. And embarrassing, she now discovered. She mightn’t be Cesare’s wife in the usual sense but part of her was jealous of those beautiful, glamorous women who flocked around him. She hated feeling inferior, though dermatitis was nothing to be ashamed of. Yet she had nothing to prove to him.
What was wrong with her?
‘We’ll get some ointment for it tomorrow. Dorotea may have some or we’ll buy something.’
She’d run out of medicated cream and hadn’t had a chance to get more. ‘Thank you.’
It was kind of him.
Or was it that he didn’t like looking at her damaged hands? Ida tugged and, when he released his grip, slipped her hand beneath the sheet.
She really should go to her own room.
‘That’s why you wore the black gloves. To hide your hands.’
Ida kept her tone casual though she didn’t like talking about it. ‘Dermatitis is bad for business.’ She wanted Cesare to remember her as sexy and attractive, not the woman with a skin condition.
‘And what business were you in that required rubber gloves?’
For a second she thought he was insinuating some sort of kinky sex game. Except Cesare knew now that she was new to sex.
‘I’m a cleaner. I clean houses for rich people during the day and offices at night.’ Interesting that Cesare’s dark eyes didn’t look shocked or pitying. In fact, they simply looked warm and attractive. ‘Jo was doing some of my night shifts while I filled in for her at the club.’
Cesare’s mouth flattened. Did she imagine it?
Ida suppressed a yawn. She was suddenly incredibly tired. She felt as if she was floating. She blamed this soft mattress, the luxury of a truly comfortable bed and knowing she was safe here from Bruno.
True safety was something she hadn’t experienced for a long, long time.
‘Tell me, Ida.’ Cesare’s voice was low and soothing. ‘How long have you worked as a cleaner?’
She blinked and tried to focus. Why was he interested? On the other hand, what harm could it do to answer?
‘Since I went to London. Four years.’ She frowned. ‘I’m tired. I should go to my room.’
‘If you like. Or you could rest here for a bit first.’
That sounded perfect. Even so, it was puzzling. Surely Cesare wanted the privacy of his room now they’d had sex.
Ida was trying to make sense of that when she slipped softly into sleep.
Cesare lay in the darkness staring at the ceiling.
Ida was snuggled under the covers, her hand tucked under the pillow, like a child.
There was something endearing about the way she’d succumbed suddenly to sleep. One moment they’d been talking. The next her eyelids drooped, and she was out for the count.
Cesare wasn’t used to sharing his bed. Strange that he didn’t find it disturbing now. But he had a lot on his mind.
He’d expected making love with Ida to be memorable—she’d got under his skin in ways he couldn’t explain—yet he hadn’t been prepared for their intense passion. For the feelings she engendered in him. And the doubts. She hadn’t tried to change his mind about her, yet he was questioning so much.
If Ida had worked the hours she described for any length of time, no wonder she was exhausted.
Whyhad she been working as a cleaner?
How long had she been hiding from her grandfather?