A lump formed in her throat at the memory of her father’s words. Was that how everyone saw her, desperate for affection? Craving the limelight like some stage actress feeding her vanity?

She stared at the closed washroom door and swallowed all these ridiculous feelings and doubts bubbling up inside her. There was no reason to believe any of this was her fault. She’d done nothing wrong. In fact, he was the one who’d left her here, naked and vulnerable, in his bed.

So what was she waiting for, a man to come and save her?

Grabbing the bedclothes, she wiped her skin clean. This was why she must become independent. Relying on others was a foolhardy mistake and guaranteed to fail. Lord knew how long he would leave her here before he returned.

Rising off the bed, she gathered her things and began dressing. She would find a way to put this right. They would return to their business arrangement, and she would prove this changed nothing between them. She could act just as a man would in this situation.

The washroom door finally opened. Now wearing trousers, Clay emerged with a wet cloth in his hand. He frowned at the sight of her and apprehension slithered across her cold skin.

He stopped and ran a hand through his hair. “Should I help you dress, or . . . ?”

She pulled her shift over her head. “I am able to manage.”

While she struggled with her corset, he stood frozen, staring off at nothing. His jaw was hard, his eyes vacant. She had no idea of what he was thinking, but she had to get him back on level footing. “Shall we spend an hour on your accounting practices? I have questions about—”

“No.”

The word was sharp, final. She blinked at him, her grip on the corset strings tightening. “If you’re too busy tonight I could return tomorrow.”

“No, not tomorrow. Not next week. You cannot come back.”

Cannot come back? Surely he didn’t mean it. Her mouth dried out and her tongue grew thick. Still, she forced out, “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t give you any more lessons. This”—he motioned toward the bed—“was a mistake.”

“Is this about trust again? Because I thought I explained myself.”

“This isn’t about trust. It’s about you. And me. What happened tonight was a mistake.”

She fought the embarrassment currently gathering like a storm in her chest. “You keep saying tonight was a mistake. But you aren’t saying why.”

He dragged a hand down his face, the muscles in his chest and arms bunching. Clay normally appeared so cool and controlled. This was the most rattled she’d ever seen him. “I don’t need to provide reasons, Florence. We screwed. It was good. Really good. Now it’s over and we shouldn’t repeat it.”