Proserpina

I felt awful, clutching my stomach as I lay, trying to hold down nausea. It was close to midnight, and I remembered belatedly that it was Valentine’s Day.

Smiling ruefully, I rolled over.

My husband had never bothered with such things. He would probably have looked askance at me if I had said anything about it.

I sighed and swung my legs to my feet. Lucien was on his way to Argentina, and I wished he had not had to go. Schwartz had called to make sure I ...