Her chest compressed tightly. Soon the house was blurred, seen through a haze of tears.
A large arm wrapped around her shoulders. “What is this place?” Matteo whispered.
Isobel pulled her cloak more tightly closed.
“My home. Well…someone else’s home now.”
“Oh.” He examined the distant buildings. “It’s very picturesque. You must have loved growing up here.”
“I did,” she said slowly.
“Was it entailed? Did another male family member inherit?”
Taken aback, Isobel turned to him. “No, it wasn’t entailed. We had to sell it to pay my father’s debts. Debts we didn’t even know about till after he died…”
The last was said with a bitterness she couldn’t hide.
Matteo frowned. “Unfortunately, being a good businessman doesn’t always come with a fine education. My father has to hire business managers because he can’t do percentages to save his own life.”
“That’s true for many peers,” she said distantly, a coldness settling in the pit of her stomach. “But my father was a good businessman. Conservative and careful. He would never have risked our livelihood with a risky venture.”
“I don’t understand. What happened?”
Digging her fingernails into her palms, Isobel stared down at her childhood home. “My father had just died, a bad fall from his horse. Then a pair of his former associates came with a note for the house. They claimed he had mortgaged it to them to finance a new mining venture down south. The investment had failed and they were here for the house. But my father had never mentioned any such scheme. And he always discussed his investments with my mother. That news, coming so soon after his death, was too much for her. She took ill and passed away before we even had a chance to pack anything. Not that they would let us take much. They insisted on keeping the contents of the house to repay the debt.”
“I’m so sorry,” Matteo said tightly. “I can buy it back for you if you like.”
“No!” Breath labored, she turned away and stalked off in the direction they’d been walking in.
“Isabella! What’s wrong?”
She kept walking, but his long legs kept pace with her easily.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just thought getting back your childhood home might be a good way of securing your legacy in case I don’t survive,” he murmured.
Her steps slowed, and she hung her head. “It’s not that. Your offer is generous, but I will never live here again.”
He caught up with her, a light of realization dawning on his face. “You think they lied. Your father’s associates…”
“I know they did.”
Matteo gave her another comforting hug, pressing her body to his more intimately than before. He waited until she relaxed in his embrace before letting go.
“Was there nothing you could do? No one to appeal to?”
“These men, Lindsey and McNab, were elders of the town. There was no one willing to take up our cause. And they were seen as selfless because they didn’t add the proceeds of the sale to their personal fortunes. They donated everything to the church.” She clutched his arm. “It was never about the money. It was about getting rid of the witches. These men had been among the first to denounce my grandmother Helen when news of Moira’s death reached us. Many others followed suit, but it began with them.”
The cold was gone. Blood rushed hot in her veins as her anger flared. At their feet the grass swayed and danced counter to the direction of the wind chilling them. But Matteo didn't seem to notice.
Her new husband leaned over her, a dark light in his eyes. “Isabella, I don’t pretend to have any influence here, but my fortune is extensive. If you want to investigate these men's dealings, I can hire someone. We could turn their lives over with a fine-tooth comb and expose them. Any of their sins would come back to haunt them ten-fold. I can make sure of it.”
Inexplicably some of her own anger lost its heat in the face of his indignation. Isobel had never had a defender or a champion, not since her parents died.
Matteo fit the mental image of avenging knight all to well. But he had arrived on his white steed too late. The time for vengeance had passed.
“Unfortunately, there is no one to focus your scheme on. Both men were old when all this occurred. They’ve gone on to their great reward,” she said sarcastically. “If you want to punish their co-conspirators, you’d have to target half the town.”
His gaze caught hers, his eyes soft on her face. “I understand. But I’m still sorry.”
What was left of her fury drained out of her, leaving her empty. “Me too.”
He put a hand on the small of her back and they continued on their way.
Chapter Eighteen
Isobel and her new husband arrived at their destination shortly afterward.
She had been apprehensive at the mention of another cottage. But this recently built two-story structure in no way resembled the tenant cottage on the Montgomery estate. It had four spacious rooms in addition to the kitchens and scullery. The house sat at the far end of the Donnelley farm, one presumably used by their visitors or estate manager during the growing season.
A few maids from the inn were bustling around the ground floor when they entered, finishing preparations Matteo had ordered earlier that day. They had left food in the kitchen, cleaned the house from top to bottom, and placed fresh linens on the bed.
The girls left almost as soon as Matteo and Isobel arrived, promising to deliver a message from Isobel to the Old Meg, the local midwife. There was a lot of winking over that, and she knew they assumed she was already with child. It certainly explained the hasty marriage.
“Why do you want to see the midwife?” Matteo asked once they had left.
She couldn't suppress a small smile at the confusion in his voice.
“Do you need someone to speak to before...”
Isobel flushed. “No, although I probably should ask her some things, now that you mention it. But Meg is one of the people who gathers and keeps local herbs in these parts. And she was friendly with my grandmother after the scandal, although not openly.”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “I should get back to the ruins, but before I do—about tonight. I'm...I already knew you were innocent in every way that counts...”
She raised a brow, “Yes, and...?”
Ahead of her, her large and muscular husband shuffled his feet like a youth.
“I had assumed, you see—a governess is very vulnerable. But it's obvious now that you can take care of yourself. However, you might have succumbed to loneliness. I wouldn't blame you if…”
Embarrassed, Isobel looked away. “I did not become lonely.”
A touch on her cheek surprised her. He had kneeled in front of her, the blackness in his aura nowhere in sight.
“Everything will be well tonight,” he said, unable to hide how pleased her admission had made him.
His hand was warm on her skin, and she in turn felt that warmth spread over her body. Blushing, she looked down as he pressed a quick and hard kiss to her lips before departing.
Isobel was pacing up and down the length of the cottage's small bedroom. It was five paces from end to end, which she traversed over and over as she waited.
She'd been able to bathe and brush out her hair before her husband joined her, sweaty and dirty from securing the library. He was washing in the kitchen, about to join her momentarily. After lighting a candle, she forced herself to stop her vigil and climb into the bed, pulling the bedclothes up to her waist.
There is nothing to fear, she told herself. Isobel had spent many nights on the road with Matteo and had been perfectly safe. There were no signs of him succumbing to the curse as before. He hadn’t fallen ill and his body had kept its natural warmth, or at least it had on the few occasions she’d touched him in the last few days. For tonight, she would think of the man as her husband—nothing more.
And really, isn’t that more t
han enough?
There were three large trunks downstairs, not two. That had been a bit of a surprise. She'd had no idea her grandmother's library was so extensive. Matteo had told her they would be hiring a second carriage to take everything away at the end of the week.
She'd been hoping they wouldn't be traveling farther than Edinburgh, but the compromise Matteo reached with Aldo had been London. They would go to town for the remainder of the little Season. The situation wasn't ideal, but the Conte had been adamant. Edinburgh wasn't good enough. If he couldn't go home to Italy, he would enjoy himself in London, where he had many friends.
The plan was to rent a house outside of town, one with a conservatory she could use to grow things. They would also hire an agent here in Scotland to collect herbs and powders from local apothecaries up and down the countryside. If necessary, they would engage men to scour the hills themselves, buying the things she needed.
Meg had also stopped by, her friendly smile missing a few more teeth than when Isobel had seen her last. The midwife had happily promised a healthy portion of her stock of the local herbs, for a nominal price. She assumed Isobel had decided to take up her grandmother's mantle as a healer, and she let her believe that. In a real way, it was the truth.
Isobel had also arranged for Meg or her daughter to send her whatever else she might need by post, with the promise of paying her handsomely for her trouble.
She was trying to distract herself by mentally reviewing the herbs that could still be found in the hills and woods during this time of the year and what she might need to preserve their potency.
All of these plans seemed unimportant when Matteo entered the room. He was wearing a clean pair of breeches and another one of those soft shirts, but he hadn't bothered to fasten it.
His hair was wet, and she wondered if he was cold. The fire was low in the hearth, and the room was a bit chilly. But she didn’t feel cold. Quite the opposite.
Stop being a pea-goose, she lectured herself.
It was true her mother had never had a chance to speak to her about what would happen on this night, but Isobel had grown up on a farm. She had a fairly good idea of what was supposed to occur. And there was the fact she’d been in service and had been friendly with the staff at all of her positions. The lower classes were far less reserved when it came to discussing intimate matters than their social superiors…
Matteo grinned at her from across the room, a sensual and intensively private smile. Tensing, she squinted at him in the dim light, trying to assess how pronounced the darkness in his aura had become. There was barely a trace of it, and she relaxed—but only slightly.
“So everything is arranged with the midwife?” he asked.
She’d mentioned Meg’s visit earlier when he’d come back to the cottage.
“Yes, between her and her daughter we’ll have someone knowledgeable on all the local plants ready to supply us. It’s not as good as being here ourselves, but I must admit I’d rather not spend any time here if I don’t have to.”
Matteo’s face softened. “We won’t be here long. I sent a messenger ahead asking for an agent to find us a house to let outside of London. Two houses actually.”
“Two?”
“My father has elected to take a house in town, whereas I think we’ll be better served by a larger one outside of town, one with a conservatory as we discussed.”
That was the best news she’d heard in ages, and it must have showed on her face because her husband laughed.
She smiled and blushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I know how he can be. I’m simply used to it.” He sat on the bed, taking his time to admire her in her modest nightclothes. “I had hoped you’d still be dressed, actually. I had looked forward to helping you undress, the first of my many duties as a husband.”
Isobel’s face flamed and she held her breath as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. He withdrew slightly and moved down, pressing another to her cheek and then her chin and neck.
When he finally reached her lips, she had parted them to suck in a much-needed breath. It made it easy for him to tease her mouth open with his tongue.
Startled, Isobel drew her head back sharply into the pillows to stare at him.
“Has no one kissed you before, cara?”
“Not like that,” she said, wide-eyed.
He laughed and glanced down at his chest. She followed his gaze with a hot blush as he slowly removed his shirt and boots. He took her hand and placed it over his heart before moving it up to his lips.
Clasping it in turn, she tugged on his hand and he moved, crawling over her like a predatory cat.
His body came down over hers as he took her lips again. The kiss was more aggressive this time and hungrier. It robbed her of her senses as his body pressed into hers.
A flash of fear ran through her, the memory of that night intruding on this moment, but it passed as the warmth of Matteo’s bare skin began to heat her own.
It was not him, she told herself firmly, before closing her eyes.
She wrapped her hands around his head and tried to mimic the movements of his mouth.
The sound he made was a cross between a moan and a gasp. It sent a little reverberation through her, a sensation of unexpected pleasure. Then he turned his head and blew out the candle next to her on the bedside table.
The faint glow of the fireplace gave only enough light to silhouette Matteo as he backed off of her. She heard the rustle of cloth as he removed his breeches. It was too dark for her to make out the details, but she had a brief glimpse of his erect manhood against the glow of the fire.
The sight was intimidating. Swallowing heavily she tensed as the covers were pulled back. Heat enveloped her, covering her in a blanket of hair-roughened skin and hard flesh.
His weight was temporary as Matteo moved down her body, tossing the blankets aside to run his hands up her legs, pushing the skirt of her nightgown up to her waist. She was expecting him to move back up again, so when he pressed his lips to the fragile skin of her sex she yelped and tried to push him away.
He parted the curls shielding her secrets and began to trace a path over her lips with the tip of his tongue.
“My lord, what are you doing?” she panted, confused.
There was no answer, only a heightening of sensation as he delved deeper. Startled, she pushed at his head harder until he took hold of one of her hands and kissed it.
“Relax mi amore,” he murmured, pushing her down before resuming his intimate exploration.
Isobel tried to follow his direction but she couldn't. Instead, she lay back and stared at the ceiling, hands fisting, trying to grab something to hold on to. But the more he stroked and licked at her damp flesh, the weaker her grip became.
“Matteo!” she gasped as he pushed one of his fine patrician fingers inside of her.
He stroked and probed in concert with the movement of his mouth until he was moving in and out of her in a regular rhythm, his tongue running up and down over her most intimate skin.
She was breathing in a raged staccato pattern, her hips wriggling involuntarily when he slowly added a second finger, flexing and separating them slightly to open her wider. Flinching at the sudden discomfort, she let a little whimper escape before she could stop herself. He made a soothing sound and kissed her softly before sucking in the little nubbin of hooded flesh at the top of her sex.
It was like lightning had shot through her entire body. Her body arced as her body spasmed and clamped down on Matteo's fingers tightly. The hoarse cry that escaped her was involuntary and loud enough to embarrass her later. But Matteo murmured soft approving words in Italian she couldn't really understand as he crawled up her body and settled between her legs, his stone hard member pressing into her.
She couldn't help it—she tensed, the languorous pleasure dissipating like smoke. And he could feel it.
“It's all right, mi amore,” he whispered, stroking the skin of her thigh.
She th
ought he was going to stop. Instead, he took hold of her hips and rolled until she was on top of him.
“What are you doing?” she asked, giving him a frown he couldn't possibly see with her back to the fire.
“This way will be more...comfortable for you this first time,” he murmured, pushing her up until she was straddling him.
Slowly he lifted the hem of her nightgown up. The soft material brushed up her waist and against her breasts in a sensuous rush. Her sensitized skin tingled as she was freed from the restraint, the peaks of her breasts hardening in contact with the air.
Breathless now, Isobel tried to regain her scattered senses. But the hard male body underneath her shifted and her body quickened in a dizzying rush. Steadying herself she giggled suddenly. Matteo's brows rose.
“Er, I just realized why women are only allowed to ride side-saddle,” she said as he gathered her closer.
He laughed, a deep rich sound that relaxed her more than anything else could have. His fingers stroked her damp flesh, teasing and thrilling her until his arousal began to press against the small opening of her entrance.
Her body resisted him with more determination than it should have, given what Matteo had just done to her. She couldn't see him, but he felt large, too large.
She cried out when her body finally gave way and the bulbous head of his shaft penetrated her body.
“Shh,” he murmured, moving her legs to adjust her position once more.
He pulled her on top of him, the bare skin of his chest and stomach touching the smoother skin of hers. “Just wait a moment, and you'll grow accustomed to me.”
Isobel gripped his arm. “I really don't think that's going to happen,” she whispered.
“You will. The worst is over,” he said, but his voice sounded strained.
He stroked her back, running his hands over her bottom before nudging his hips forward the tiniest bit. When she didn’t complain, he worked himself in farther.
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 98