Cursed: A Spellbound Regency Novel

by Lucy Leroux

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 thought 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.

  Isobel hissed as Matteo forged a path into her body. It burned slightly, but it wasn't truly painful anymore. Holding her tight to his chest, he moved his hips up and down until he filled her completely, his body flush against hers.

  The sensation was different now. It was as if he was heating her from the inside out. There was still a little discomfort, but it was overwhelmed by the strange ticklish pleasure that accompanied his every movement. She moaned aloud, digging her hands into his sides as he moved faster and faster. The sensation built and built and it felt like she was coming to the peak as before, but it remained elusive.

  “Isabella, are you close?” Matteo rasped, his breath short and fast.

  “Close?” she asked in confusion.

  “To another climax, like before...”

  She didn't know what to say. The pleasure was there, but it wasn't as intense as when he’d used his mouth. He didn't wait for an answer, releasing her and urging her to sit up and straddle him again—guiding her until she was riding him in an irregular and slightly frenzied tempo.

  “Oh!” she cried out as Matteo moved one hand to place where they were joined.

  He rubbed and circled that mysterious little nubbin once more while his other hand pushed at her back, urging her down just enough to take her breast in his mouth. The dual stimulation was too much. Her channel fluttered and gripped Matteo inside her as she threw her head back and gasped.

  His hands moved to her waist, holding her firmly against him as he rocked upward in repeated hard thrusts.

  He ground into her almost painfully, but it didn't matter. The pain only heightened the sensation. It was as if a fire was burning behind her eyes, red tinted flames obscuring her vision as a wave of pleasure rolled over her. He cried out, the sound muffled and distant as she felt a spreading warmth inside her. Gripping her tightly he pumped his seed inside of her.

  When her awareness returned, she had collapsed on Matteo's chest, which was moving up and down like a bellows. He was still inside her, hot and hard, but growing softer. His lips pressed against her forehead as his fingers traced patterns on her skin.

  “Are you all right, cara?” he asked.

  She nodded, but he didn't say anything else, as if he was waiting for her to speak more.

  “That wasn't what I thought it was going to be like,” she whispered eventually.

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Something less...wet.”

  Deep masculine laughter shook the bed. “I know you enjoyed it, even if it was more untidy than you expected,” he said smugly before rolling slightly until she was lying on the mattress.

  She ignored him as he chuckled and moved out of the bed, returning quickly. She was about to ask him what he had done when he knelt over her, pressing a cloth between her legs, cleaning her and then himself before climbing back into bed.

  He slipped his hands around her while murmuring his appreciation and affection. They talked long into the night, eventually falling asleep side-by-side.

  ****

  Memori
es of the night before melded with images from her dream. Caught between those half-conscious illusions and the waking world, Isobel opened her body as large hands moved over her breasts and trailed down to her waist. Heat centered between her legs as she was carried by the rocking waves of a warm ocean.

  Her eyes flew open as her husband began to push inside of her. He was behind her, the hand underneath her pulling her closer to him while the other moved between her legs, alternately stroking her sex or pulling her leg open a little wider to give him better access.

  She gasped as she was filled, the position new and the pleasure intense. There was still a slight soreness from the night before, but her body was only too ready to accept him.

  Time seemed to stop as Matteo wrapped his arms around her hips, his body pumping into hers again and again.

  It didn't seem possible that the same feelings and thrills could occur in the morning light, but there it was, building and building until she gave herself over to it. Calling out his name, she shuddered in his arms, her body pressing back hard against his.

  She was in a daze when he turned her over, covering her body as he pushed her into the mattress, confident now that she wouldn't tense and withdraw from him again.

  Eyes closed, she felt him kiss her softened lips before he entered her from above, his broad manhood parting her sensitized flesh in a series of deeper and deeper thrusts...

  Isobel opened her eyes to wrap her arms around him, but froze when she saw his face.

  Matteo's skin was warm against hers, and his smile sweet. But his eyes were black.

  Chapter 19

  Isobel pulled book after book from the battered black trunk. She was surrounded by piles of them, her new blue dress stained from wrestling open the dirt-covered chests.

  Her hands shook as she took the book and rapidly thumbed through it.

  Calm down, she told herself sternly, taking deep and even breaths. But when she closed her eyes the memory of its face hovering over hers returned.

  She didn’t know what had happened. Matteo had been nothing like she remembered, or what the Conte had described. His skin had been warm to the touch, maybe a little cooler than normal, but nothing like the icy coldness of that terrible night. And he'd spoken to her, murmuring endearments the way the real Matteo did.

  Oh, God.

  Heart racing, she pressed the flat of her palms hard against her temples, physically trying to blot out the images flooding through her mind—and the physical memory of them. She could still feel his phantom touch all over, the way he had moved inside her and tasted the skin at her neck before he found his completion.

  Its completion, she corrected.

  And her body hadn’t been able to tell the difference between the man and the monster. She’d been helpless to retreat, or stifle the response her body had been experiencing like a play that could have only one end.

  No, she hadn’t been able to stop it. Instead, she’d found ecstasy in a demon’s arms. Then he’d collapsed against her, whispering her name tenderly before falling asleep almost immediately.

  Why hadn’t he killed her? Not just right now, but also the first time? Matteo had said she was different. At first she’d believed it was because her magic protected her somehow, but that wasn’t the whole story.

  By rights, she should be dead now. Contrary to all expectations, she was alive and well, allowed to move freely while he—it—slept upstairs. Matteo had slept all morning, the shade inside him dormant.

  Somehow, she was exceptional to it. But he was different now too. Something she had done that night had changed him. Instead of a murderous automaton he was…well, she didn’t know what he was.

  She’d been watching, waiting for the evil to grow back and overwhelm him. Watching for the obvious had been a mistake. It had hidden from her, working itself in more deeply to him until she couldn’t see where Matteo ended and the curse began.

  What if, instead of temporarily alleviating him of his curse, she’d somehow bound him to it more tightly? If that was true, then this was all her fault. Her and her damnable ignorance. How could she possibly cure him now?

  Isobel desperately wished she could speak to her grandmother. She would give anything for a few moments with her, or anyone who might be able to guide her out of this mess.

  Running a hand through her disheveled hair, she tugged on it hard. Maybe the pain would give her focus. Putting the book down, she stood up to reach for another. And when that one didn't offer answers, she reached for another.

  ****

  Six days later, Isobel was back in the carriage with the Conte, determinedly trying to ignore his continuous complaints. Her husband slumped against the wall, asleep. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

  When he’d woken later that morning after their wedding night, she’d been expecting the worst. But Matteo had come down to join her in the library as if nothing had ever happened. His golden-brown eyes had been clear and his manner romantic and affectionate—the besotted groom on the first day of his honeymoon.

  He’d immediately offered to help her sort through the books, taking up the task with energy and determination. Together, they organized a search of the countryside, gathering up what little herbs they could find with the help of Nino and, to a lesser extent, Ottavio.

  There had been a bittersweet visit to her grandmother’s home. She'd been surprised it was still standing. She'd been half expecting to find a burned out shell, but the locals must have feared the memory of her grandmother enough to leave the place alone. Matteo had inspected the contents inside, saving a decorative pitcher and a tray from the tea service for her. The precious plants and mosses from that garden and surrounding wood were cleaned and stored with the stock she’d received from Meg.

  Throughout the week, Matteo behaved like the ideal husband, caring and considerate—and understanding when she told him resuming marital relations right away would be too uncomfortable. He patiently waited several days before asking again, though he hadn’t been able to resist caressing or holding her.

  Things had been so normal, she actually convinced herself that she’d imagined the whole thing. Perhaps she’d still been asleep, her nightmares blending with reality in an unexpected way. After everything that had happened, it was only natural that her imagination would take a dark turn.

  But she hadn’t been imagining it. She knew that now. Two days later, when her husband had determinedly seduced her, she had let him, closing her eyes to the danger because she wanted to believe, more than anything, that she was wrong.

  And so now she was certain, even though she only caught glimpses of the monster behind the mask.

  The demon inside her husband coveted her in some strange way. It would look at her behind Matteo’s eyes, pleased when she was there. It was happiest when it was touching her—stroking her skin and tasting her body, always careful to give more pleasure than it took. And it delighted in calling her wife.

  The reason why didn’t occur to her straightaway. Whatever the objective of the curse had been by the person who cast it, it was different now.

  Matteo was no longer wracked with pain, a prelude to his acting with murderous intent. It had lost interest in other victims. The thing inside him was solely focused on her now because it desired something else.

  It wanted to breed her.

  Chapter 20

  Isobel took refuge in the conservatory, carefully checking to make sure she was alone before filling her satchel with a particular mix of herbs.

  They had arrived in London a few days ago. She’d avoided intimacy with her husband by lying about the early arrival of her monthly. But now she had a plan.

  Her grandmother had helped a few of the women in the village, the ones with too many mouths to feed. Helen had prepared a mixture for them that they could brew like tea. As long as the woman followed the directions properly, unwanted pregnancies could be avoided. Isobel hadn’t known the exact recipe she had to follow, but
it had been easy to find—the well-used volume in her grandmother’s hand had several bookmarks on pages she had consulted frequently. Although, Helen had probably known the recipe by heart.

  Matteo had been disappointed, but not surprised, that she hadn’t fallen pregnant straightaway. He still yearned for a child, someone to live on after him in case she couldn’t find a cure for his affliction. The guilt she felt at deceiving him was intense, and she constantly reminded herself that it was necessary.

  In truth, her belief that the creature's intent was to breed was little more than conjecture. But nothing else could reasonably explain her present circumstances. Spirits like the one in her husband hungered for something in particular. Her reading confirmed that. Some thrived on creating chaos, others in taking the lives they could not have for themselves. But some sought a way to make their transient existence on this plane more permanent.

  If she was correct and the shade inside her husband wanted to breed, then she would be endangering any child they might have. And she couldn’t tell Matteo the truth, not now that she couldn’t distinguish as easily between the man and the monster.

  So she brewed the herbs and drank them every morning in place of tea. Then she would go downstairs and spent several hours in the library poring over her books, trying to find anything that might help them.

  The small library had been sorted by subject. In addition to the books of magic and recipes for healing, there were texts on natural history, farming, and some valuable first editions of classic volumes.

  The latter did not belong to Helen. They were her father's. She suspected that he had put them in the trunk for her, which made her wonder if he’d suspected that when he was gone she might need money, resources no one else knew about. The value of the books was such that, if she’d checked the trunks after his death, she might not have needed to become a governess at all.

  Isobel refused to dwell on that detail, focusing on her study of the library contents instead, as well as overseeing the work in the conservatory.

  The Conte had thankfully taken up residence in a townhouse in Mayfair, but she and Matteo stayed outside of town. The property agent had rented them a large house a scant half hour drive from London, one with a large conservatory and another midsize greenhouse farther from the main house.