Cursed: A Spellbound Regency Novel

by Lucy Leroux

  Aldo passed a hand over his face “A governess is different. Her father was a gentleman.”

  She suppressed an ironic smile.

  “Well, at least you acknowledge that much,” Matteo said quietly.

  Rubbing his face with both hands, Aldo sighed loudly. “We can discuss this later. You need your rest. I'm going to go home.”

  Matteo leaned forward. “I think that's a good idea.”

  Sighing, Aldo rose. “I'll call again tomorrow.”

  “No. I think it would be a good idea if you went home to Italy.”

  His father stared at him, hurt deepening the grooves on either side of his mouth.

  “It's for the best, father,” Matteo continued.

  “But you're still injured...”

  Matteo glanced at Isobel. “I'll be in good hands. In fact, I'll probably heal much better if we're on our own,” he added gently. “Once I'm able to travel we'll follow."

  His father frowned. "When?" he asked.

  "Soon," Matteo sighed, giving her a sideways glance. "The climate of this country doesn't suit me.”

  Inhaling deeply, Aldo finally nodded. “All right, but you'll come directly home once you're able?”

  “We will see,” Matteo said slowly.

  They said their goodbyes, but Matteo stopped Aldo at the doorway.

  “Father, we're not done talking about my brother yet,” he added.

  Aldo sighed loudly, his shoulders slumping before he nodded.

  Once he was gone, there was silence. Matteo just stood there, looking at the doorway for several moments.

  Isobel marched up to him. “Bed. Now.”

  He smiled slightly. “Yes, madame witch. Your wish is my command.”

  ****

  Upstairs, Isobel changed Matteo's bandages with quick efficiency. He was quiet, his face grave throughout the procedure. When she tried to give him a healing tonic, one she hoped would help repair the musculature of his hands, he shook his head.

  “Darling, what's wrong?”

  Matteo cocked his head at her, giving her a wry glance. He gestured down at himself with a quick motion of his head.

  She sighed. “The scarring will improve. In time, you'll be able to walk normally. My grandmother's poultices will help keep the skin soft and pliant enough to stretch. This tonic will help the damaged muscles. There's every chance you may regain some use in your hands. You mustn't give up hope.”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. No more tonics. I don't deserve hope...or to get better.”

  Isobel kneeled in front of him. “Of course you do. It's normal to grow despondent when you're facing a long recovery.”

  “This isn't melancholia. This,” he held up his hands, “is penance. I did so many horrible things, in reality I deserve so much worse. And you...you deserve only the best. Your freedom—and a man to love who isn't tainted. Someone who's not disfigured. That's one of the reasons I asked my father to go on ahead. As soon as he departs for Italy, you can leave.”

  Hurt, Isobel glared at him with tears in her eyes.

  “It's all right, mi amore,” he assured her earnestly. “I'll buy you a house anywhere you want and make sure you have everything you need. Your own accounts. With all you've done for me, you deserve your freedom.”

  “Do you honestly believe that after everything we've been through I'm going to leave you now? Are you insane?”

  His mouth opened and closed a few times. “Isabella, I'm a murderer.”

  “No, Nino is, as well as the witch who cursed you. And if there is more blood on someone else's hands then it's your father who deserves his share—not you. More than his share! And you forget I heard all of Nino's story. He admitted you were innocent of any wrongdoing. The curse was meant to punish your father. What they did to you was a crime. You were the victim, and now that I've gone through the trouble of saving you I will not be cheated.”

  “Cheated?”

  Isobel stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Yes, cheated. Did you or did you not promise that if I saved you, you would spend the rest of your life loving and cherishing me? Because I recall that you did—several times. So don’t try to tell me now that you were wrong or you made a mistake!”

  Tears welled in his eyes. “There was no mistake. I've loved you since the moment I saw you. Even though my mind wasn't always my own, my heart recognized you. But you deserve better than this,” he said, lifting his hands in emphasis.

  “What I deserve is your love and devotion, all of the happiness you promised. And I will get it because, damn it, I earned it!”

  Matteo’s eyes grew bright with unspent tears, but he burst out laughing. “Yes, you did, and then some. If you are really willing to settle for an over-privileged and self-entitled conticino, then I'll do my best to fulfill all of my promises.”

  Relaxing, Isobel sighed and sat down next to him on the bed. “I don't think those words have ever applied to you. You are nothing like your father. And I'll expect more than your best,” she said with a playful nudge.

  Eyes remote, he nodded. “Anything you want. And I'm not insulted. Truthfully, I've been thinking that my father and I need some…distance. Perhaps a lot of distance.”

  “I know. You told him to go ahead to Italy.”

  He swallowed. “I meant after we travel home. I have another small estate on the Lago di Bolsena. I inherited it from my grandmother. She used to make it her home when she was the dowager countess. Father doesn't like it much because it's not as grand as our other estates, but my mother loved it and I do too. I think that's where we should make our home. If Father wants to see us, he can do so there. But only to visit. We should live on our own.”

  Isobel put her hands over her heart, shoulders shaking in relief. “We don't have to live with your father? Oh, thank the stars. That's the best news I've ever heard.”

  Matteo laughed again before wincing and subsided.

  “Lean back, darling,” she urged, gently pushing at his shoulders to recline him on the pillows of his bed.

  Unfastening his breeches, she tugged them down.

  “Isabella, I've had enough sleep to last me a lifetime. There's no way I'm going to bed right now.”

  Laughing to herself, she pulled the cloth free of his legs. “Actually, I had something else in mind,” she said, beginning to unfasten her dress.

  His eyes lit up. “And what might that be?” he asked, even as it became increasingly obvious that she was wiggling out of her gown.

  “Well,” she began, joining him on the bed. “It occurs to me that this is the first time we've been alone together. Truly alone.”

  He coughed, his hips rising as she reached out to massage his legs and then higher.

  “I suppose that's one way of looking at it.” His expression grew serious. “But what if…”

  “If what?”

  He glanced at her and then away quickly. “Suppose you like it better the other way? I still remember how intense it was. I don't want to disappoint you now that I’m just a man,” he said in a low hoarse voice.

  Her brow rose pointedly. “You could never do that.”

  He looked at his hands and grimaced. “I can't even touch you.”

  “Yes, you can.” She smiled softly before pulling off her chemise and crawling to his side. “Everywhere,” she whispered as she offered him her breasts.

  He hesitated before latching onto the creamy mounds eagerly, kissing and sucking each in turn. Shifting closer to her, he drew the rapidly hardening tip of one into his mouth and laved it, and then the other, with his tongue. Isobel moaned, parting her legs involuntarily.

  It did feel different this time, more intense.

  Her husband must have thought so too. “Cara, use your hand. Touch yourself for me,” he rasped. “Open your legs wider so I can see.”

  Blushing hotly, she complied. Moving over, she positioned herself closer to his head, parting her legs.

>   His eyes caressed her, so hot she could feel herself growing moist from his gaze alone. Tentatively she touched between her legs, running her fingers up and down over her tender inner lips. She teased herself under his watchful dark eyes, playing with the little nub above her sex until she was breathing heavily.

  So was he. “Isabella, climb over me—over my face. I want to taste you.”

  A thrill passed through her at the idea. He moved down to lie flat on the bed. Heart racing, she shifted and threw her leg over him, positioning herself on her knees just over his face. Using the headboard to brace herself, she lowered those crucial few inches until he was there, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her soft feminine flesh.

  That caress reverberated through her body. Hands trembling, Isobel gripped the headboard tighter.

  “You taste like nothing else, mi amore,” he whispered, his hot breath puffing over her wet sex. “Move yourself as you will. I want you to guide me.”

  Isobel looked down, meeting his eyes. It was so strange to see him smiling up at her from between her legs. She laughed and nodded, adjusting her hips so that she was hovering above him, shifting up and down so that his lips and tongue could caress her.

  “Oh, God,” she gasped as he sucked her pearl into his mouth. Above him she writhed, rocking back and forth as his mouth worked its magic underneath her.

  His tongue probed her entrance, forcing its way inside her in a wicked twisting motion. The spasms started almost immediately. Her channel gripped him like a velvet vise, throbbing around him. Losing control, Isobel threw her head back and rocked faster until she was grinding down on him.

  Her scream of completion made him laugh, but it was muffled and Isobel hastily collapsed to the side so she wouldn't smother him.

  It took several minutes to catch her breath. When she finally turned to look at him, he was watching her breasts heave up and down with each movement of her chest.

  “It's hell not being able to touch you, cara,” he said, twin notes of longing and frustration in his voice.

  Poor Matteo, he truly did not deserve to lose the use of his hands.

  “I would like to remind you, my lord, that the night isn't over yet.”

  He chuckled and she shifted down the bed, moving over him until her head was level with his manhood.

  Tentatively, she reached out to lick him.

  “What are you doing, amore?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Something the maids used to whisper about...the things they did when they went out walking with their sweetheart. It was considered safe since they didn't risk their positions by falling pregnant.”

  Taking his already swollen manhood in her hands, she put her mouth over the rounded head, licking and sucking, cupping him below and squeezing lightly. Experimenting, she tried to take as much of him in her mouth as she could, but he was too big, so she settled for kissing him up and down his length.

  Matteo didn't seem to care that she couldn't take all of him. His moans filled the air. She liked the sound and the fact that she was the one causing it. It was his turn to writhe helplessly, to be taken to the brink and then pushed over it.

  His hips thrust up, trying to prolong the contact with the warmth of her mouth until he suddenly changed his mind.

  “Cara, stop. Please. I need to be inside you.”

  Still riding the high from pleasuring him she climbed over his thighs, bringing them together with a heady rush of sensual abandon.

  The air in her lungs escaped in a hiss as she sank down on his steely arousal. He was almost too large and thick for her—especially in this position—but she was soft and hot from her earlier climax, enough to work his entire length inside.

  He swore when the tip of him touched her womb, but quickly lost the power of speech when she began to move. Leaning forward and using her arms for leverage, she rose up until he was about to slip out and then quickly back down.

  Below her, he reached up reflexively. His bandaged hands pressed against her hips.

  She hurriedly leaned down to whisper, “No, my darling. You mustn't.”

  He needed to be careful. Taking hold of his wrists, she pressed his arms down to the bed, holding him by the forearms so he couldn't hurt himself.

  She pressed a kiss to his lips before beginning to rock again. Clasping him tightly in her sheath, she pumped up and down, losing herself in the feel of him. Her sheath gripped his shaft hungrily, the friction she generated catalyzing pleasure to blinding ecstasy.

  Giving herself over to the moment, she cried out, hips rocking frantically as her climax rose and crested like a wave. It crashed down with the force of the ocean during a storm.

  Inside of her, Matteo's cock swelled and pulsed as his shout mingled with her own. Holding herself tight around him as the last tremors rocked their bodies, she just barely stopped herself from falling forward onto his bandaged chest.

  The words he was chanting finally penetrated her bliss-fogged mind. “Ti amo, sempre.”

  “Too overcome to speak, she concentrated on regaining the will to move. After a long minute she slipped to the left, pushing up against his side until her breasts and sex were pressed against his arm and hip.

  “I love you, too,” she finally whispered back, stopping his chant with a touch of her fingers.

  He kissed the tips briefly before speaking again.

  “Thank you,” he breathed.

  “For what? I mean aside from the obvious...” she asked with a teasing smile, turning to look up at him.

  “For everything. For saving me and for staying,” he said, the love in his eyes warming her down to her soul.

  She reached up to touch his cheek. “You forgot something.”

  “What?” He frowned.

  “To thank me for proving that what we have now—just the two of us—is better than anything that came before.”

  His eyes lingered on her face with a loving expression. “I know that's true for me. I'm just grateful you feel the same way. And know this, as soon as I can hold you in my arms again, I'm never letting go.”

  “Good,” she murmured, pressing her brow against his shoulder.

  Because she didn't plan on letting go either. And because he had just given her a brilliant idea…

  Epilogue

  Five months later.

  “And this is mint,” Isobel said in a much-improved Italian accent, pointing to the dark green leaves. “In addition to its pleasing taste, it is very beneficial for the digestion as well as other minor ailments.”

  Little Tomas leaned over to inspect the plant she was holding, his small brow creased in concentration. He didn't reply, but that wasn't unusual. He was incredibly intelligent, but Tomas was still growing accustomed to her presence. The only person he was truly comfortable with was his older brother Matteo, whom he called Papa.

  Though shy with her, Tomas did like plants. He would silently trail her in the greenhouse Matteo had built for her whenever she was working in there. That had given her the idea to teach him about herbology.

  In addition to the greenhouse, their countryside home had extensive gardens as well as several small streams and a fantastic view of the crystalline waters of lake Bolsena.

  She made good use of the fertile land, growing everything she needed for her healing practice. There was a lot to teach Tomas about plants and the natural world. She even let him observe when the local villagers came to her for cures to their minor complaints. And despite his tender years, he paid close attention to everything she taught him.

  It had been Isobel's idea to claim Tomas as her son from a previous marriage. No one in Italy knew her, she reasoned, so there was little chance their lie would be discovered. They spread the story after Thomas' adopted parents agreed to give him up.

  The family that had taken him in had just found out they were expecting a second babe. After visiting them, Matteo had become convinced that Tomas was already being neglected in favor of their own son.
The problem would only grow worse with a new child, so he'd given them a substantial financial gift and claimed his brother as his own—but not before warning her that no one would believe he was hers. The boy was too obviously a Garibaldi. Everyone would assume he'd sired a bastard before they met.

  Isobel didn't give a fig about the gossip. Despite his reticence with her, she adored Tomas. He was so much like Matteo, it was impossible not to love him. Though unnaturally reserved, the little boy was bright and considerate.

  I can only hope to be as lucky with our own child, she thought pensively chewing her lip.

  Forcing her attention back to Tomas, she continued her lesson. Today that included letting him plant his own strawberry seeds. They would grow year round in the greenhouse.

  Once the Conte had discovered they'd taken his bastard in, he stopped visiting them in the country—although he still demanded Matteo visit him on occasion at their estate in Santa Fiora. Her husband obliged, mainly because Nino’s plot had brought his father’s business practices to his attention. He wanted to make sure the tenants and staff on all their estates were being treated well.

  Isobel never went with him. Her feelings for the Conte were complicated and she couldn’t seem to keep from fighting with him.

  Matteo didn’t mind visiting without her. He wanted time alone with his father so he could pressure him into revealing the whereabouts of his other bastards. From what Nino had said, there had to be more of them. Matteo had been wary about claiming them all, arguing that it wasn't fair to her, but Isobel insisted she wanted a big family.

  However, the Conte was adamant he had no other children, so for the time being there was only Tomas. And soon their own child.

  Another pang of disquiet passed through her. Don't assume the worst, she lectured herself sternly as she contemplated her swollen middle.

  Thankfully she was distracted when Tomas' nurse came to collect him. It was time for his luncheon and then nap. Isobel said goodbye and was intensely gratified when the little one consented to be kissed. She was definitely winning him over.

  Planting the rest of the strawberry seeds on her own, she placed the finished pots on a sunny table. Sprinkling some of her grandmother's special growing solution in each pot, she said a little chant for their speedy growth. It was another recipe she'd found in Helen's books, one she found extremely useful. Especially since both Tomas and Matteo seemed overly fond of hothouse strawberries.