by Lucy Leroux
“Is this place sound? Or will the ceiling fall down on our heads?” the Conte asked, giving the walls a dubious glance.
“It's been falling for hundreds of years,” she said honestly. “As long as we're careful, we should be fine.”
He shot her a frown before turning away.
Matteo walked forward. “Where do you think the trunks are?” he asked, glancing around him, his eyes bright and eager as he examined every fallen rock and pebble.
“Over here.”
She led them to the back wall, where a sizable amount of the ceiling had collapsed and partially blocked the entrance to one of the storage spaces. She pointed to the pile of rubble. “They're under here.”
Matteo examined the debris. Some of the pieces were quite large. “Very clever. How on earth did your grandmother move all of these heavy stones by herself?”
“She didn't,” Isobel whispered, as Matteo gestured for Nino and Ottavio to help him start shifting the stones. “It was my father.”
“Your father?” he asked, turning abruptly in her direction, a fistful of masonry falling out of his hand. “I thought you said he didn't approve of you studying magic.”
Sitting on one of the larger fallen stones, she nodded. “It's true, but only after what happened to my aunt. I told you he was open-minded. He was also a scholar, one who would rather cut his own arm off than destroy a book.” She nodded at the pile. “He brought the trunks in here, empty, and then filled them a few books at a time. Afterward, he showed me where they were, in case I was ever in a position to claim them. He did express a wish that I not do so unless I was living elsewhere. I was fourteen at the time.”
Matteo nodded, but was too busy to ask any more questions. Between the three men, they quickly uncovered the top of the first trunk.
“This is much larger than I thought it would be,” he said eventually. “We'll never be able to carry them out without being seen. I think we should go and fetch the carriage. There's a path leading to the ruins large enough for it, isn't there?”
Isobel nodded.
“Then we should be able to drive it close enough to carry them out of here one at a time.”
“You're going to put these filthy things in my carriage?” the Conte asked, his scowl fierce.
Matteo rolled his eyes. “Since we don't have the second carriage for the luggage, yes.”
The old man scowled. “Can't you go buy a farmer's cart?” he asked, exasperated.
“Not without announcing what were doing to the entire neighborhood.”
Aldo stopped complaining, but he glared at Isobel as if he blamed her for the state of the trunks while Matteo gave a few quick instructions to the men in Italian. Then he turned to her and offered his arm.
“I will take you to the cottage and return with the coach.”
“What cottage?”
“We rented one for the week, until the weather improves. The innkeeper told me about it, suggesting that newlyweds need privacy,” he said with a sideways glance as he led her out of the tunnel. “My father will stay at the inn.”
He didn't have to tell her that the 'servants' would stay with them.
“We're staying a week? I suppose that might be enough,” she said absently. “But I've been thinking we shouldn't go far.”
His brow drew down as they stepped out of the tunnel into the fresh air. “What do you mean? I thought you'd be eager to depart, to leave the past behind.”
Though he wasn't wrong, Isobel had thought of an important reason to linger in the neighborhood. “A number of the healing spells and poultices in those books may require local herbs. There are some growing wild in these hills, though they'll be fewer of them now with the cold. Others might be going fallow in my grandmother's old garden. We need to gather as many of them as possible and their seeds. That might be important. There will be a few locals who keep their own stores. We should offer to buy as much as they're willing to spare. The plants in Italy would be different, unfamiliar. Some substitutions might work, but others may prove unpredictable.”
“I hadn't considered that,” he said softly. “If we managed to get seeds, we could grow them ourselves.”
“If we managed to get seeds. And they might not grow in a different climate.”
He laughed unexpectedly. “Isabella, everything grows in Italy.”
She frowned. “Do you want to wager your life on that?”
Matteo sobered. “I'll give it more thought.”
They walked in silence for several minutes. When they crested the hill, Isobel paused, looking at the familiar gabled farmhouse nestled in the rise of the hill opposite. Below it was a lovely little valley with its own stream. Sheep grazed in the green fields nearby.
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 18
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 than 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 h
ouses 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.
