by Lucy Leroux
A gardener had been hired to help her and Matteo with the planting of various seeds and a few cuttings for herbs—anything she thought might be useful to help him, and now herself. After the planting had been done, the gardener was reassigned to the grounds while she did the work of tending to the plants herself. And when she couldn’t for whatever reason, Nino had insisted on helping.
Aside from sleeping too much, Matteo behaved very much like himself. Or at least the man she thought he was. She had to admit, there was a lot about him she didn’t know—or about how the spell might have altered his normal personality. He appeared to be a dear man, conscientious and kind. If his malady hadn’t succeeded in altering that, then she had to believe he was worth saving.
The thought that the spell was making him kinder and more appealing was something she dismissed right away. Based on what had happened to all those other victims, the goal had been to create a monster. She had interfered and made something else.
Though Isobel knew the demon inside him was still there, she tried her best to forget about it. Maybe it was cowardly to ignore it, but she couldn't get through her daily life unless she did. So she accepted her husband's affection and tried to treat him with the same consideration he demonstrated for her. The “other” inside him was put into a locked room in her mind, one she didn't open until she had to. Otherwise, she would go stark screaming mad.
The Conte visited on several occasions, and he seemed pleased with the semblance of normalcy that Matteo was able to maintain. She warned Aldo that that’s all it was, a temporary reprieve, but he didn’t care. He invited several of his friends over to pay calls to his son and had even gone so far as to secure them invitations to the last events of the little Season.
Isobel was nervous about mixing with others at such large social events. The calls paid to them at the country house had been stressful enough without having to worry about making small talk or dancing in a ton ballroom. But Matteo had been so taken with the idea of socializing, of being a normal man again, that she hadn’t the heart to say no.
That night was going to be their first ball. Compared to the ones held during the regular Season it would be small, only a few hundred or so people. Which was a few hundred too many for Isobel. Fortunately for her, their debut in society as a couple had been delayed until she had a wardrobe befitting a rich lord's wife.
They had had to wait for the ton's most fashionable modiste, madame Josephina, to make up a new ball gown for her, as well as dresses for morning, afternoon, and evening, along with an assortment of matching pelisses. Additionally, there was a riding habit, a la militaire as was the fashion, and a multitude of gloves, hats, muffs, and everything else the ton deemed necessary garb for a woman to leave her house.
Her new blue day dress from Carrbridge had been immediately discarded as soon as the new purchases began to arrive. The waste bothered Isobel, but Matteo had laughed at her and told her to get used to being spoiled now that she was a future Countess.
She reluctantly abandoned her work in the library a few hours before the ball in order to get ready. The gown she was wearing was a deep emerald green velvet, with short sleeves and a full skirt.
Unlike the other fashionable gowns of the ton, it was modestly cut at the bust. Isobel didn’t want to worry about falling out of her gown and dancing at the same time.
Her time as a governess hadn’t prepared her for a ton ballroom, but she did have a little familiarity with the waltz. In her former position at Sir Isaac Warton's home, she’d accompanied the dancing master as he taught her charges in preparation for their come-out. But dancing in front of a hundred people was not the same as dancing in front of two spoiled young ladies and their bored ten-year-old brother.
Isobel put on her new gown with trepidation, dressing by herself. With an overabundance of caution, she’d decided not to employ a lady's maid. The fewer servants they had the better. She put her hair in a simple style, only slightly more elaborate than her normal coiffure. Her stays and the dress fastened in the front at her request, so she didn’t need to call Matteo in to help her.
When she was done, she gave herself a long critical inspection in the bedroom looking-glass. It was still her, but different. The green set off her skin nicely and deepened the color of her eyes.
Fine feathers, she thought. Feeling slightly fraudulent, she pulled on her gloves and then smoothed her skirts.
Never in her life had she worn such a beautiful dress, not even as a child. Especially as a child, she thought, remembering the sorry state of her dresses after an afternoon rambling in the woods. She was no longer that carefree, careless girl, but the thought of spilling something on herself was enough to make her bite her nails in anxiety.
At this point, however, humiliating herself was the least of her concerns.
Matteo was waiting for her on the stairs. When he saw her coming down the steps he froze, his lips parting.
“Cara, you are a vision,” he said, his eyes wide.
Isobel laughed despite her trepidation. “You don't have to sound so surprised,” she replied cheekily, although she could feel her cheeks pinkening with pleasure.
He smiled and took her hand and spun her in a slow circle. When she faced him again, his expression was serious. “I'm afraid I can't let you go out like this. You're missing something.”
She glanced down at her gown and gloves in surprise. “What am I missing? I warn you nothing else is going to fit in this gown,” she said, running her hands down the tight bodice in a cursory examination.
“Well, compared to the other ladies who'll be at the party, you're nearly naked.”
She scowled at him, but he just grinned at her. With a twinkle in his eye, he took a thin box from a nearby table and presented it to her with a flourish.
“What's this?” she asked.
“You can't make your debut in society without being properly attired,” he said as she opened the box.
Her mouth dropped open. Nestled against the soft black interior of the box was a stunning emerald necklace and matching set of earrings. Mixed between the large oval cut emeralds were smaller glittering brown stones.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Her first thought, after she recovered from her surprise, was that she couldn't wear it.
“I'm going to lose it,” she said with a creased brow.
Matteo chuckled and took the necklace out of the box. “I assure you the clasp is very secure.”
“What are these brown stones?” she asked, touching their cool smooth surface as he fastened the necklace around her neck.
“They're a variant of goldstone. I told the jeweler that I wanted something that reminded me of your eyes. I'm very pleased with the result,” he said, his breath warm on the back of her neck just before he pressed a kiss there. “He's making up a matching brooch and bracelet as well, but so far only this and the earrings are ready. It was a bit of a rush job.”
He removed the droplet earrings and helped her fasten them, taking advantage of the necessary proximity to press another kiss below her ear. Flushed and warm, she took the arm he extended to her and they climbed into the carriage.
Perhaps the night wouldn't be so bad after all.
Chapter 21
Isobel smiled with gritted teeth as the rotund earl she was dancing with stepped on her feet yet again.
She really needn't have worried about her performance on the dance floor. What the dancing master should have taught her and her charges was a way to defend themselves, or more precisely their feet, from the onslaught of clumsy partners.
Foot-murdering earls aside, the night had been surprisingly pleasant. The large ballroom was impressively gilded with a multitude of crystal chandeliers. Elegantly dressed people milled about, trying not to appear to be enjoying themselves too much.
The men were more uniformly dressed in black, but the women wore a multitude of colors. She admired their jewel-like gowns from a distan
ce, grateful that her husband's good taste ensured she was not out of place. The new jewels she wore had been universally admired. Her gown was not the only one in that particular shade of green, but it was among the most elegant.
A number of young ladies wore white, and after speaking to a few of them, she learned they were here in advance of the regular season to acquire a social polish in a less demanding and critical setting. When the regular Season commenced, their manners and looks would be evaluated and judged in the highly competitive marriage mart. The entire future of some families rested on making an advantageous match for their daughters.
It was a cutthroat business. Isobel wondered if she would have been subjected to a similar ordeal in Edinburgh had her father lived. They had never discussed giving her a season.
Turning away from her cheerless thoughts she focused on the novelty of her surroundings. In addition to the extravagantly decorated ballroom, the buffet had been lavishly laid with game, lobster patties, and other assorted delicacies. To her eyes it looked sumptuous, but she heard more than one person sniff that it was miserly compared to the buffets laid during the regular season.
The only real problem was the dancing. She suppressed a wince when her partner trod on her toes once more. Hot and winded, she was glad when the dying strains of music signaled an end to the torture. With relief, she allowed the slightly sour-smelling earl to escort her back to her party.
In addition to her husband and his father, she was surrounded by a circle of their acquaintances, friends they had made in previous visits and kept up through correspondence.
To her surprise, the circle also included family, a young cousin of Matteo's named Gideon Wells, the son of Clarence's youngest sister, Anna.
Gideon, a youth eighteen years old, was down from Oxford with some friends for the weekend. He had been thrilled to learn Matteo was in town. He had latched onto him with endearing enthusiasm and was peppering him with questions about Italy and how his cousin had met her. He gave her a commiserating smile when she rejoined the party.
“Did 'ol Lynton leave you crippled? I told my uncle it was a bad idea to accept his request for a dance,” he whispered with a genial grin.
Isobel allowed herself a tiny smile in response before assuring him that she was fine. But her amusement dropped away quickly when she caught sight of her husband.
A streak of cold ran through her overheated body. Matteo's eyes were dark—too dark. And there was a tell-tale streak of black in his aura. Fighting full-blown panic, she made her way to his side and slipped a hand in his arm.
“Darling, are you feeling all right?” she asked, her voice strained.
He looked down at her, eyes glassy like dark pools reflecting distant starlight. When he didn't answer, her heart picked up speed.
“Matteo?” she whispered, caressing the inside of his arm.
“I'm fine, mi amore,” he said, his voice as remote as the look in his eyes.
“He should be asking you that,” Gideon laughed.
Matteo looked up at him sharply.
“Old Lynton stepped all over her feet. It's a good thing I already had a chance to take a turn with your lovely new wife.” He leaned in as he said it, smiling at Isobel warmly.
Under her hand, Matteo stiffened and from the corner of her eye she saw his aura flare.
No, no, no!
How could she not have realized? She'd been so stupid. Normal socializing was taxing enough for Matteo, but a ball? A place where other men not only spoke to her, but also touched her. And she was obliged to let them as they partnered her on the dance floor.
Gideon kept up a steady stream of small talk, apparently not noticing that Matteo had essentially withdrawn from him and the rest of the company. She was trying to decide what to do when another man, a viscount this time, came up to their party to request a dance.
The flare-up of black next to her was startling in its intensity, and underneath her fingers she could feel him growing colder.
It must have been worse that her admirer was young and attractive. Looking up, she gave the balcony door a longing glance, ignoring the Conte’s nod of approval of the viscount as an acceptable dance partner. She closed and opened her mouth, trying to come up with an appropriate excuse when rescue came from an unexpected source.
“Sorry, Berkeley, my cousin-in-law can't oblige you right now. She's still fatigued from her last dance,” Gideon said with a smile, digging in an elbow into the viscount's side and mouthing Lynton.
“Oh.” Viscount Berkeley laughed. “Perhaps later then,” he said before launching into a conversation with Gideon about the last sale at Tattersalls.
She murmured something noncommittal and turned to Matteo. “My lord, I'm a bit overheated from all this excitement. Could we take a breath of fresh air outside?”
Without waiting for an answer she tugged on his arm and led him away. Thankfully, he followed. She smiled, making polite excuses to the assembled group as they headed to the balcony. Once there, she immediately changed her mind.
Despite the coolness of the night, enough people were outside to make a stroll in the gardens inadvisable. She hailed a passing footman and asked if there was a room where they could have a little privacy.
Flustered by her boldness, the servant directed her to the empty library on the ground floor. Trying to appear sanguine and composed, she hurried into the darkened room, pulling Matteo in after her.
He turned her around, his grip tight, before she could find a taper to light. There was, however, enough moonlight filtering through the glass doors leading to the garden to make out most of the room, including the man in front of her and his intense expression.
“Did Lynton hurt you?” Matteo asked, his voice reverberating with that strange oscillation she'd grown to fear.
But this was not about her feelings. It was about distracting the demon from harmful intent.
“No!” She assured him hastily. Her fingers trembled as she reached up to stroke his face. “I just wanted to be alone with you,” she whispered, tugging on his cravat to pull him down for a kiss.
That was all it took.
Matteo's arms wrapped around her, his hands rough and searching. His mouth aggressively plundered hers as they stood there in near darkness. Yanking down her sleeves he exposed her breasts and she gasped, wondering what she had done.
His hands cupped her before he bent and his mouth closed over one rapidly hardening peak.
She began to have trouble standing as he sucked hard on one breast and then the other, his tongue leaving a trail between them. She was about to put her hands around his neck when she heard it, that distinctive purring growl no normal man would ever make.
Her entire body clenched in both fear and arousal.
“My lord?” she asked apprehensively.
He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted and carried her deeper into the room. There was no couch in the library, only armchairs, so he set her down on a sturdy looking waist high cabinet in the far corner just outside the light of the glass doors.
Breath a little ragged, she tentatively opened her arms as he pulled her to him. Closing a fist in her hair, he tugged her head to the side, exposing her neck so his mouth could work its way down to her breast. His other hand moved under her skirt, tugging it upward before pushing her legs open.
His fingers were cold as they stroked her intimately, but they warmed quickly, almost as if she was transferring her heat to him. He growled again and tore at his breeches before pulling her to him with hard hands.
Isobel's lips parted and she threw back her head as he roughly brought their bodies together. A sound escaped her, a cross between a moan and a whimper as his shaft worked all the way inside her tight wet channel.
The shade inside Matteo liked the noise she made. It purred in approval and withdrew before pumping back into her forcefully.
It's okay, he's warm, he's warm, she repeated to herself, even though she knew it
wasn't true.
Putting her hands on his shoulders, she held on as he rocked into her body. His hands held her tight against him while he took her mouth hungrily, his tongue mimicking the movements and rhythm of his shaft as he penetrated her again and again.
Around her, the room spun. It felt as if her will was being torn from its moorings as her husband’s large and hard cock plundered and consumed with an intensity not his own. She wouldn’t think about her body’s soft and eager acceptance just now. The shame would come later.
The sudden burning orgasm that coursed through her overwhelmed her senses, making her blind and deaf as her body went rigid, convulsing in his arms...which was why she didn't hear the door open.
A sharp exhalation escaped her as male laughter penetrated her lethargy. At least two men had entered the room. For the moment they were shielded by the deeper shadows at the back of the room, but the men were moving closer. If they lit a taper she and Matteo would be seen.
With trembling hands, she clutched at him, but it was as if he didn't hear them. He didn't stop making love to her, continuing to move in and out her body with determined thrusts. She tugged on his hair, trying to signal him to stop as the men moved closer, but he was insensible.
A startling pulse of pleasure streaked through her as the men stepped into view, laughing as one handed the other a cigar. Despite having just climaxed, her body tightened hungrily around Matteo's thick member as he relentlessly claimed her warm wet sheath.
Heart in her throat, she put both her hands on Matteo's mouth, holding her breath when one spoke to the other.
“We better smoke these outside, or I'll never hear the end of it from my wife,” the man said.
It was their host, Lord Southmont.
The other man said something she didn't catch while Southmont opened the door. Tense in Matteo's arms, she belatedly noticed he had stopped moving too. Frozen together in their intimate embrace they stayed silent in the shadows just a few feet away from discovery.
