Isobel raised a skeptical brow. Matteo was a grown man, one who exuded sexual appeal like a fine cologne. She didn’t believe for a second that he’d had no lovers and said so.
Matteo turned red. “I didn’t mean I hadn’t had any, just that they would have no reason to do this. My last liaison was with...well, never mind. Someone who wouldn’t be capable of this.”
Frustrated, she abruptly turned around and started walking back to the inn. Matteo and his servant had to run to keep up with her.
When Matteo reached her side, she rounded on him. “If you’re not going to be completely honest, there is nothing I can do for you!”
He looked embarrassed. “All right! My last lover was in Italy, what you would call a courtesan. Our relationship, such as it was, ran its course and she moved on to another protector. She was a woman of the world and was not very upset, not overmuch anyway. Not after she received my generous parting gift.”
She slowed her steps. “What about other relationships? Jealous rivals or husbands?”
He scowled. “I don’t sleep with married women. Well, not anymore.”
She gave him a pointed glance and he sighed.
“When I was very young, maybe twenty or so, I did have a brief association with a married woman. But I soon learned that I was not her only lover, and I seriously doubt her husband knew about us. And if he did, I doubt he would have cared. He was conducting his own affairs. But, I didn’t like that feeling of...”
“Cuckolding another man?” she supplied.
Matteo wrinkled his nose. “If you must, then yes. I steer clear of married women now. In any case, that was years ago.” He fidgeted with this coat buttons and was quiet for a minute. “Could this curse have come from an object, something I touched that was meant for someone else?”
Thinking he meant his father, Isobel had to concede the likelihood. “It is possible, but I have to believe whoever did this knew what they were doing. If someone else was their target, then I think they would have tried again.”
“Not necessarily,” he protested. “We left home a few weeks after. Maybe they didn’t get the chance.”
She mulled that over. It was possible he was correct, but her instinct niggled at her. She wanted to disagree, but had no reason to keep arguing as they made their way back to the inn.
When they entered the taproom, Isobel nearly lost her hard-won composure. The Conte had arrived.
Chapter 12
She was back in the private parlor, sitting as far from the count as she possibly could. They were alone. Sir Clarence had been left behind in Ford, a detail for which she was grateful. Isobel didn’t think she could look at her former employer without screaming the place down. Or trying to claw his eyes out.
Matteo had gone to make arrangements with the innkeeper. They were renting the entire upper story. If other guests arrived seeking lodging for the night, they would have to look elsewhere. Even the empty rooms were rented to the Conte. Whatever the man had planned, he didn’t want any witnesses.
Isobel sat ramrod straight. She wouldn’t look at Aldo, but she could feel his eyes on her, weighing and assessing. Soon her anger overcame her fear.
She despised this man and his power over her. The fact that women in her position were so vulnerable to him and his like filled her with an acid hate.
Finally, he spoke. “You’re what I came to England to find, you know. A witch powerful enough to lift the curse from my son.”
She met his eyes. They were so similar to Matteo’s, a rich dark brown. But his son—when he was himself—had such warmth in his. On the Conte they were cold, not completely lifeless, but close.
More like Matteo’s other self.
She responded with a question of her own. One she knew he wouldn’t like. “He’s like this because of you, isn’t he? Because of something you did?”
She didn’t bother to use his title. Anyone who tried to kill her could be spoken to familiarly and without civility.
Aldo’s face hardened. “Is he all right now?” he asked, making an effort to keep his voice polite.
He failed completely. Isobel knew he didn’t care for her. He thought her beneath him. The Conte only respected his peers and probably very few of them at that. To have to speak to a governess, to depend on one for his son’s life, must have been difficult for him. He probably considered it an insult to his person.
“I already told Matteo no. He’s still afflicted. And I don’t know how to help him. Not without knowing how and why he was cursed.”
She wasn’t about to admit that she didn’t have the knowledge or the skill to cure his son. It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him to find someone else, but she didn’t want to give him any ideas. The Conte didn’t value her life; she already knew that. Staying alive might mean making promises she couldn’t keep.