That’s all.
Isobel had never heard of anything like this. And if he didn’t rape any of his victims, what had he been about to do to her? He’d gone still and been icy cold, just as the Conte described, and he’d touched her. A lot, she thought pushing away her troubled memories of that night.
But she hadn’t died.
“It’s gotten more difficult,” the Conte continued, snapping her back to attention. “The space between his bad spells is growing shorter.”
“And so Matteo needs more victims,” she said softly.
“It’s not him doing the killing. It’s the thing inside him,” he said in a hard voice.
That much might be true. But it didn’t explain Matteo’s reaction that night. Not her! his voice echoed in her mind. She stifled the urge to cover her ears in an effort to drown out the memory.
The count’s mouth firmed. “Your night with him is the only one when he’s returned to himself without a death. So you will stay with him, day and night. If you want to go free, it will be after you have found a cure. In the meantime, do everything you can to make him happy. My son has been burdened by this long enough. He obviously wants you, so you’re going to be his solace. I won’t have him begging me to end his life—not again! I don’t care what you have to do, but you will make him want to live.”
He stopped then and rose to bang on the door. The smaller older servant, the one he called Nino, came in.
“Take her to my son,” he ordered.
She didn’t fight. This was not the time. Nino held her securely by the arm and guided her to the stairs.
“I’m very sorry, signorina,” he whispered in English as they climbed.
Isobel gave him a sideways glance. Though small in stature, the man had once been handsome. But now he looked wasted and a bit tired, his face grey with deep grooves etched around his mouth. And he did appear genuinely contrite.
“Can you help me?” she asked quietly.
How exactly, she didn’t know. It wasn’t likely the count would let her go if his servant asked. But perhaps the man could convince Matteo.
Nino shrugged uncomfortably before looking around. “You should know…Ottavio always falls asleep during his watch. The second watch.”
Suppressing a sigh, Isobel looked away. What good would that do her if Matteo was in the same room with her? Sighing, she hung her head. It was good to know Nino had some semblance of a conscience, but he wouldn’t take any decisive steps to aid her.
She would have to help herself.
Chapter 13
Matteo woke up with a start when Isobel was shoved past the door of his chamber.
It was warm inside, the peat fire still burning cheerfully in the hearth. The strangely satisfying smoked earth smell had lulled him to sleep. He had dozed off in his shirtsleeves on the bed, but when she came inside he rose and they stared at each other.
She stood there, her back against the door, trying so hard to look brave and composed when it was obvious she was terrified. He didn’t blame her. She had no way of knowing when he would succumb to another bad spell.
“I’m sorry. I should have waited for you,” he said gesturing to a tray of food on a small table, a cold repast of game pie and vegetables he’d ordered in the hopes it would stay appetizing long enough for Isobel to finish her conference with his father.
Matteo had eaten his share distractedly earlier, and he regretted that now. He should have waited for her. As she looked at the tray, her stomach rumbled loudly and he smiled. She frowned. He stepped to the table to pour her a glass of watered-down wine before moving away, guessing she wouldn’t want to come near him.
He sat on the bed, but her tension only increased.
And you know why, he thought, glancing down at the bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about that. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”
“Then why can’t I have my own room?”
He looked away, his hands opening and closing reflexively. “I’m sorry. I know you would be more comfortable in your own chamber, but my father feels it’s safest if I’m with you. For all concerned. I didn’t exactly have a say...”
It was the truth, but not the whole truth. Being close to her, even for a little while, was the only thing he had to look forward to in the difficult days to come.
Isobel wrapped her arms around her waist before walking to the table. She started to eat mechanically, eyes forward and distant. He sat in the corner, pretending to read a book while she finished. When she was done, he presented her with a package.
“I sent out for this. I wasn’t sure you would have one with you,” he said, opening the brown wrapping and pushing it toward her. “That dress can’t be comfortable to sleep in,” he added, nodding at the thick skirts of her widow’s garb.