Though it was impossible to bar the two of them inside their chamber without suspicion, Nino and Ottavio were always nearby. If the adjoining room wasn’t available, then they slept on the floor in the hallway. The Conte had made no effort to excuse such behavior to people he considered inferior, but Matteo always made it a point to chat with the innkeeper in his lyrically accented English.
He passed off the guards as a necessary circumstance due to a mysterious incident at a lower quality inn. The details of his story were purposely vague, but they would always sympathize, especially when he implied that her safety was the real issue—the safety of his bride.
Isobel was always given strange looks when Matteo introduced her as his wife. She knew he was just trying to protect her reputation, but her choice of disguise bothered the staff and other visitors. Her clothes were suited to deep mourning, and Matteo’s excuse that it was on his mother’s account didn’t seem to convince everyone when he wasn’t also in black.
Occasionally she heard whispers. Some gossiped about the oddities of the Italian people, while others questioned her and whether or not she might have remarried without observing the proper mourning period. No one had yet guessed that she wasn’t married at all, at least not out loud. A few might have suspected, however, given the way the count’s expression soured whenever Matteo introduced her as his bride.
Her strange surreal existence continued until they finally entered her home county. The sights became familiar despite the fact they were still several dozen miles from her home. Apprehension filled her as they stopped at a posting inn near Ellan Wood. Though the innkeepers and the locals who frequented the tavern wouldn’t know her face, they would have been familiar with her father’s name. And Matteo wasn’t keeping her identity a secret.
Soon they would be in Carrbridge, surrounded by the people who had shunned her and the other women in her family. And day-by-day, the darkness inside of Matteo grew just a tiny bit more.
Chapter 15
Despite the dreadful weather, the majesty and sweeping vistas of the Highlands took Matteo’s breath away. It was an unforgiving landscape, most unlike the warm and welcoming peaks and valleys of his home. But there was a rugged and imposing beauty to this place that spoke volumes about the character and fortitude of its inhabitants. It made a great deal of sense that this was Isobel’s birthplace.
He had expected her to exhibit some growing excitement about seeing her home after such a long absence. Instead, she grew quiet and pale. Her hands were still on her lap, but she betrayed her tension with the way she gripped them together tightly.
Matteo felt guilty for a whole new reason. Isobel had probably never expected to see this place again. The dark and unpleasant memories of her and her grandmother’s treatment at the hands of the more ignorant locals coupled with the loss of both her parents surely made this homecoming difficult, to say the least.
And there was another problem. Isobel was still known here. A maid at the last inn had recognized her. Apparently, his witch possessed the distinctive features and coloring of the women in her family.
It would not have been a problem if the locals believed Isobel was his wife as they should have, but their whispers indicated otherwise. They painted Isobel with a dark brush. In their eyes, she was already corrupt, a fallen woman with no virtue. He was her lover, a paramour literally enthralled by her sorceress’ spell. It didn’t help that the innkeepers avoided him, making it impossible for him to charm them into believing the story that she was his wife.
He made his decision on the way to the next inn, the one in the village where Isobel had grown up. She would have to marry him—here, before their very eyes. It was the only solution. The doubting Thomases of the villages would be satisfied that Isobel’s reputation was intact if they were actually wed in Carrbridge.
If he didn’t and the worst happened to him her reputation would be in tatters, even if she somehow escaped his father. She could never be a governess again, not if a future employer looked into her background. Even a whiff of scandal was enough to destroy her character, and the sphere of high society was smaller than anyone realized. Because of him, Isobel would be defenseless and without resources, unable to earn a living.
But if they were married, her status as his widow would protect her forever. Isobel would bear his name, and he could leave her all or part of his fortune—the piece that was independent of his father and the estate. The count would be forced to deal with her fairly.
Especially if she bears you a child.
His heart picked up and his body grew warm as he stole a sidelong glance at his witch. She was looking out the window on the other side of the carriage, the fine line of her cheek and neck silhouetted against the light of afternoon. The deep longing he had been trying to bury surfaced, nearly overwhelming him.
He would speak to her tonight.
***
The streak of darkness in Matteo’s aura had become more pronounced. It wasn’t as dense as when she’d met him in the Montgomery home, but it was there, no longer hiding from her mind’s eye.