The corruption was slowly building inside him. To make matters worse, she was home.
The village of Carrbridge hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d left. The bakery had an addition built, and the Lawsons had knocked down one of the shacks they called tenant cottages and finally built a new one. Other than that, the place was startling in its sameness.
She doubted her former neighbor’s attitude to her and her family had changed much, either. If she’d been alone, her reception would be icy, to say the least. But with an Italian count and his son in tow, well, there was no saying how the village would react.
Distracted by her memories, she dragged herself from the carriage with little enthusiasm. She didn’t bother with her veil—there was no hiding from the past. Not here.
Once inside the inn, she could feel dozens of eyes on her. Exhausted and consumed with morbid thoughts she kept her eyes on Matteo’s back as he introduced himself and asked for rooms.
“One for myself and one for my fiancée, Isobel,” he finished.
“Fiancee?” the innkeeper asked, his wide eyes swinging to hers.
Isobel froze, her face impassive as Matteo continued. “Yes, my lovely betrothed is from these parts. We came here to be married. We meant to come in finer weather, but our plans were delayed by the unfortunate death of my mother,” he said, gesturing to Isobel’s black gown. “But the time of mourning is over, and I didn’t want to wait a minute longer to make this beautiful creature my bride. I trust the old magistrate Isobel mentioned is still alive? I’d like him to perform our wedding, just as soon as we find the perfect location...”
Her head filled with a formless buzzing as Matteo enthusiastically detailed their wedding plans. The innkeeper, whom she vaguely remembered as being friendly with her father, gave her a genuine smile and bent to kiss her hand in congratulations. Both Matteo and his father frowned upon the familiar gesture, but they were soon distracted by the flow of regulars that rose to offer them their felicitations.
Most of the people she recognized, although the majority looked like they had aged more than the four years she’d been absent. Almost all of them restricted their warm greetings to her fake fiancé. At best she got a distant nod. No one but the old innkeeper—Tom?—tried to touch her, which was probably for the best considering the flare up she’d seen in Matteo’s aura when his hands had made contact with hers.
When the noise and crowd became too much, Matteo led her to the private parlor the ladies of the village used for their Bible study, while the count went upstairs to inspect the available rooms.
Matteo shut the door behind them and led her to a weathered chaise lounge. She didn’t realize that she was trembling until he took both her hands in his.
“My lord, how could you say that? Now they’ll be expecting a wedding!” she hissed, her eyes wide.
He knelt down in front of her. “Isabella, it’s the only way. We have to get married.”
She withdrew her hands and shook her head violently. “You could have said we were already wed, like before.”
“No,” he said quietly. “That’s not possible...and it’s my fault. I should have realized.”
“Realized what?” she asked, slightly dizzy with confusion and anger.
“You’re simply too recognizable here. And what you said about the locals—how they feel about your family—still holds true. The staff at the last inn didn’t even let me explain that we were man and wife. Unfortunately, it’s all too clear that the people who know and distrust your family still want to believe the worst of you. They won’t accept that you’re my wife unless they see us married with their own eyes. And...” He trailed off and looked down.
“And what?”
He reached for her again before stopping short. His head drew back. “I will not pretend that any of this is fair. I have already asked so much from you. But I’ve been thinking about how this is going to end. I know the chances of you finding a cure for me are very slim. And when this is over, when I’m gone, you are going to have a problem. Two problems really. Your reputation, and my father.”
She was starting to have some idea of what he was thinking, but the reality of what he was proposing was simply too much take in.
“Both of those problems would be solved by our union,” he continued. “It would not do for a man in my father’s position to be seen mistreating his daughter-in-law. And you would have access to my fortune and the protection of my name.”
The way he was avoiding her eyes told her this wasn’t just about what he was offering—it was also about what he wanted.
“But this marriage will be a real marriage, won’t it?”