There were three large trunks downstairs, not two. That had been a bit of a surprise. She’d had no idea her grandmother’s library was so extensive. Matteo had told her they would be hiring a second carriage to take everything away at the end of the week.
She’d been hoping they wouldn’t be traveling farther than Edinburgh, but the compromise Matteo reached with Aldo had been London. They would go to town for the remainder of the little Season. The situation wasn’t ideal, but the Conte had been adamant. Edinburgh wasn’t good enough. If he couldn’t go home to Italy, he would enjoy himself in London, where he had many friends.
The plan was to rent a house outside of town, one with a conservatory she could use to grow things. They would also hire an agent here in Scotland to collect herbs and powders from local apothecaries up and down the countryside. If necessary, they would engage men to scour the hills themselves, buying the things she needed.
Meg had also stopped by, her friendly smile missing a few more teeth than when Isobel had seen her last. The midwife had happily promised a healthy portion of her stock of the local herbs, for a nominal price. She assumed Isobel had decided to take up her grandmother’s mantle as a healer, and she let her believe that. In a real way, it was the truth.
Isobel had also arranged for Meg or her daughter to send her whatever else she might need by post, with the promise of paying her handsomely for her trouble.
She was trying to distract herself by mentally reviewing the herbs that could still be found in the hills and woods during this time of the year and what she might need to preserve their potency.
All of these plans seemed unimportant when Matteo entered the room. He was wearing a clean pair of breeches and another one of those soft shirts, but he hadn’t bothered to fasten it.
His hair was wet, and she wondered if he was cold. The fire was low in the hearth, and the room was a bit chilly. But she didn’t feel cold. Quite the opposite.
Stop being a pea-goose, she lectured herself.
It was true her mother had never had a chance to speak to her about what would happen on this night, but Isobel had grown up on a farm. She had a fairly good idea of what was supposed to occur. And there was the fact she’d been in service and had been friendly with the staff at all of her positions. The lower classes were far less reserved when it came to discussing intimate matters than their social superiors…
Matteo grinned at her from across the room, a sensual and intensively private smile. Tensing, she squinted at him in the dim light, trying to assess how pronounced the darkness in his aura had become. There was barely a trace of it, and she relaxed—but only slightly.
“So everything is arranged with the midwife?” he asked.
She’d mentioned Meg’s visit earlier when he’d come back to the cottage.
“Yes, between her and her daughter we’ll have someone knowledgeable on all the local plants ready to supply us. It’s not as good as being here ourselves, but I must admit I’d rather not spend any time here if I don’t have to.”
Matteo’s face softened. “We won’t be here long. I sent a messenger ahead asking for an agent to find us a house to let outside of London. Two houses actually.”
“Two?”
“My father has elected to take a house in town, whereas I think we’ll be better served by a larger one outside of town, one with a conservatory as we discussed.”
That was the best news she’d heard in ages, and it must of showed on her face because her husband laughed.
She smiled and blushed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I know how he can be. I’m simply used to it.” He sat on the bed, taking his time to admire her in her modest nightclothes. “I had hoped you’d still be dressed, actually. I had looked forward to helping you undress, the first of my many duties as a husband.”
Isobel’s face flamed and she held her breath as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. He withdrew slightly and moved down, pressing another to her cheek and then her chin and neck.
When he finally reached her lips, she had parted them to suck in a much-needed breath. It made it easy for him to tease her mouth open with his tongue.
Startled, Isobel drew her head back sharply into the pillows to stare at him.
“Has no one kissed you before, cara?”
“Not like that,” she said, wide-eyed.
He laughed and glanced down at his chest. She followed his gaze with a hot blush as he slowly removed his shirt and boots. He took her hand and placed it over his heart before moving it up to his lips.
Clasping it in turn, she tugged on his hand and he moved, crawling over her like a predatory cat.
His body came down over hers as he took her lips again. The kiss was more aggressive this time and hungrier. It robbed her of her sense as his body pressed into hers.
A flash of fear ran through her, the memory of that night intruding on this moment, but it passed as the warmth of Matteo’s bare skin began to heat her own.
It was not him, she told herself firmly, before closing her eyes.