Surfacing from sleep, he looked up at her. She was wearing his favorite day dress, a green muslin that matched the color of her eyes. It was a simple gown, modestly cut, and it always made him want to make love to her. Not the frenzied intercourse when the demon was in control, but a slow sweet joining. Something human. That wasn’t possible anymore.
If he wanted Isobel, it always came, eager to touch her too. Even now that he was starting to remember the experiences, to feel them as his own, it was like he was spinning out of control—a mere observer of the play. So he’d stopped asking Isobel for his husbandly rights. It wasn’t fair to her when the demon already demanded so much.
His wife leaned over him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She never did that.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up.
The tiniest smirk betrayed her before her countenance sobered.
“It’s time, Matteo.”
“Oh.” His head suddenly felt like it was filling with air. He gave himself a hard shake before following her out of bed. Regaining his equilibrium, he put on his boots. “I had no idea that you were so close to being ready.”
“I thought it better to surprise you, in case...”
She didn’t need to finish.
Nodding, he followed her out of the room. Once in the hallway, she gestured for him to head down the stairs. On the other side of the windows the light was already fading, which meant he’d slept most of the day away. Again.
At the foyer, he hesitated. Had she prepared the ritual in the library or the conservatory? It made more sense to use the conservatory since the ritual was supposed to use fire, but he hated going in there now, and Isobel must despise it.
“Where are we going?” he asked when Isobel led him past the entrance to the library and down the hallway to the kitchen.
There was no one there. They didn’t have many staff, but the few they did have always congregated in the kitchen. If nothing else, Cook was a fixture there. But the kitchen was still and dark, the hearth cold. He found it disquieting.
“I gave the entire staff the night off,” she said belatedly before opening the back door.
A blast of icy wind greeted them. It was bitingly cold outside, and Isobel was only wearing a light dress.
“I think you need your pelisse. Have you chosen the woods as our venue?”
“No, and don’t worry. It’s not far.” She pointed at the external greenhouse.
Of course, he should have realized. They had never used it, but he’d been assured by his agent that it was in good working order. Since the conservatory had been more convenient for their use, he’d never even bothered to go inside. As far as he knew no one else did either. Isobel had chosen well.
The inside of the greenhouse was a large rectangular space. Old work benches and tables lined the walls, leaving a cleared area in the center. Grooves in the dirt showed that Isobel must have recently moved the tables herself. Other miscellaneous garden tools and supplies were stacked in the corner nearest the door.
The cleared space wasn’t empty. A large circle, bisected in half, had been drawn in white in the dirt. It was surrounded by a few crates filled with small boxes and little bottles. A larger dark brown glass bottle stoppered with cork and wax was set in front of the boxes. On the other side of the circle rested a small stack of kindling. There was an unlit lantern next to it.
“You’ve been busy. I’m sorry you had to do all of this on your own,” he observed.
“It wasn’t all that much work,” she said dismissively, but the tension in her posture was obvious.
Now that they were in the greenhouse she was moving stiffly, the line of her shoulders unnaturally straight. He wanted to reassure her, but his own anxiety was eating at him.
Watching with interest, his eyes tracked her as she reached into the crate for a small box and began pouring more white powder on the circle’s diameter. It glittered oddly.
“I thought that was chalk, but it’s something else isn’t it? Some sort of mineral? Powdered quartz or some other semi-precious stone?”
Isobel smiled as she lit the lamp, the light casting a golden glow on her face. She had never looked more beautiful. But then again, he thought that every time he saw her.
“It’s salt, actually.”
That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Salt?”
“A substance of vastly underestimated properties.”
He snorted slightly. “A bit like governesses.”
Her eyes glowed in the lamplight, but she didn’t reply. “You should take off your shirt for this. I think direct contact with your skin will help,” she said with a duck of her head and a trace of apology in her voice.
Feeling a bit more like his old self, he gave her a teasing smile.
“If you wanted to see my bare chest, there’s no need to make excuses,” he said as he pulled off his waistcoat and thick cotton shirt. “All you ever need to do is ask.”
She didn’t smile back. “Unfortunately, direct contact with your skin means a greater likelihood of sustaining burns. In this case, they would be to your chest, just here,” she said, placing her hand high on her stomach.