Uncertainty flooded Isobel. She couldn’t very well refuse, could she? How would that look? With a stiff smile, she gave Matteo her arm and they followed the others into dinner.
The situation didn’t improve over the meal. Lady Montgomery had seated the party according to rank, so Isobel was at the other end of the table from Matteo, too far for conversation. But that didn’t stop him from staring at her throughout the meal. And because he did, everyone else did too.
She could feel the weight of the Conte and Sir Clarence’s displeasure, but there was little she could do about it. She focused on Mrs. Sanderson, who was seated next to her, asking her about her local charity work while concentrating on swallowing her meal without dropping her fork or spilling her drink.
Almost a decade younger than her dour husband, Beatrice Sanderson occupied herself with good works in the neighborhood, which also gave her a great opportunity to indulge in her favorite pastime, gossip.
At one point in the meal, Sir Clarence succeeded in claiming Matteo’s attention with a discussion on the local hunting.
Mrs. Sanderson took advantage of the opportunity to lean in and whisper under the guise of drinking wine with her, “You’ve been busy, I see.”
Flushing at the unspoken assumption that she had done something to attract the young lord’s attention, Isobel gave her a surreptitious shake of her head while sipping her own glass. She had always liked Mrs. Sanderson and lying to a minister’s wife didn’t sit right with her.
She pasted a fake smile on her face and spoke from between her teeth. “I haven’t actually. I’m not sure what’s going on. You just witnessed my first meeting with our illustrious guests.”
Mrs. Sanderson’s smile became fixed as well. “Oh, that is interesting,” she said in a low voice.
She looked over at Matteo, who had resumed his study of Isobel until his father spoke to him again. Once his eyes were averted Mrs. Sanderson leaned in. “I would not wish to discourage you should this be a beneficial...er, interest, but I would advise caution.”
Isobel nodded and smiled in response, uncomfortably aware of the Montgomerys disapproving glances before she changed the subject to the weather.
After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, dinner finally ended. She and the other ladies withdrew to the parlor while the men stayed behind to enjoy their port. Isobel gave silent thanks to the observation of this particular ritual as it gave her the chance to escape from the Garibaldis’ collective scrutiny. After a few minutes of conversation with the ladies she excused herself, pleading a headache.
Though she did have the beginnings of a headache, Isobel was most concerned with getting away before the men rejoined the women. It was obvious neither the Conte nor her employer approved of the young lord’s interest in her.
She reached the second-floor landing with a sigh of relief. Inching carefully down the dimly lit hallway in her long skirts, she felt a hand on her arm and nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Forgive me, signorina,” Matteo Garibaldi said in his dark velvety accent. “I did not mean to frighten you.”
Isobel stared at him with wide eyes. “My lord! How did you come up behind me without me hearing you?”
She didn’t understand. With his tall muscular frame, she should have heard something: the sound of his footsteps on the stairs or a creak of the floorboards. But there had been nothing, she was sure of it.
Matteo shrugged and smiled. “I walk quietly. Again, my apologies for surprising you. I had hoped to be able to speak with you more. Perhaps you would join me in a stroll in the garden tomorrow?”
For a moment, Isobel was truly flattered. There had never been any young men in her life, none that admired her near her own station. And Matteo was well-built and handsome with elegant manners.
But there was something in his voice, an unnatural intensity, that didn’t match his simple request. His eyes rested on her like dark pools in the dim light, and Isobel ’s heart picked up speed.
“Er, I’m sorry, my lord,” she said eventually. Her throat was tight, but she made herself say the words anyway. “I’m afraid that would not be appropriate.”
For a long moment he did not respond. The air filled with a tension that, to her overheated imagination, felt menacing. And it was affecting her vision. It was as if his eyes were gathering the shadows in the hall, pooling and growing blacker before her eyes.
Instinctively she stepped away but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I understand,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind later,” he added in a low tone before bowing and walking away.
Feet fixed to the floor, Isobel watched him leave. Once he was out of sight, she took a deep breath and hurried to her room. She readied herself for bed, climbing in and pulling the blanket up to her chin...but sleep was long in coming that night.
***
Fighting with all her strength, Isobel pushed Matteo away from her. The resulting cold was startling. Her eyes flew open.