Page 41 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“I am the Countess Lizaveta Ethelinda. You and I met on Martinique and shared the passion of a night together. Well, this is the result,” she said, pointing to her stomach, as Nicholas turned pale.
“I … I do not know what you are talking about. It is true that I was on Martinique, but only briefly, and I remember no countess, certainly not one as … memorable as you,” Nicholas said, growing red, his brow sweaty, as all eyes in the room turned to him.
“Do I mean so little to you that you would cast me out in such a way? I am carrying your child,” the countess cried, flinging herself forward in a theatrical act of passion, causing Nicholas to stumble back.
“Unhand me, woman, how dare you,” he cried as she sank to her knees and pulled at his coat tails, beginning to sob and wail in a most astonishing fashion.
“The woman is mad; we must have her taken away,” Duchess Sinclair declared, pointing Waltham to the door and instructing her to summon the footman.
“Is the story true?” Catherine asked as the countess continued to wail.
“It is not true. Of course, it is not true,” Nicholas replied, firmly removing the countess’ hands from his waistcoat as Rebecca looked on in astonishment.
But despite herself, she could still not entirely disbelieve the woman’s story. There remained a doubt, one which was growing stronger. She remembered Nicholas as he was in the library, overtaken by intoxication, so much so that he knew little of what he was doing, nor, she fancied, did he remember it. Could this have been the same? A night of drinking followed by …
It sickened her to think of it, to think of Nicholas in the throes of passion with this woman, just as he had been with her. But the stakes were higher now, the outcome more devastating. If the child was truly Nicholas’ what then? The scandal would rock the tonand shatter Nicholas’ reputation once and for all, leaving Rebecca with nothing, the wife of a disgraced man with a bastard child to dog him all his life. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her head felt faint as she looked up at Catherine and Samantha for reassurance.
“Can it be?” she whispered, and Samantha squeezed her hand.
“We must know more before we can decide,” Samantha replied.
“It is time you left,” Duchess Sinclair said, pointing to the countess and then to the drawing room door.
“Will you not acknowledge me?” the countess asked, and Duchess Sinclair pursed her lips.
“If Nicholas says he does not know you then I am satisfied,” she replied, and the countess laughed.
“Ever the faithful mother. Well, we shall see about that. My story is true, and I shall not rest until all of London knows it,” she cried, rising to her feet, and drawing herself up to her full height, as Nicholas shrank back.
“You are a liar, nothing but a liar,” he hissed.
“You know it to be true, the way you held me, the passion in your eyes, the way you kissed me, the words you spoke. You told me that you loved me.” Reaching forward, she pulled Nicholas toward her and kissed him as Rebecca let out a cry of anguish.
“That is enough, madam,” Nicholas cried, pushing the countess back as two footmen entered the room.
“Make her leave,” Duchess Sinclair said, and the two footmen took hold of the countess and dragged her from the room, her cries resounding through the hallway as Nicholas looked around at the rest of the party in a state of shock.
“I … I do not know her,” he gasped.
“I think it is time that Samantha and I were leaving,” Catherine said, and Samantha nodded.
“Yes, we shall call upon you tomorrow, Rebecca,” she said, and they both hurried from the room, leaving Rebecca, Nicholas, and Duchess Sinclair alone.
“Well?” his mother said, fixing Nicholas with a hard stare.
“I am telling the truth. I know nothing of the woman, nothing at all. I have never heard of a Countess Elizaveta Ethelinda, nor do I remember meeting such a woman on Martinique. There were parties, and there were women there, but none such as her. I would never forget her, not so long as I live. But you must believe me, Rebecca, you simply must.” He rushed to Rebecca’s side and knelt before her.
Rebecca was still in shock, the events of the day seeming almost too incredible to take in. Her doubts remained, and, if anything, they were growing stronger. Despite Nicholas’ words, she could not help but think that there may be some truth to the countess’ story, as ugly as it was. Duchess Sinclair had spoken so often of Nicholas’ infidelity, and here was a woman purporting to substantiate that claim.
There was no denying that the countess was beautiful, exotic in looks and temperament, a woman who had no doubt dashed the hearts of many men in her journey through life. She was just the sort of woman that Rebecca could believe Nicholas attracted to, a woman unafraid to take what she wanted, especially given Nicholas’ titles and wealth. Rebecca looked at Nicholas, trying so desperately to believe him, and yet doubting him at the same time too.
“She knew such intimate details, Nicholas,” Rebecca whispered as Nicholas looked up at her imploringly.
“Believe me, Rebecca, the very thought of a child is anathema to me in such circumstances. I think of the cruel way in which I was treated by my own father, his snide remarks, his lack of feeling, the manner in which he dismissed me, just like my mother. How could I ever think of bringing a child into the world if I knew it would live a life like I have lived? No, the only person I could contemplate such a thing with is you. Please, you must know the sincerity of what I say,” he cried, and Rebecca shook her head.
“I want to, and I know your own father treated you so badly, Nicholas. But perhaps you did not know; how could you have known? It is no guarantee that a child will result from a union, and more so is the pity for many. But in this case, it seems the conception was no difficulty,” Rebecca said, growing angry at him, the tears rising in her eyes.
“I say again, I do not know the woman. I deny all knowledge of her. This baby, it is not mine, I would swear an oath to it. On all I hold dear, upon our marriage, and all that is sacred, I say I do not know her,” he said, clenching his fist.
