“You goddamn bitch. You think to take your place as my wife in my home, in my life? Well, think again!”
“We can find a mutually satisfactory arrangement, Nick.” Patricia smoothed her skirts. “I will reside elsewhere, of course. Our paths need never cross. You must only furnish me with a reasonable allowance and my inheritance, which I left behind in my haste to flee you six years ago.”
“I will gladly give you the ten thousand pounds that is your estate,” the earl spat. “I have no need of it.” The enormity of the dilemma facing him confronted him squarely, painfully. “God!” he cried, realizing with anguish that his wife was Patricia, not Jane.
“Don’t worry, you may keep her. It suits me, in fact. But of course you cannot live with her,” Patricia said. “It would be too indiscreet.”
He whirled. He wanted to strangle her. “Maybe I should do what everyone accused me of doing all those years back,” he growled. “Maybe I should kill you!”
Patricia paled.
“Don’t,” the earl warned, pacing forward. “Don’t you dare to give me ultimatums.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, eyeing him with fear.
“Did you know I was tried for your murder?” He was shaking with fury. He saw the flash of fear again in her eyes. “You were in hiding, pretending to be dead—while I was almost convicted!”
“I didn’t know.”
He was sure she was lying, he saw it in her eyes. “You unbelievably selfish, self-centered bitch. Am I to assume you were with Boltham? He left for America after the trial, did he not?” Again, he did not need her answer. “You didn’t shed one tear over your son, did you?” he snarled.
“Chad is yours,” she said, shoulders squared, head held high. Distaste twisted her lips. “Every bit yours.”
He compared her to Jane, beautiful, big-hearted Jane, and could not believe he had ever loved her. “Who died in the fire?” the earl shot.
“My maid, the Irish girl.” Patricia shrugged. “The silly twit fell in her haste to flee and hit her head. I had to leave her behind.”
“Did you start the fire, Patricia?”
“No.”
The earl knew it was a lie.
She shrugged. “You cannot prove anything.”
“You would go to such extremes to escape me? And you feel not a jot of guilt for that poor girl who died?”
“I hate you,” Patricia suddenly hissed. “I’ve always hated you, from the moment we met! I did what I had to! I would do it again!”
The earl had a sudden idea. “Who has seen you? Other than the servants? Who knows you are still alive?”
“No one who knows me,” Patricia said. “Except Boltham, of course.”
“I will give you more money than you can possibly spend,” the earl said vehemently. “But I want you to get out of this country and never come back. Do you understand?”
Patricia smiled. “So you can live with your new wife as if I am really dead? Forget it! I am tired of America. Boltham bores me. And he is penniless too. I want my place back in Society. I am not leaving. I am tired of being an anonymous English noblewoman!”
“You selfish bitch,” the earl said.
It was over, wasn’t it? It was over before it had really begun. Their life together. His wife,his first love, was back, to claim her rightful place at his side. Why else would she appear? Jane hugged her pillow and wept.
Fate was so cruel, to bring her and Nicholas together then wrench them apart. How, how would she survive?
And they weren’t even married. His wife was Patricia, she was just his paramour in the eyes of God and the law. Jane sobbed harder.
Did he still love Patricia?
And now what?
