The Count's Secret Child

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She took a deep breath. “You’re right,” she said in a low voice. “We did have a deal. But I was too much of an innocent to know how making love to you would bind my heart. And I didn’t realize you’d be able to toss me aside so easily the moment I admitted my feelings.” Her voice trembled and she looked away. “The next man I love will be different,” she whispered. “He will be honest and strong. He will love me back.”

The next man I love. A low sense of unease went through Théo’s soul like a roll of distant thunder. The next man I love. The thought of Carrie taking a lover disquieted him. More than disquieted. Enraged. He tried to push away the feeling. Jealousy was just another form of weakness—of attachment.

He set his jaw, focusing on the facts. “Let me see the baby.”

With visible reluctance, Carrie turned her shoulder so he could see the baby in the moonlight. He frowned down at the child she’d called his son. It was possible, he admitted to himself grudgingly. The child had dark hair. But all babies looked more or less the same, didn’t they, with plump cheeks and big eyes?

“Your bodyguard didn’t even mention him?” she asked quietly.

He looked up at Carrie abruptly. “He did call about a complication. But I told him I didn’t give a damn. I just wanted you here.” He paused. “I just wanted you …”

Carrie’s wide-set hazel eyes looked up at him, limpid and clear as a mountain lake beneath the moonlight of the garden. Théo felt a current of electricity sizzle down his body. He still wanted her. More than ever. Licking his lips, he took a single step toward her.

She held out her hand. “No,” she whispered. She stepped back from him, her lips twisting bitterly as she glanced back at the table of candles and roses. “There will be no seduction. I’ll never be yours again. I’m here only for Henry.”

With a deep breath, he looked down at the child in her arms. “You named him Henry? After your father?”

She nodded. “Henry Powell.”

Théo blinked. Then he sucked in his breath as he looked at her, his eyes wide with shock. “You claim he is mine, but you did not give him my name?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t deserve it.”

The depth of the insult was a slap across the jaw. If there was any chance the baby was his son …

“I want to get a paternity test,” he said harshly. “Until I have proof either way, both you and the child will stay.”

She went pale. She swallowed.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stay here. I won’t.”

He exhaled. “So you admit you were lying? The baby will fail the test.”

She stiffened, her eyes looking large and luminous in the moonlight. “He won’t fail. He’s your son. But I wish to God he weren’t. All I want now is for us both to be free of you forever.” She turned her face, looking wistfully out into the night. “And we were so close …”

Free of him?

Théo stared at her in shock. Free of him. What a strange idea. Women always tried to stay in his life as long as possible. They wept when he left. And yet Carrie Powell was acting as if she truly didn’t want him in her life—or her child’s.

It wasn’t a pretense or a game. He saw that in her eyes. She was truly praying that he would let her go.

“If I’m really his father,” he said evenly, “I have no choice but to take responsibility.”

“You haven’t taken responsibility for a year, and we’ve all been very happy without you,” she said coolly.

“I don’t think you understand,” he bit out. “I would take care of the child. Financially.”

“I’m not interested in your money. I just want to go home.”

“If Henry is my son, your home is here.”

With an intake of breath, she looked around the fragrant green garden and shook her head. “There’s no love here.”

For a long moment their eyes locked. The two of them seemed suspended in time. Above them, unseen night birds sang mournfully from the black trees against the violet horizon, and his heart slowed in his chest.

Then his lip curled. “You would decide a baby’s fate on something that does not last? You would base your life on a fantasy like love?”

“It’s not a fantasy!” she cried. “It’s real. Love is the only thing that makes a home!”

Scornfully, he shook his head, exhaling with a flare of his nostrils. “I’m not letting you leave until I have proof whether or not he is my son.”

Her eyes went wide, as if he’d just suggested she swim naked in a crocodile-infested moat. “But a paternity test could take days! Weeks!”

Théo suspected that for the right price he could have an answer far sooner than that, but he didn’t share that information with her. “However long it takes, you will stay.”

Trembling, she lifted her chin. “You can’t keep me here.”

“No?”

“This isn’t the Dark Ages. I’m not some serf on your estate, Monsieur le Comte. You can’t hold me against my will, I’m not your slave!”

Théo’s lips curved upward. “Slave? No.” He came toward her. He saw the effort it took for her to stand her ground as he bent and whispered, “But I could make you my prisoner.”

He felt her tremble as his lips brushed against the flesh of her ear. Satisfied, he drew away.

She shrank back, even as she tried to toss her head. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.” He walked around her, slowly looking her up and down. “Do you understand what I do for a living? How I’ve made my fortune?”

“You buy struggling companies and break them up for parts. For profit.”

“Oui. I buy things. I buy people.” He paused. “That family you love so much in Seattle. What do you think I could do to them if I chose?”

She sucked in her breath, searching his gaze. “Nothing!”

He lifted a tranquil dark eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“It’s an empty threat! You couldn’t touch them!”

He looked down at her in amusement. “You really are an innocent.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Do you have any idea of the influence I could wield against … peut-être … the bank that holds your parents’ loans? Or the companies that employ your brothers?”

Carrie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath near her baby’s soft dark hair. When she opened her eyes, they were full of grief. “To think I once loved you. I was a fool to ever think you were a knight in shining armor, or even a decent man.”

The same strange pang went through his chest. He pushed the feeling away, setting his jaw. “Decide.”

“I won’t let you blackmail me. I’m not afraid of you.” She lifted her chin. “I’m leaving. Go ahead. Do your worst.”

“So brave,” he murmured, “and so reckless. It would be better for you to give in to my wishes. Keep your family safe. Does one of your brothers need a job, perhaps? A loan? A gift? I could be a valuable friend.”