A Mad Lady’s Confession - Chapter 2

『A Lady’s Secret Private Life』

A few days ago, remembering the headline of a cheap gossip paper, he ground his teeth. Lemren nobles prided themselves on valuing etiquette and reputation above their lives, yet in truth, there wasn’t a single noble who didn’t read that paper.

It didn’t even have a name. It was simply called “the Paper.”

That single sheet of paper, filled with every kind of secret and filthy rumor from the capital, was something no one dared to speak of aloud, but everyone knew about it, and everyone enjoyed it.

Count Carmarthen was no exception. As always, in the privacy of his study, he poured himself a glass of fine rum, bit down on a cigar, and read through that day’s edition.

It was an outrageously lurid and vulgar piece of gossip about a certain noblewoman who made no attempt to hide her infatuation with a “blessedly handsome man,” and who supposedly had no hesitation to lift her skirts at any time to indulge in pleasure.

The description of the handsome man was clearly referring to the dignified Matthias Nielsen.

The count read the article with growing excitement.

Just imagine it—a pure, noble lady lifting the hem of her voluminous gown, her face flushed with heat and desire. The article conjured such crude, stimulating scenes.

As he read, Count Carmarthen, overcome with excitement for the first time in a long while, unbuckled his belt and fondled his short member.

His heavy breathing continued until his gaze stopped at the end of the article—and froze.

Reddish-brown hair, an amber bracelet, a long neck….

The noblewoman in the paper looked exactly like someone very close to him.

Fueled by the rage he’d felt that day, Count Carmarthen placed his hand on the bronze door handle. He threw open the grand door with all his might, ready to let out a thunderous roar.

“How utterly disgraceful…!”

But before his angry voice could even fully escape, it broke off. The scene before his eyes was far from what he had imagined.

The obscene, chaotic sight he’d expected wasn’t there.

There were no ragged breaths, no moans, no humid, sticky air heavy with lust.

It was quiet. Calm and composed—cold, even—like the mansion’s master himself. There was no trace of the scene he had pictured. Of course, the person he’d expected was there.

“…Honey!”

Kneeling on the floor, with reddish-brown hair, a long neck, and amber-patterned marks on her arm, was his wife, calling out to him in a shrill voice.

“You’re late, Count Carmarthen.”

A deep, resonant voice, heavy like an echo inside a cave, spread through the drawing room. Turning his head as if entranced, the count’s gaze finally found the tall figure in his view.

In that instant, the rage that had filled Count Carmarthen’s gut was pushed aside. For a brief moment, what filled him instead was pure, untimely admiration. A primal reverence for beauty.

The man leaning casually against the half-open terrace window was merely drinking tea, yet his presence held their gaze captive.

Standing at six feet three, with broad shoulders and long legs, the man’s build was both powerful and graceful. The hand holding the teacup, the lips tasting the tea, the brief expression as he savored it—every movement was captivating.

Count Carmarthen and his wife both stared, forgetting their circumstances, at the man known as Lemren’s Third Blessing.

Everyone said the same thing about him: that his face was one blessed and favored by Lemren’s god.

A breeze drifted in through the open window, gently tousling his thick, unstyled blond hair. With it came the cool, sweet scent of the man’s body, filling the silence of the drawing room.

Ah—

A low moan escaped the countess’s lips before she could stop herself.

The count clenched his teeth in fury. He thought, That damn face. That’s the source of it all. That delicate, refined face that could seduce every woman in the Empire, noble or commoner alike.

The ladies of Lemren all wanted one of two things: to be beneath that man, or on top of him.

And of course, the gentlemen of Lemren weren’t much different in their divided opinions. They either desperately sought to get close to him, or secretly ground their teeth in jealousy behind his back.

Count Carmarthen was closer to the latter, though he wasn’t foolish enough to speak his thoughts aloud. The man before him was none other than Matthias Nielsen.

The Duke of Nielsen, lord of Gammelstad, governor of the Imperial Coastal Territory, and nephew of the late empress. No one in their right mind would dare speak carelessly in front of him.

Still, even Count Carmarthen had something to demand at this moment.

“Duke Nielsen, I believe you owe me an explanation for what’s going on here.”

The countess was still kneeling. Judging by her husband’s expression, she should have stood up by now, but she didn’t move at all, as if standing would be an even greater crime.

The count continued, trembling with fury, “In broad daylight, my wife visits your mansion in secret, and now I find her in this state. I’d like to hear your explanation for that.”

Count Carmarthen spoke with forced composure, but if the rumors printed in “the Paper” were true, he had no intention of letting this go. He was even prepared to petition the Imperial Court for a formal trial. Perhaps he could even claim some compensation.

As he thought ahead, imagining how to utterly disgrace the arrogant Duke Nielsen, a low, unhurried voice snapped him back to reality.

“I think I’m the one who should be asking for an explanation.”

At that careless remark, the count lifted his head. Matthias, who had placed his teacup casually on the window frame, began to walk toward the couple.

Without offering his guests a seat, he sat down alone in the buffalo-leather chair. Leaning back against the rest, he crossed his long legs with unhurried arrogance and lit a cigar with practiced ease.

With a soft exhale, the duke released a faint trail of smoke, looking unbearably languid, indifferent, and yet unbearably captivating.

It was a terribly indecent thought, but the paper’s claim that “Matthias Nielsen would’ve amassed more fortune as a courtesan than as a nobleman” didn’t seem entirely wrong.

“How do you even manage your household, Count?”

“…What, what did you just say?”

The count’s voice faltered. He straightened himself, trying to regain composure.

“I asked how a married woman like your wife ended up visiting my mansion in the middle of the day.”

“The one who should be explaining here is you, not me, Duke!”

When he turned, his wife was still on her knees like a sinner. Their eyes met, and her neck flushed red as she lowered her head.

“My wife, the Countess, what crime has she committed that she’s kneeling like this? I demand an answer!”

Matthias pressed the cigar into the silver ashtray, his expression weary.

“She said she wanted to be my mistress, Count Carmarthen.”

“…Your… mistress? Hah.”

“And the kneeling, I didn’t make her do that. A gentleman wouldn’t ask such a thing of a lady.”

The count turned his gaze to his wife.

The countess ignored her husband’s glare and continued staring only at Matthias. Her expression was filled with longing and desperation.

“She begged me, on her knees, to let her stay by my side. What could I do? I couldn’t very well have the servants drag the Countess of Carmarthen out by force. So I sent you a letter, asking you to come take her away.”

Count Carmarthen’s eyes turned sharp as he glared at his wife. Her face went pale as she hurriedly protested.

“No, that’s not true! I only came to ask for an invitation to the concert you’re hosting, Duke! I never made such a request!”

So much for all that desperate pleading from before.

Matthias smirked at her sudden change of attitude. Not that he’d ever been interested, but seeing her now made him feel even more repulsed.

He said lazily, “Countess Carmarthen.”

“Y-yes?”

Her face flushed red as their eyes met. He’d heard she was ten years younger than her husband, and indeed, her beauty resembled that of a fresh rose, but Matthias’s gaze remained indifferent.

“Then were you not serious about becoming my mistress?

“…Ah.”

“To be honest, I was impressed by your courage. For a lady, kneeling must’ve been even harder. So… I’d like to make you an offer.”

Their eyes met instantly, hers filled with expectation.

“If you kiss the floor, I’ll accept your wish. I’ll also make sure Count Carmarthen understands. What do you say?”