Page 19 of The Rogue’s Countess

“Good night, my lady. My lord.”

Lady Helstone dipped her head slightly in Lady Wrotham’s direction and then his while avoiding his gaze completely. Not about to let her escape so easily, Gideon leaned forward to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“I shall say goodnight, as well.”

“But Gideon, you just arrived.”

“Exactly,” he said with an abrupt nod as he saw his quarry reach the door of his mother’s suite. “I’ve been traveling since first light, and I need sleep. I simply wanted to say hello.”

“You do look weary.” Alva stared at him intently for a moment, then nodded. “We’ll see you at breakfast?”

“Yes,” he said as he kissed her cheek. “Goodnight, Mama.”

Determined to catch his prey, Gideon closed the door to his mother’s suite behind him as he stepped out into the hall. Phoebe was already halfway down the corridor, but he quickly ate up the distance between them with his long stride.

He was only three steps behind her as she darted into one of the rooms generally reserved for guests. As the door was closing, he slapped his palm against the wood to keep it open. One hand pressed into the wood panel of the door, his other braced on the door jamb, Gideon stared into Phoebe’s wide eyes.

“I seem to recall you ran away the last time, too,” he bit out sharply.

She flinched at his harsh words and quickly retreated as he entered her room. Gideon took another step forward, and she fell back two. Grim satisfaction pounded its way through him. He’d wanted to put the fear of God in the woman, and from the look on her face, he’d succeeded. Smiling coldly, he closed the door behind him, and she gasped.

“Leave my room at once,” she exclaimed in horrified dismay.

Gideon studied her in silence for a moment. The soft glow of a nearby oil lamp highlighted gold flecks in her eyes he’d not noticed that night in Montjoy’s gardens. It had been her vulnerability that had ensnared him then. That he’d even noticed her eyes now or remembered her fragile state all those years ago irritated him all the more.

“I said, leave my room. Now.” Her command was fierce, and he saw a flash of anger cross her face.

“As this house belongs to me, I am entitled to venture into whatever room I please and to do whatever I wish in it, Lady Helstone.” At his sardonic reply, her lips parted slightly in astonishment before anger sent color flushing up over her cheekbones.

“My singular moment of indiscretion does not entitle you to do as you please in this room,” she spat out vehemently. “Although I confess, I am not surprised by your arrogant assumption. The depiction of you in the Currer Chronicles as a busy bee buzzing from one flower to the next in search of another conquest is quite accurate.”

The mention of the serial made Gideon clench his jaw so hard it made his face ache. If she’d thought to anger him even more, the mention of those damned chronicles was precisely how to do it. Gideon folded his arms across his chest for fear of unleashing the full force of his fury on her.

Fingers digging deep into hard muscles, he fought the urge to tug her into his arms and confirm her preconceived notions. Not that the idea wasn’t a tempting one. The problem was, it was far too enticing a thought. In the shadows of Montjoy’s garden, she’d been beautiful in a hauntingly fragile manner. Now, she exuded the fiery strength of a woman who would make bedroom sport exceptionally satisfying. Gideon arched his eyebrows.

“Perhaps I should show you how much more pleasurable it would be between us in a bed as opposed to being pressed up against a tree.” Gideon surprised himself at his suggestion and was irritated at how the thought of bedding her again sent a rush of excitement surging through his body.

“I have no intention of sharing any bed with you, my lord.”

Despite the adamant note in her voice, he saw the way her breasts rose and fell rapidly. Her lips were parted slightly, and the memory of silencing her cry of release five years ago sent pure lust hammering its way through him. Without thinking, he moved forward and stretched out his hand to rub his thumb across the side of her neck, where her pulse fluttered wildly beneath her skin. She trembled at his touch, and Gideon smiled at her reaction.

“Despite sounding like a termagant, your body betrays you, Phoebe. I think you’re more than tempted to invite me into your bed,” Gideon murmured.

He bent his head and brushed his mouth over her ear as he enjoyed the way another shudder wracked her body. The soft scent of roses wafted off her skin to fill his nostrils. Damn, but she smelled delicious. Gideon sucked in a deep breath of exasperation at his inability to control his attraction to her. He straightened and narrowed his gaze at her.

“However, be forewarned that our mutual exchange of pleasure will not gain you the title of countess.”

Astonishment and confusion swept across her face. The woman truly was an exceptional actress. If he hadn’t known she’d bought herself a title my marrying Helstone, he’d almost think her appalled at the idea of marriage.

§ § §

Phoebe stared at the man in shocked horror. Countess? The equilibrium she’d only just regained disappeared again. He actually believed she’d taken her position with Lady Wrotham to ingratiate herself with his mother in hopes of marrying him? The man was mad to think such a thing. She’d rather go cold and hungry than marry again, and she knew what those two companions were like.

As she’d crossed the floor of her employer’s suite, it had taken her several seconds to recognized him. The shadows in Montjoy’s garden had dimmed her memory of his handsome features, but any uncertainty as to his identity would have disappeared the moment he spoke.

When Gideon had greeted her, the voice she’d never forgotten brushed across her senses with the same potency as the night she’d given herself to him in the shadows of Montjoy’s garden. But it was his anger that had left her in a state of bewildered panic as she’d stared into his cold, silvery gaze. Whatever had aroused his fury, Phoebe had known it was directed at her.

At first, she’d thought he’d discovered she was the authoress of the Currer Chronicles. She’d immediately dismissed that possibility. The only person who knew she was P. Currer was Lady Lyndham. The woman had promised to keep her secret, and despite their short friendship, Phoebe believed her.