Page 2 of The Rogue’s Countess

“No, there has to be another way.” Phoebe shook her head in protest at the thought of losing her closest friend.

“I don’t see how, my pet.” Her friend released a harsh breath. “My money might keep me out of Newgate, but the scandal…Father’s unwell, and it will devastate him.”

“We’re not going to let it come to that. We’re going to find a way to stop Coombs,” Phoebe said with a firmness she didn’t feel. “And I find it reprehensible that Anthony deserted you so easily.”

“He didn’t desert me.” Lawrence rebuked her with a gentle glare before standing up to pace the floor again. “He pleaded with me to come with him.”

“And you chose not to leave because of your father.”

“If the scandal doesn’t kill him, Phoebe, learning the truth from someone other than me would.”

“Then you’re going to tell him?”

She eyed her friend with sympathy. For years, Lawrence had debated whether to reveal his lifestyle to his father. The two men were close, and the thought of his secret destroying that relationship tormented her friend. On more than one occasion, Phoebe had encouraged her friend to tell his father the truth.

She’d suspected the old earl already knew his son’s intimate relationships were not with those of the female persuasion. The fact that Lawrence’s father never pushed his son to marry made Phoebe believe he already suspected the truth. Her friend closed his eyes and jerked his head in a positive response.

“I have no choice,” he said grimly. “Coombs would take great pleasure in telling Father if I don’t tell him myself.”

“He loves you, Lawrence. That won’t change when you tell him the truth.”

“Perhaps. But he will be devastated nonetheless.”

Phoebe nibbled at her lip as she contemplated her friend’s predicament. He was right. Even if Lawrence’s father had already guessed his son’s secret, the earl would most likely still be upset by the news. It was one thing to ignore the possibility of a truth and something altogether different to be confronted with the reality of it.

No matter who told the earl that his son’s lifestyle was outside society’s boundaries, it would still distress the old man. She liked Lord Linshal a great deal and despised the thought of him being hurt by scandal. Phoebe released a soft sigh.

“If only fate had been kinder to us both. If you’d not been in France for all those months Father was prowling London in search of a title for me, things might have been different,” she said wistfully.

“Husband and wife.” A look of sadness crossed his handsome face as his mouth twisted in a slight grimace. “It would have been the perfect solution for both of us, would it not?”

“Yes.”

Phoebe nodded as she met her friend’s gaze. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought of what might have been. If they had been married—she drew in a sharp breath at the idea that flitted through her head. There would be a price, but she would willingly pay it to save her friend.

“You don’t have to tell your father. No one has to know,” Phoebe said in a resolute voice. “There is a way to make Coombs look like he simply wants to cause trouble.”

In quick succession, puzzlement, hope, and protest swept across Lawrence’s face as she’d laid out her plan. He’d immediately dismissed the idea stating no one would believe what she was proposing. Unfaltering in her determination to help her dearest friend and protect his father, Phoebe countered all of Lawrence’s arguments until he’d reluctantly agreed that it might work. It took her only a few minutes more to convince him that tonight was as good a chance as any to stop Coombs.

The only drawback to her scheme was Alfred’s reaction. She knew her husband would be furious at the thought of being cuckolded, but a part of her wanted a moment of vengeful satisfaction for all Alfred had put her through since they’d been married.

Water splashed quietly into the stone basin from the fountainhead behind her as a shrill, feminine laugh nearby made Phoebe tremble with trepidation. Where was Lawrence? She’d dropped several hints to Lady Lydia that she had an assignation in the garden. The woman was an infernal gossip, and Phoebe knew the woman would be watching her like a hawk to learn who her lover was. If they were to be caught in each other’s arms when Lady Lydia stumbled upon them, Lawrence needed to arrive soon.

Had he rethought his decision and decided not to follow through with her idea? If Lawrence thought for even an instant that Phoebe would suffer Alfred’s wrath, her friend wouldn’t meet her as they’d arranged. No sooner had the question slipped through her mind than a heavy tread on the gravel path made her jerk her head toward the sound.

Relief swept through her at the sight of the tall, masculine figure walking through the shadows in her direction. Only a short distance away, she heard another couple talking. When he hesitated, Phoebe leapt to her feet. She refused to let Lawrence rethink her proposition, and the presence of another couple nearby would help propagate the notion that they were involved.

“You came,” she exclaimed, making her voice loud enough to carry, but still inviting as if she were greeting her lover. Rushing forward, she launched herself into her friend’s arms and pressed her lips to his. It took only a split second for her to realize her mistake.

The body she’d flung herself against was hard and solid. Lawrence was not a weakling, but this man was a rock by comparison. Stunned, Phoebe stood braced against him and struggled to comprehend the error she’d made. The stranger’s lips held the warmth of sunshine on a summer’s day as his mouth moved gently against hers. Still disoriented, Phoebe didn’t pull away as his kiss sent a pulse of heat through her.

Unlike Alfred, this man didn’t crush her mouth beneath his. He made no attempt to dominate. Instead, the stranger’s lips teased and cajoled a response from her with disturbing ease. Dear Lord, she needed to stop this insanity. She was a married woman.

Laughter drifted through her head with bitter mockery. A financial arrangement was not a marriage. She was nothing more than chattel. A pound of flesh for Alfred to rut with like a common whore when he was without a mistress or a whipping boy when he was angry.

The warmth of the stranger’s mouth was a tantalizing caress that sent her senses reeling. Unable to move, her protest died in her throat as strong arms pulled her deeper into his embrace, and a hot tongue gently pushed its way into her mouth. Despite the fire in his kiss, the stranger’s touch was gentle, tender almost.

His fingers stroked the side of her face in a way that made her feel as though she were a beautiful jewel. No one had ever kissed her like this before. This was a sweet seduction that offered a promise of pleasure, not a cold, painful act of humiliation. With a shudder, she jerked her head backward and away from his incredibly sensual lips.