Page 20 of The Rogue’s Countess

The only other person who knew anything about her was her editor, Mr. Meade. But the newspaperman knew nothing about P. Currer other than she was a woman. The man hadn’t even seen her face as she wore a veil whenever she went to and from the newspaper offices.

When she’d discarded that explanation, she’d considered the possibility Gideon’s anger was because he’d been denied the opportunity to select his mother’s assistant. That reason seemed implausible as well. Whatever was driving his anger, it had made him accuse her of coming to Chelmsford House in hopes of landing a marital prize—specifically him.

The accusation wasn’t just painful. It was wrong. A bleak disappointment rose from deep inside Phoebe to poke fun of her. For the past five years, she’d allowed herself to believe the man she’d met that night was different from others in the Marlborough Set. She’d been wrong—terribly wrong.

Angered by her dull-witted thinking, Phoebe allowed her outrage to streak through her veins until the heat of it burned every inch of her. When Gideon arched an eyebrow, she dragged in a sharp breath of furious indignation and disgust.

“Of all the pompous, arrogant, vain, self-aggrandizing—you are delusional if you think I want anything to do with you at all, Lord Chelmsford.”

“Then you won’t object when I say that your services as my mother’s secretary are no longer needed.”

Dread spiraled through Phoebe, holding her stiff and unmoving, as she stared at him in horror. The hard set of his jaw and the contemptuous twist of his lips made her stomach lurch in a sickening manner. Dear God, he was serious.

Had Lady Wrotham expressed disappointment in her work and asked her son to release her. No, that wasn’t possible. Phoebe knew the dowager marchioness was happy with her work, and Gideon had been too close on her heels to have had a serious discussion with his mother as to her dismissal.

While Phoebe had no desire to spend any more time in this man’s presence than necessary, she had nowhere else to go. Without employment, her savings would quickly disappear, along with her hopes of a cottage in the country. She’d also grown quite fond of Lady Wrotham since her arrival at Chelmsford House almost a month ago. It would be difficult enough to say goodbye to the woman when Phoebe’s savings were substantial enough to escape London for good.

But she’d not lived in obscure poverty for almost two years, saving every penny she earned to have Lord Chelmbee of the Currer Chronicles push her out into the streets as Jasper had done after Alfred’s death. Phoebe tilted her chin upward and defiantly shook her head.

“Your mother offered me a position as her assistant, not you, and I will continue in her employ until she says otherwise.”

“Do not test my patience, Phoebe,” he snarled. “I’ll not have you use my mother as a means of husband-hunting.”

As he repeated and expanded on his accusation, an icy chill swept over her skin and sluiced through her veins until it froze every part of her body. His angry expression emphasized his belief she was using his mother in a way she found disgusting. The idea that she would do something to injure his mother caused a vicious antipathy to swell inside her. Incensed by his abhorrent suggestion, she eyed him with scorn.

“I would never do anything to hurt your mother,” she spat with fiery anger. “And I am not husband hunting.”

“Just like you weren’t intent on securing a title for yourself in exchange for your American fortune when you married Helstone? A dowry too small to attract anything higher than a viscount.”

Anger swept through her like a hot summer wind. The man knew nothing about her. It had been her father’s ambition that had thrown her at the feet of her late husband. She’d paid a steep price for her father’s ability to boast about having a viscountess for a daughter.

“Get out,” she said, her words cold and sharp as ice.

The man had no idea how scathing her pen could be. If Gideon had been irate about her treatment of him in the Currer Chronicles the last time, he would be livid about the next installment. Lord Chelmbee would be ready to pulverize Mr. Meade simply to learn the identity of P. Currer. She would pour all her rage into every word and place he was mentioned in her next installment. It would be no less than he deserved. Exposing him for the man he truly was would be a cathartic exercise.

An odd expression crossed his features as she glared at him, which was almost identical to that moment in the dark when he’d offered her assistance. Phoebe immediately crushed the traitorous thought. The fact she still wanted to believe in him illustrated what a fool she really was.

Outrage made her movements stiff as she quickly skirted him to stride to the door and tugged it open with a furious jerk. She turned her head and glared at him with scornful disdain as she silently demanded he leave. A puzzled frown creased Gideon’s forehead as he slowly moved toward her.

“You’ve changed. There’s a fire in you now that you didn’t have that night at Montjoy’s,” he said quietly as he stopped at her side to study her intently. It was a look of appraisal that alarmed her, and she shook her head.

“I said you were delusional, my lord, and you continue to confirm my conclusion.”

“Then, you will think me even more so when I tell you I was too hasty in my desire to have you leave my house.” A small smile tipped the corners of his mouth, and her heart skipped a beat. “I believe we will do quite well together, Phoebe.”

“What?”

“Not marriage, of course, but as I said, a bed is much more preferable to a tree.”

Horrified by his words, Phoebe stiffened as he bent his head toward her. The instant Gideon’s teeth nipped at her ear with his teeth, she gasped. The warmth of his breath caressed her skin, and Phoebe shuddered at the delight the decadent caress aroused in her. How in God’s name could this obnoxious man still devastate her senses as powerfully as he had five years ago? She didn’t have an answer to the question. Another shiver of pleasure coursed through her, and she despised herself for revealing her susceptibility to him.

“You tremble, Phoebe. Are you afraid?”

He pulled back slightly to stare into her eyes. The desire she saw blazing in his silvery gaze made her suck in a sharp breath. She refused to think it was a sound of anticipation, but a jeering laugh echoed in the back of her head. Terrified he might think the same thing, she smiled tightly.

“I have little to fear from you. There is nothing you could do to me that hasn’t already been inflicted on me by others, my lord.” At her fierce retort, puzzlement darkened his gray eyes before a slow smile curved his lips.

“The only thing you need expect of me is pleasure.”