Page 27 of The Rogue’s Countess

How was this man capable of overwhelming her faculties every time he came near her? He had managed to overpower her senses just as easily this morning in the breakfast room. Every inch of her was alive and craving something she knew better than to even consider satisfying.

Gideon lightly brushed his fingers across her mouth, then traced a slow, barely discernible path down her throat and across her breastbone to the valley between her breasts. The feathery caress caused her heart to skid out of control. Her breathing had become unsteady, and his rakish smile became one of triumph.

“I like the way you respond to my touch, Phoebe,” he whispered in a seductively wicked voice that threatened to bring her to her knees. If they’d been alone, she was certain she would be in his arms. His fingertips glided along the edge of her bodice. “I like the idea of dipping you in honey and listening to you whimper with need as I take my time sweeping my tongue over every inch of you. I can just imagine how honey would make that small bud between your legs even more succulent.”

Decadent and fiery, his words created an image in her head that tightened her body and made her ache with longing for him to do precisely as he described. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she struggled not to give way to the white-hot heat of desire flowing through her blood. It was a need that was pushing her to the edge of a precipice she knew would result in her downfall.

“Shall I kiss you now, Phoebe, or should I wait until tonight when we’re alone.”

His soft question made her sway slightly on her feet, and Gideon’s hands grasped her arms to steady her. A soft laugh sounded in her ear. It was the sound of a man who believed he was about to conquer new territory. The man was even more dangerous than she’d thought. With just a few words, he had brought her to the brink of surrender.

The thought made her gasp in horror. Dear God, she hadn’t even uttered a single protest. The realization made her tug free of his light grasp and quickly darted past him. As much as she wanted to avoid the parlor, she wanted to escape Gideon even more. A strong hand caught her by the arm to pull her to an abrupt halt. Phoebe turned her head to glare at him.

“Unhand me,” she snapped.

“I’ll escort you into the parlor.”

“No, thank you. The only thing I want from you, Lord Chelmsford, is for you to stay away from me.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Phoebe.”

The husky note in his voice made her inhale a shallow breath. As her gaze met his, something flared in his silver gaze that made her heart skip a beat. She instantly dismissed it as her imagination. To the Earl of Chelmsford, she was just another woman to seduce. Swallowing the knot closing off her throat, she forced herself to make her expression one of icy disdain.

“I fear you will be sadly disappointed trying to make sport of me, my lord.”

As if she’d hit him, he jerked away from her. Gideon’s expression was unreadable as he bowed politely in her direction, but for a brief instant, she could have sworn she saw a pained regret in his gaze. The moment she entered the room, Lady Wrotham hurried toward her.

“There you are, my dear. I had begun to think you intended to renege on your promise.”

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Phoebe didn’t explain why she’d been delayed, and the marchioness didn’t ask. Instead, she pulled Phoebe over to where Constance was standing with two men.

“Constance, look who has finally arrived.” At Lady Wrotham’s exclamation, Lady Lyndham turned her head and smiled with obvious pleasure.

“Phoebe, how wonderful to see you.” The other woman said with a warm smile. Taking her hands in hers, Constance leaned forward to kiss Phoebe on both cheeks. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

Phoebe found it impossible not to smile at the countess’s warm greeting. It helped ease her qualms at having allowed the marchioness to persuade her to attend the small gathering. Alva swiftly introduced Phoebe to the two men standing with Constance before the marchioness excused herself. Constance’s brother, the Earl of Melton, and her friend’s husband, Lord Lyndham, were as welcoming as her new friend.

Constance was teasing her brother about a recent incident with his youngest child when Alva returned with a gentleman at her side. As she stopped in front of Phoebe, the marchioness touched Phoebe’s arm for a brief instant before turning her head toward the handsome man next to her.

”Duke, have you met Lady Helstone?” Alva asked as she made a small sweep of her hand in Phoebe’s direction.

“I regret I’ve not had the pleasure,” the duke shook his head at Lady Wrotham’s question, and with a smile, he stepped forward to take Phoebe’s hand.

“Then I’m delighted to present Viscountess Helstone. Phoebe, this is His Grace, the Duke of Aveley.”

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Phoebe murmured a greeting as the duke bowed and brushed her fingers with his lips.

“The pleasure is all mine,” the man said quietly as he smiled with open appreciation at Phoebe. A look of satisfaction crossed Alva’s face as she gestured toward Phoebe again.

“I thought you might take Phoebe into dinner this evening, Duke.”

“I can think of nothing more delightful than having Lady Helstone on my arm at any time of the day or night.” The man’s quiet compliment sent heat rising in Phoebe’s cheeks. She returned his warm smile while Lady Wrotham set off to see to another guest.

“Her ladyship is obviously quite fond of you,” the duke said as he studied Phoebe with curiosity. “I’m disappointed she’s not introduced us until now. Are you long-time friends?”

“We met…several years ago. I’ve been…I’ve been helping the marchioness with plans for the gala benefiting St. Catherin’s Home for the Poor.” Phoebe stumbled over her words as she tried not to explain her role at Chelmsford House without making herself appear as though she were a charity cause the marchioness had taken on.