Page 35 of The Rogue’s Countess

Rising from his chair, Gideon crossed the floor to the gaslight hanging on the wall and turned the knob to increase the flame. As the room became brighter, Gideon rubbed his forehead to ease the headache he’d developed.

Irritable and restless, he began to prowl the library floor. No matter how hard he tried, he’d been unable to forget this morning’s conversation with his mother or her obvious disappointment in him. Despite his best efforts to work, Gideon had spent the better part of his day recalling every word of his breakfast conversation with his mother. Her arguments in Phoebe’s defense had been compelling and strengthened by the fact that he knew his mother to be an excellent judge of character.

The marchioness had an uncanny ability to read people and quickly see them for who they were. Phoebe had been in Lady Wrotham’s employ for more than a month, and her defense of Phoebe had been all the more persuasive because of her ability to sift out the good from the bad. There was also the fact that Phoebe had never used her impoverishment to gain Gideon’s or his mother’s sympathy.

Edith, on the other hand, had slyly pointed out small things she’d wanted, which he’d always found a way to secure for her. The memory of a gown he’d paid for all those years ago only to see a betrothal announcement a short time later made Gideon’s jaw clench in anger as his doubt returned. He’d been fooled once before.

Why should he believe Phoebe was different? Why should he be so eager to risk humiliation at the hands of another vain, deceitful woman no matter how enticing the thought of bedding her was. The moment the thought echoed in his head, a voice scornfully called him an ass. Phoebe was far from vain. That he’d seen for himself. And how had she deceived him?

The question drew him up short, and he stopped in front of the fireplace to stare into the flames as he considered the thought. Exactly how had Phoebe been dishonest with him? His mother had said he’d penalized Phoebe for Edith’s betrayal. Was that true? Deep in the back of his mind, a voice sneered at Gideon for even asking the question. He already knew the answer. For the past five years, every time his thoughts centered on Phoebe, he’d told himself that she had chosen to exchange her body and dowry for a title.

Condemning Phoebe had been far easier than contemplating a different reason for his disillusion. It was an alternative possibility that was far from rational, even though his mother would disagree. The implications of that rationale were far more disturbing than he cared to admit.

With a snort of scornful disbelief, Gideon pushed the illogical reason out of his head. He’d not been an impressionable youth the night he’d made love to Phoebe in shadows. But he had done what his mother had pointed out to him. He’d condemned Phoebe, and he owed her an apology for his contemptuous, ungentlemanly behavior. The thought of apologizing was not a pleasant one. It meant confronting his mistake, and there was the distinct possibility Phoebe wouldn’t forgive him. The sound of a discrete cough broke through his thoughts, and he looked over his shoulder to see his Pendleton standing in the doorway of the study.

“Dinner is served, my lord.” The butler’s deep baritone voice echoed in the library like a sonorous church bell in a chapel. With a wave of his hand, Gideon nodded.

“Thank you, Pendleton. Has my mother come down yet?”

Before the butler could reply, a sharp cry pierced the air. Bolting forward, Gideon followed Pendleton out into the entryway. At the sight of his mother sitting on the stairs, he ran forward to climb the two steps below where she was sitting. Her hands had a death grip on the bannister, and as he reached her, he saw her gray eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

A quiet gasp of concern above his head made Gideon look up to see Phoebe hurrying down the steps to where his mother was sitting. As she reached Lady Wrotham’s side, Phoebe sat down on the stairs next to the older woman.

“Are you all right, my lady? Where do you hurt?” Her brown eyes wide in her face, Phoebe gently pulled the marchioness’s hand off the railing to examine it and then the other.

“What happened?” Gideon asked soothingly.

“I’m not sure.” Lady Wrotham’s voice was husky with pain. “I must have caught my heel on the hem of my gown.”

Gideon bent his head to examine the hem of his mother’s dress. Pushing the gown away from the back of her legs, he found a portion of the hem where the stitching had been torn away. In all likelihood, her shoe had indeed caused her fall. As Gideon quickly examined her left ankle, he was relieved to find nothing untoward about it. Gently he pushed aside her gown to look at her right ankle and sucked in a sharp breath of concern.

“Christ Jesus,” he muttered. Her ankle was swollen to almost twice its size. Gideon took a quick look over his shoulder at Pendleton. “Send one of the footmen to fetch Doctor Compton at once.”

“There’s no need Gideon,” the marchioness protested as he carefully slipped her foot out of her evening slipper. “If you’ll simply help me to into the dining room, I’ll be fine. I’m just shaken, that’s all.”

“Mother, your ankle is badly swollen, and even without Compton here to confirm it, I would hazard a guess you will be unable to walk on this foot for several days.”

“It was just a little fall. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

“You must listen to Gid…his lordship, my lady.” The moment Phoebe stumbled over his name, he jerked his head up to look at her. Her gaze met his for a brief instant, and pink color flared in her cheeks. Gently, she touched the older woman’s shoulder. “Even I can see it’s a very bad sprain. I just hope it’s not broken. Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, I’m fine. All I need is a little help into the dining room for dinner.” At her reply, Gideon shook his head.

“You’re not going anywhere except to your bed, which is where I’m going to carry you right now.”

“But Gideon—”

“No arguments, Mama,” he growled as Phoebe stepped out of the way, so he was able to lift his mother up off the steps and cradle her in his arms.

“All this fuss,” Alva grumbled as Gideon met her gaze. A look of remorse swept across her face, and she reached up to touch his cheek as he carried her up the stairs. “You are a good man, Gideon, and I love you even when you can be stubborn as an old goat.”

“I believe I come by it naturally,” he said with a snort of laughter. “I cannot begin to compete with your obstinance.”

A soft laugh escaped her, but she didn’t reply as he strode down the hall toward his mother’s suite. Phoebe suddenly brushed past him to hurry down the hall and open the door to the marchioness’s rooms. As he crossed the threshold, Phoebe was already making his mother’s bed ready for her. Gideon set his mother down on the mattress and stepped back.

“I’ll go downstairs and wait on Doctor Compton.” Gideon nodded toward Phoebe and Polly, who had just hurried into the room. “I’m leaving you in capable hands.”

With a quick kiss to her cheek, Gideon walked toward the door. His hand on the doorknob, he paused as an idea popped into his head. His mother didn’t want Phoebe to leave, and this accident would make it difficult to manage any last-minute problems with the gala. He was willing to wager that Phoebe cared enough about his mother to agree to his request to stay.