Page 36 of The Rogue’s Countess

Slowly turning around, he saw his mother remove the strand of pearls his father had given her years ago. Fear suddenly wrapped its way around his chest as he realized how his mother’s injuries could have been much worse, even fatal. A memory of the emotions he’d experienced at the age of ten when his father had died rose up from the past. It had been a crushing blow to lose his father so young.

Alexander Lethbridge had always been a strong, towering figure, and to see him waste away from cancer had been a painfully hard thing to watch. He’d never considered the loss of his mother before, and the thought of losing her sent a wave of unpleasant emotion crashing through him.

As the marchioness handed her pearls to Phoebe, a wistful smile touched her lips. Almost as if she understood the bittersweet memory her employer was experiencing, Phoebe murmured something he couldn’t quite catch. Whatever she’d said, it made his mother laugh, and for that, he was grateful.

“Phoebe.” He liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. It was as sweet a sound as he remembered her mouth to be. She froze for a moment before she looked over her shoulder at him. “I would like a word with you in the library after the doctor is gone.”

“A word?”

It was more than a question. It was a silent declaration that Phoebe doubted his intentions. She had every right too, and it didn’t help the way his mother frowned at him in puzzlement. Gideon swallowed hard and nodded.

“Please.” Christ Jesus, he sounded as if he was pleading with the woman.

His gaze shifted to his mother, who was watching him with a narrowed gaze as if she was trying to read his mind. Indecision fluttered across Phoebe’s face before she nodded her agreement, then turned back to his mother and effectively ended the brief exchange.

Gideon’s muscles tightened at how easily she’d dismissed him. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. A glance at his mother revealed amusement lighting up her face as she smiled at him with more than a hint of mischief. Whatever she was thinking would most likely result in some form of teasing that he would not enjoy. Gideon suppressed a groan of foreboding as he tugged the door open and left the room.

Perhaps worst of all, Phoebe had just demonstrated to him just how wrong he’d been about her. She was clearly not the woman he’d allowed himself to believe. Worse, he knew he wouldn’t just be pleading with Phoebe to stay for his mother’s sake. He was about to endure a very painful moment of shame and humiliation when he apologized for having accused her of being something she was not.

Chapter 10

Phoebe’s heart was pounding in her chest like a drummer calling troops to battle as she entered Gideon’s study. The doctor had come and gone some time ago, and she’d procrastinated as long as she could with Lady Wrotham. It wasn’t until the woman had insisted she go see what Gideon wanted that she’d been forced to come downstairs.

The room was softly lit by the gaslight on the wall and the fire in the hearth. Gideon stood in front of the fireplace with a brandy glass in his hand, staring into the flames. Without thinking, she automatically closed the study door behind her. The quiet thud made Gideon turn to face her.

Dear God, she’d shut herself in with a man whose voice could seduce her as easily as his touch. Flinching at the thought, instinct urged her to flee as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her ankles. Phoebe swallowed her trepidation as she rejected the notion to run. She wasn’t a coward. Where would she go anyway? A voice in the back of her head whispered an answer. The answer was a mere sigh, and she refused to listen to it.

Gideon’s features were unreadable as he gestured toward a couch sitting near the fireplace. When she didn’t move, irritation slipped past his expressionless mask.

“It was a request, Phoebe, but if you wish, I can make it a command for you to sit.”

Unwilling to see exactly how he might command her to be seated, Phoebe walked across the floor to the sofa. As Phoebe sank down into the cushions, she frowned and tried to comprehend the exasperation she’d heard in his voice. Something was different about him. He wasn’t as arrogant as she was accustomed to.

To her surprise, he’d turned away from her as she’d walked to the couch. When she was seated, she waited quietly for him to face her. As he remained with his back to her, a rush of uncertainty streaked through her until her body was taut with apprehension.

She understood and could reasonably manage his arrogant behavior, but this was different. He seemed distracted almost. It was out of character for him, and his manner reminded her of the man who had made her feel alive for just a few short moments in a dark garden years ago. Phoebe’s mouth went dry at the thought. It made him even more dangerous than usual. She watched him finish off the last bit of brandy in his snifter, then set the crystal on the mantel.

“Thank you for caring for my mother this evening,” he said quietly as he continued to stare into the fire. “I’m grateful.”

“I…you’re…welcome.” Startled by his words, she tipped her head to one side to study his back. His entire body seemed frozen in place, and she frowned in confusion.

“My mother is under the impression that you are looking for a new position.”

His quiet statement made her inhale a sharp breath. How had Lady Wrotham discovered her plan to leave? Her mind raced along in several different directions until she remembered the dowager saying she’d come looking for her about the extra wait staff they needed for the gala’s buffet. If the dowager marchioness had entered Phoebe’s room, it would have been difficult to miss the newspaper on her secretaire. She’d left it folded on her desk with the potential advertisements circled.

When she didn’t respond, he slowly turned to face her. There was nothing in his expression that indicated what he was thinking, and a tremor raced through her. She was completely at a loss as to how to deal with the change in him. As she met his gaze, she thought she saw the indecision in his gray eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

As if aware that he’d thrown her off-balance, he arched his eyebrows as his mouth twisted slightly in a smile of mockery she recognized. It was exactly what she needed to regain her footing when it came to dealing with the man. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note to include his smile in her description of him in the chronicles. Annoyance sped through her, and she eyed him with antipathy.

“I am.” At her abrupt response, he frowned. It was almost as if he’d expected her to deny it.

“I would never have mistaken you for a coward, Phoebe.” The sound of her name flying past his lips did something pleasurable to her insides, and she barely managed to keep from gasping at the effect it had on her. As the word coward registered in her head, she narrowed her gaze at him.

“I am not a coward. I simply know when to fight and when to retreat.”

“Then, you’re admitting to the fact that I’m winning the war.” There was an odd note in his voice despite the wolfish smile curving his lips. She shook her head in denial.

“No, but I have no intention of being outflanked and maneuvered into a corner.”