Page 44 of The Rogue’s Countess

With her next breath, the voice in her head reminded her of Gideon’s apology and then his proposal. They were not the actions of a man whose sole intention was to seduce her. He’d offered his name and protection to her without hesitation, reluctance, or resignation. It had been the act of an honorable man.

Phoebe’s mind flitted back to that moment and the expression on Gideon’s face when she’d refused to marry him. He’d looked as if she’d struck him a blow before warning her not to compare him to Alfred. The sudden sound of a quiet knock made her jump as she jerked her head toward the door. For a moment, she considered not answering, but if Gideon was on the opposite side, she knew he wouldn’t go away. Slowly she stood up and began to walk to the door.

“Who is it.”

“Mr. Pendleton, my lady,” the butler’s deep baritone voice made her breathe a sigh of relief. “Her ladyship is requesting that you join her in her suite.”

Tension locked every one of her muscles at the man’s words. Dear God, she wasn’t ready to leave yet. Phoebe glanced over her shoulder at the half-filled trunk. She needed more time.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pendleton, but I’m feeling unwell at the moment. Would you please let her ladyship know I shall come to her as soon as I am able?”

“Very good, my lady.”

One hand on her hip and her fingers pressed into her forehead, Phoebe realized she needed to move quickly. She needed to be able to walk out of the house immediately after speaking with Lady Wrotham. If not, there was the chance Gideon would try once more to convince her to stay. At the moment, she wasn’t sure she had the strength to reject him again. It was a risk she couldn’t afford to take.

Phoebe moved quickly to resume her packing. She’d just finished clearing the top of her dresser when she heard another knock on her door. Startled, Phoebe whirled around to face the door. Dear Lord, if it was Gideon and he saw she was packing…she didn’t continue the thought. Hands pressed into her stomach in a vain effort to ease the sudden nausea she was feeling, she swallowed hard.

“Yes?”

“Phoebe, may I come in?” The dowager’s voice echoed through the closed door, and Phoebe swayed on her feet.

Dear God, Lady Wrotham had limped her way down to Phoebe’s room. Dismayed the woman had walked down the hall despite the doctor’s orders to remain in bed, Phoebe ran forward. As she threw the door open, she gasped at the sight of Gideon holding his mother in his arms. Without a word, he carried Lady Wrotham into Phoebe’s room.

“Set me down in that chair, Gideon.”

Lady Wrotham pointed to the chair closest to Phoebe’s half-filled trunk. Following his mother’s directions, Gideon entered the room and quickly set the dowager down in the high-back chair she’d selected. With his mother situated, Gideon stared down at Phoebe’s belongings for a moment before pinning his gaze on her with a look of frustration on his face. Stiffening her back, she tilted her chin upward, refusing to look away.

“You may go now, Gideon. I wish to speak with Phoebe alone. When we’re done, I’ll send for you.”

At Lady Wrotham’s command, Gideon hesitated then bowed slightly in the dowager’s direction. There was an odd formality to his behavior, and Phoebe was puzzled by the irritation that flashed in his mother’s eyes as she met his gaze. When Phoebe met Gideon’s gaze again, his features were an unreadable mask. A moment later, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Left alone with her employer, Phoebe trembled slightly. The woman acted as if it were perfectly natural for Gideon to carry her to Phoebe’s room simply to have a chat. There was nothing about the dowager’s expression that indicated disapproval or contempt. But at the same time, the woman had barely batted an eyelash when she’d seen Phoebe’s open trunk and satchel. In fact, she didn’t appear shocked to see Phoebe packing at all. That could mean only one thing. Either Polly had told Lady Wrotham what had happened, or the maid had been so flustered, the dowager had come in search of answers.

Although they’d only known each other for a short time, her employer wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t worried about Phoebe. Like all the other times the woman had treated her with the kindness a mother might, now was no different. Phoebe had never known her own mother, who had died when she was two. It was why she’d always found the marchioness’s caring manner heart-warming, but now, it meant she would have to hurt a woman she’d become quite fond of. Phoebe jumped slightly as the dowager nodded toward the open trunk.

“You’re leaving?”

Sadness, and perhaps even disappointment, settled on Lady Wrotham’s face as she met Phoebe’s gaze. Her mouth dry, Phoebe didn’t know how to answer the woman and could only stare helplessly at the dowager. As she met Phoebe’s gaze, the older woman nodded toward Phoebe’s dresser, and a small smile tilted marchioness’s lips.

“We’ll address your luggage later. Bring that stool from your dresser over here and sit beside me. I wish to speak with you and would prefer not to earn a crick in my neck looking up at you.”

Uncertainty flooded Phoebe’s limbs as she stared at the dowager in confusion. When the woman quirked her eyebrow slightly and nodded toward the stool a second time, and Phoebe did as the dowager instructed. When she was seated next to Lady Wrotham, shame, followed by humiliation, rolled over her.

Even if her employer didn’t know exactly what had happened between her and Gideon last night, she was certain the marchioness knew it had been momentous. It would explain the tension between mother and son, and it had been obvious the two were at odds with one another. Phoebe jumped as Lady Wrotham leaned forward and squeezed her hand as if understanding her discomfort.

“Gideon tells me he proposed to you last night.”

At Lady Wrotham’s pragmatic statement, Phoebe felt the blood draining from her face. Did the marchioness know why Gideon had proposed? Humiliation encased her body in ice, and it sank into her pores and then her bones. Hands clasped in her lap, Phoebe’s fingers tightened in a painful grip. Dear Lord, if only she could run from here. She didn’t know where, but anyplace would do as long as she could escape the weight of having disappointed Lady Wrotham. Phoebe replied to the marchioness’s question with a sharp nod and averted her gaze.

“He said you refused him?”

“I cannot marry again.” Phoebe choked out the words as a voice in her head called her a fool.

“Gideon is not the viscount, Phoebe. My son has his faults, that I will admit, but he is a good man. He will be kind and generous to you, and nothing would make me happier than if you were to marry my son.” There was a heartfelt plea in Lady Wrotham’s voice that made Phoebe shudder. When she remained silent, the dowager smiled gently.

“Dearest, we have become fast friends in a short time, have we not?” At the woman’s question, Phoebe nodded, and Lady Wrotham leaned forward to touch her tightly clasped hands. “I’ve not said it, but I have come to care for you a great deal.”

“I think you know…I have a deep affection for you as well, my lady.”