Page 45 of The Rogue’s Countess

“Not only have I come to care deeply about your happiness, Phoebe, but I’ve also come to know you quite well, perhaps better than you realize.” Lady Wrotham paused and brushed her fingers across Phoebe’s cheeks in a motherly gesture. “I know you are not the kind of woman who dallies in frivolous flirtations or seeks to trap a man into marriage.”

Another icy chill swept across Phoebe’s skin. Did Lady Wrotham know the complete truth about her and Gideon? She wasn’t sure she could bear it if the woman knew what had happened the night she and Gideon had first met. Helplessly, she stared at Lady Wrotham, unable to respond.

“So, if you would not do either of those things, there can be only one answer. You’re in love with my son.”

The marchioness’s pragmatic tone had returned, and her astute gaze sucked the air out of Phoebe’s lungs. A cornered mouse could not have been more still as Phoebe stared at Lady Wrotham in shocked dismay. A voice in her head mocked her as she denied what her employer was implying with a shake of her head. She barely knew Gideon.

“What you’re suggesting…we barely know each other,” she stammered. Inside her, a voice reminded her that they knew each other quite well.

“It only takes a moment, ” Lady Wrotham replied as she eyed Phoebe carefully. “As I recall, you and Gideon met each other at Lord Montjoy’s five years ago.”

“Yes, but it was a…it was such a brief meeting.”

Once more, Phoebe shook her head in objection. A voice in her head taunted her with the memory of how Gideon’s touch had rendered her helpless to do anything but respond to him that night. Her heart twisted viciously in her chest at the reminder of what those short, blissful moments had meant to her. For the past five years, her heart had been telling her the one truth she’d refused to confront where Gideon was concerned.

“And yet, I know how deep a mark your first meeting left on my son,” Lady Wrotham replied quietly. “The night Gideon came home from Amsterdam, I saw the sparks flying between the two of you. At first, I simply put it down to Gideon having met a woman who wouldn’t dance to his tune. But later, I remembered him mentioning the two of you had met at Montjoy’s, and suddenly it all fell into place.”

“I don’t understand.” Phoebe’s reply made the marchioness wince and shake her head as if she’d suddenly discovered a puzzle piece that had been in front of her all along.

“The night you and Gideon met at Montjoy’s, he came home from an unholy brawl in the lower East End. He was barely conscious when a hack delivered him to the front door. Jeremy and Pendleton had to carry him to his rooms. My son enjoys the boxing ring, but he’d always boxed under the Marquess of Queensbury rules until that night. It was obvious from his injuries that he’d been in a ring where those rules had not been observed. In those first few hours, I thought he might actually die.”

Lady Wrotham’s face reflected how serious Gideon’s injuries had been. The fear reflected on the marchioness’s face as she remembered the event made Phoebe’s stomach lurch sickeningly. The thought of Gideon being in pain or possibly dying sent fear streaking through her. Inside her, a voice asked her why it troubled her so deeply. The answer assaulted her senses in a way that made her tremble.

“Gideon’s recklessness cost him two broken ribs and bruised kidneys. The doctor ordered him never to fight in the ring again unless he wished to die an untimely death.” Lady Wrotham closed her eyes for a moment then released a pained sigh. “When I pressed Gideon about his actions, his surly manner erupted into the harshest, coldest words he’s ever spoken to me. He made it clear I was never to speak of the matter again.”

“But there was…there was no ill-will between us when we went our separate ways.”

It was the truth. Gideon’s anger had been frustration at her refusal to see him again or accept his help. But he had appeared reconciled to her decision. He’d demonstrated none of the seething rage the marchioness described. If anything, their parting had been a moment of deep pain and sorrow for her. Gideon had appeared equally tormented.

It had been his obvious desire to keep him with her that had sustained her for the last five years. Why she had dreamt of him almost every night, hoping he would find her after Alfred’s death. She met Lady Wrotham’s gaze, and the woman nodded her head as if she could read Phoebe’s thoughts.

“I’ve no doubt of that, dearest. I believe Gideon became angry when he learned you were an American heiress who had married Helstone. Gideon has a low opinion of women who buy a title.”

“But Father was the one who insisted I have a title,” she exclaimed. As Phoebe stared at the marchioness in dismay, the older woman soothingly patted her hand.

“I know, dear, but men can be quite obtuse about such things. I think Gideon recognized immediately how special you were. The moment he learned you were married to Helstone, I imagine he saw it as having made a fool of himself even though you’d done nothing wrong.”

Phoebe sucked in a quick breath at the marchioness’s description of Gideon’s emotional state the night of Montjoy’s party. Was it possible those passionate moments they’d shared in the shadows had left Gideon as moved and shaken as they had her? He’d obviously discovered who she was, which meant he knew where to find her. He’d given her his word that he wouldn’t seek her out. If those moments in the garden had meant anything at all to him, he would have moved heaven and earth to come to her when Alfred had been shot. But he hadn’t.

No, Lady Wrotham was wrong. Whatever had provoked Gideon’s anger that night five years ago had nothing to do with her. To Gideon, she was just one more flower to plant in his garden of conquests. The man who’d haunted her dreams every night for the past five years had been a figment of her imagination. Phoebe had allowed herself to hope that one day they would meet again. But when her wish had come true, his disdain and arrogance had made her realize she’d fallen in love with a man who didn’t exist.

Instantly, Phoebe stiffened in horrified disbelief. Lady Wrotham was right. She was in love with Gideon, or at least, the man she’d believed Gideon to be. The realization was an invisible blow to her body that forced her to choke back a cry of pain. Desperate to hide her revelation, Phoebe swallowed the knot in her throat, threatening her ability to breathe. Schooling her features into an unreadable expression, she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I seriously doubt I was the cause of Lord Chelmsford’s fighting in the East End.”

“So nothing I’ve said here has made you change your mind about accepting Gideon’s offer of marriage?”

“No, my lady.”

The marchioness leaned back into her chair and studied Phoebe in silence for a long moment. Lady Wrotham’s assessing gaze made the knot in Phoebe’s throat grow larger. She recognized that look. It said the marchioness was not ready to admit defeat and was strategizing her next move. Phoebe tried not to shiver from the chill embracing her. If the marchioness realized Phoebe was in love with her son, the woman would not rest until Phoebe agreed to marry Gideon. Desperate to escape, she swallowed the knot in her throat.

“Shall I ask Lord Chelmsford to come take you back to your suite?” Phoebe’s question made Lady Wrotham frowned before she smiled as if she’d suddenly discovered a new weapon at her disposal.

“Not just yet, Phoebe. I want to tell you a story.”

“A story, my lady?” Thoroughly confused by the woman’s sudden change in direction, Phoebe met Lady Wrotham’s steady gaze.

“Yes. What I’m about to tell you has the possibility of creating a scandal, and I have no wish to cause Gideon any discomfort. Although at the moment, I wouldn’t mind seeing him suffer a little, but he is my son, so I must ask that you not speak of this matter to anyone.”