Page 47 of The Rogue’s Countess

Gideon’s child.

A wave of happiness and joy swept through her at the thought she might be carrying Gideon’s child. Quick on the heels of her euphoria was the memory of her last two pregnancies that ended far too soon to give her a child to love. Phoebe pressed her fingertips against her forehead and closed her eyes.

“I see you understand how refusing Gideon’s offer of marriage puts you in a precarious position, Phoebe.”

“Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.

Panic swept through her as she met the marchioness’s steady gaze. Lady Wrotham’s argument was a logical one if she were carrying Gideon’s child, but what if she wasn’t pregnant? Even if she was carrying Gideon’s child, the likelihood of her carrying the child to full-term was unlikely. Her miscarriages while married to Helstone were evidence of that probability. A voice in the back of her mind asked her what she would do if she was wrong.

What would she do if she left Chelmsford House, and despite her history of miscarriages, what if she gave birth to Gideon’s child? How would she manage on her own with a child along the way? And if she wasn’t with child? Phoebe’s entire body grew stiff, and she shivered from the cold enveloping her.

If she wasn’t with child, it meant she would be married to a man who had offered his hand simply as a matter of honor. Not only would she be trapped, but Gideon would as well. Even worse was the knowledge that being married to Gideon without his love meant she would endure a level of hell she’d never experienced before—not even with Alfred.

She would be forced to hide her love from Gideon simply to save herself from his pity if he discovered the truth. How could she marry him, not knowing if she was actually carrying his child? Immediately on the heels of that thought was the memory of the past two years.

Since Alfred’s death, she’d learned the meaning of what it was to be cold and hungry. It had been difficult enough for her to survive the poverty she’d lived in before coming to Chelmsford House. How could she possibly provide for a child in such conditions? At least with Gideon’s offer, if she were pregnant, the child would be well-cared for. Could she really risk leaving Chelmsford House only to learn a short time later that she was carrying his child?

Phoebe released a half-cry, half-sob. For the sake of any child that might have been conceived last night, there was really only one choice she could make. She would have to learn to live with the pain of being married to Gideon without his love. But if she was carrying Gideon’s child, her sacrifice would ensure the baby’s well-being. Lady Wrotham touched Phoebe’s cheek in a tender gesture.

“He will be good to you, Phoebe. I have no doubt as to that fact.”

Despite the dowager’s reassurance, Phoebe knew it didn’t matter whether Gideon was kind to her or not. She would exist between heaven and hell for the rest of her life. How could it be anything but that when she was in love with a man who didn’t love her.

Chapter 13

Gideon stabbed viciously at the soil he was preparing to spread out on top of several beds of flowers. Earlier, before he’d begun to assault the dirt, he’d verified the tulip bulbs he’d brought home from Amsterdam were still dry and safe in their storage bin. He would have to monitor them until it was time to plant them in the fall. More importantly, the fact they weren’t ready for planting had saved them from destruction.

Scooping up a spade full of compost, he shoved it into the loam in the box of soil on his workbench. If the soil had been the tulip bulbs, they would have been destroyed by his aggressive attack on the dirt. A dark growl of self-disgust and anger rose up inside him. What the hell had he been thinking to make love to Phoebe in the library without locking the door?

That was the problem. He hadn’t been thinking. He never seemed capable of thinking straight when she was near. In the back of his head, a cackling laugh taunted him. No, it was the fact he’d not been able to stop thinking about her for the past five years. A fact, he’d refused to admit until last night.

Not a day had passed when a memory of that night at Montjoy’s didn’t slip its way into his thoughts. Several months after he’d watched Phoebe flee down that moonlit garden path, he had decided it was time he confronted his demons and proved his torment was nothing more than anger at having been hoodwinked by the woman.

Fortunately, he’d managed to avoid making a fool of himself just before his carriage had rolled to a stop in front of Helstone Place. Gideon remembered how he’d been ready to storm into her salon and condemn her for being one of the ‘American Dollar Princesses.’

Denouncing her for having sold herself to Helstone hadn’t been the only reason Gideon had wanted to see her again. He had wanted to make Phoebe pay for the torment he’d endured since that night in Montjoy’s garden. Not even the beating he’d taken a few hours after making love to Phoebe had been brutal enough to drive her from his thoughts.

As his carriage had rolled up to Helstone Place, Gideon had suddenly realized the folly of his actions, and he’d directed the driver to continue to another destination. He hadn’t been willing to play the fool again. But it was his inability to forget her that frustrated him because it defied logic.

When he’d heard the news that Helstone had been shot and killed by his mistress, he’d been ready to charge out the door and rush to Phoebe’s side. With each new article the Times printed about the sordid affair, he’d struggled not to go to her. It had become an excruciating daily argument with himself as to what he should do.

The answer was taken out of his hands when his great-grandmother had died and left him her entire fortune. The dowager grand duchess’s holdings were extensive, and he’d used the duchess’s passing and his subsequent time in Lichtenberg as an excuse not to seek Phoebe out. Even though she continued to haunt his dreams, he’d begun to think he was close to pushing her out of his daily thoughts.

The night he’d returned home from Amsterdam, and he’d seen Phoebe walking toward him, it was as if he’d been hit by lightning. It had enraged him that despite his best efforts to forget her, in seconds, she’d reignited the vivid memories of their passionate moment in the dark. When he’d confronted her in her bedroom, he’d not known whether to throttle her or make love to her, preferably both. But having her walk back into his life again emphasized that she’d never been far from his thoughts for the past five years.

Last night it had been painfully difficult to tell her that he’d been wrong to accuse her of marrying Helstone for his title. Gideon wasn’t sure if it had been a fear of appearing like a complete ass or the distinct possibility that she might not forgive him. It had startled him how much he’d wanted her forgiveness. Even more surprising was the relief that had crashed through him when she’d quietly accepted his apology.

He’d thought he’d had everything well in hand until Phoebe had stunned him by agreeing to stay. His obvious surprise had made her prickly as a Scots thistle. The moment she’d call him Lord Chelmbee, his extreme dislike for the offensive nickname had made him lose control of his anger.

No, that wasn’t what had pushed him over the boundary he should never have crossed. Insulting him with that loathsome name Currer had given him had been irritating, but it hadn’t stirred his anger to a boiling point. It had been Phoebe’s scathing denial that he had any effect on her at all that had infuriated him.

It wasn’t true, and they both knew it. Every time he was within a few feet of Phoebe, an electrical charge crackled in the space between them. Gideon had only meant to kiss her until she’d admitted their attraction to one another was an almost tangible thread linking them together. It was an invisible connection that had existed from the very first time Gideon had kissed her in that dark garden.

In the process, he’d lost his head and not released her when he should have. He should have known to anticipate his reaction to her, but he hadn’t. The moment his mouth touched hers, the only thought crashing through his brain was how sweet she tasted and smelled.

Her response to him had been just as eager as it had that night at Montjoy’s, although last night, it had been different. Unlike those stolen moments in that dark garden, Phoebe had responded to him without fear, hesitation, or guilt. The way she’d pressed her body into his, silently begging for his touch, had been a demonstration of unrestrained desire. Even her kiss had been passionate and completely uninhibited. She’d been hot and fiery in his arms.

With every heartbeat, his need for her had grown into something insatiable. It had taken hold of him until the only thing he was aware of was Phoebe. When she’d come apart in his arms, he’d realized his need to experience her over and over again was perhaps even stronger than before.