Page 51 of The Rogue’s Countess

“No, a civil ceremony will be fine. A church wedding would ensure news of our marriage reached the Set much more quickly than a ceremony here.” Her mouth twisted slightly in a wry smile. “Even then, it won’t take long for the Set to discover the Earl of Chelmsford has married. Once word of it reaches their ears, there will be a massive influx of callers arriving on your doorstep. They will want to know if there is any truth to the rumor that Lord Chelmsford married that woman.”

Phoebe’s words were self-deprecating, but he heard the soft note of pain in her voice. With a frown, he caught her chin with his fingers and forced her to look at him.

“You are to tell me the minute anyone treats you unkindly or with disrespect. I’ll not tolerate the Countess of Chelmsford being treated otherwise.” At the inflexible note in his voice, Phoebe laughed. The sound lightened his heart. Amusement sparkling in her eyes, she arched an eyebrow at him.

“If you have ever thought to become Prime Minister one day, your ambition is apt to go unfulfilled. Your autocratic tendencies, not to mention a complete lack of diplomatic skills, will ensure that any such aspirations fail to come to fruition.”

“I’m quite serious about this, Phoebe. I’ll not have anyone treating you badly in any way,” Gideon said emphatically before he clenched his teeth. “God help Currer if he even comes close to mentioning your name.”

At his fierce reply, she jumped slightly as if he’d frightened her. Trepidation flashed in her eyes, and he eyed her with puzzlement. It was the second time she’d reacted oddly at the mention of Currer. He studied her a long moment, and his bewilderment deepened as he tried to determine what had made her apprehensive. Whatever he’d seen in her gaze had vanished, and all he saw was gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as she stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “Currer has done you an injustice. No woman could ask for a more gallant champion.”

Gideon stiffened at her mention of the satirist, and as he met Phoebe’s gaze, he frowned. Something akin to remorse flickered in her large brown eyes before it vanished a second later. Phoebe didn’t give him the chance to question her, as she quickly turned around and left the conservatory.

As he watched her walk away, Gideon wondered if she would actually do as he’d ordered. If there was one thing he had already learned about Phoebe, it was that she was independent. She didn’t like taking orders from him. Worst of all, he was certain she still didn’t trust him.

Not that he could blame her. He’d done his best to seduce her, and when he’d finally succeeded, he’d brought her nothing but humiliation. It would take a great deal of work to convince her that she could trust him, but he intended to do his damnedest to persuade her. It would never undo what had happened in the library, but he could at least prove that his efforts were sincere.

Pulling his pocket watch out of his vest pocket, Gideon calculated the amount of time he would need to secure a marriage license, call on Sebastian, and visit Chesterton, his solicitor. He could make all the arrangements this afternoon and ensure he and Phoebe were married the day after tomorrow. Satisfied he’d settled on a plan of action, Gideon moved quickly through the conservatory to open the roof windows so the now steady rainfall would water the plants. When he’d finished, he headed toward the door of the orangery, all too aware of the way his life was about to change forever.

Chapter 14

Phoebe closed the door to her room and pressed her back into the wooden barrier. Eyes closed, she fought back the panic, making her heart race and thunder in her ears as if a train were flying past her. Oh God, what had she done? Up until Gideon had mentioned Currer a few moments ago, she’d completely forgotten about the Chronicles.

Tears pushed against Phoebe’s eyelids as she remembered the installment she’d handed to Mr. Meade’s assistant the day before yesterday. Not once since she’d begun writing the Chronicles had she ever eviscerated anyone as she had Gideon in the chapter she’d submitted the other day. It would have been a terrible thing to do to anyone, but she’d done it to the man she loved.

Now it had all gone wrong.

Terribly wrong.

She’d allowed her anger to flow from her pen to the page. From the moment he’d arrive home, Gideon had done little to endear him to her. His condescending manner and arrogant assumption that she would welcome him into his bed had infuriated her.

It hadn’t mattered that he’d been right about her desire for him. And Phoebe did crave his touch. She did so with an intensity that had alarmed her. But it was his low opinion of her that had cut deep. In retaliation, she’d lashed out in the only way she knew how. She’d brutally insulted him in the latest chapter of the Chronicles she’d turned in. Phoebe had even used Lord Nitwitherspoon as the foil and competitor to Gideon’s flower garden, knowing full well how dull and obsequious the man was. It was designed to stab at Gideon’s pride, and Phoebe was fairly certain how he would react.

Nausea threatening to make her retch, Phoebe pressed one hand against her stomach in an effort to control the churning. How clever she’d thought she was in mocking Gideon. The truth was, in wielding her sword of ink, she’d not been clever at all. Her words were unworthy of her, and Gideon didn’t deserve them. Even though they’d been at odds since his return home, she’d seen his goodness in the way he treated his mother, the staff, and even her to some degree.

Gideon’s words might have cut deep or threatened her senses, but he’d never demonstrated any propensity for violence or base cruelty where others were concerned. She’d misjudged him based on his reaction to her own foibles. That he’d assumed she’d married Alfred to become a viscountess wasn’t unreasonable. The entire Marlborough Set believed it. He had nothing else to judge her by except those passionate moments in the dark with a woman he’d never met.

Ever since that terrible moment when Polly had entered the library, Gideon had displayed the character and goodness she’d instinctively recognized in him that night at Montjoy’s. The memory of the marchioness stating that if Currer were to learn of Lady Wrotham’s secret, Gideon would become her mortal enemy. Although she’d not reveal any dark secret, Phoebe had wronged him. Worse, she knew reading what she’d handed to her editor would hurt and disappoint a woman she was deeply fond of. She needed to fix it before it was too late.

Brushing aside her tears of regret and pain, Phoebe hurried toward the secretaire. She would write a new chapter and deliver it to Mr. Mead today. The marchioness had been in a small amount of pain, and Phoebe had insisted that her employer rest. Their plans for the charity ball were almost complete, and hopefully, the marchioness wouldn’t send for her until late in the afternoon.

As Phoebe sank down into her chair, she forced everything out of her head and began to write a new installment for the Chronicles. A chapter that mentioned Gideon only a couple of times. It was difficult to restructure the plotline stored in her head, but she laid her pen down more than three hours later. Staring down at the words she’d written, she experienced a rush of release that she’d managed to poke fun of Gideon with a lighter note than her original ridicule or even her subtle barbs in past chapters.

Glancing at the mantel clock, Phoebe winced and bit down on her lip. For a moment, she debated whether or not to change her dress, but the idea of wasting valuable minutes made Phoebe dismiss the idea. She barely had enough time to reach Mr. Meade’s office and exchange the chapters before the editor sent the installment to the printer. Once she’d dealt with changing out the chapter, she would go to Lyndham House to ask Constance to stand with her.

Terrified she might miss the print deadline, Phoebe quickly collected all the chapter pages and slid them into the envelope her editor had given her. Frantically rushing toward her dresser, she put on her hat with its netted veil and jabbed a hatpin through the hat’s material and into her hair to hold it in place.

The pin went deeper than it should have, and she winced as the pin bit into her scalp. Ignoring the sting, Phoebe rolled the net veil down over her face, picked up her gloves, and scurried out of her room. As she raced down the stairs, she feared Gideon would suddenly appear and offer to escort her to Lyndham House.

Terrified of such a thing happening, she hurried across the marble floor toward the front door and quickly exited the house. Still frightened of running into Gideon, Phoebe quickly walked a short block before waving for a hack to stop. It wasn’t until she was seated in the hansom cab that she was able to relax slightly.

Until she replaced her old chapter with the fresh one she held in her hands, she would not rest easy. As Phoebe leaned back into the squabs of the hack, she stared blindly out at the passing scenery as her thoughts drifted back to how the Chronicles had started.

From the moment Jasper had thrown her out of Helstone House, and she’d been forced to find employment, Phoebe had vowed to find a way to escape London. Her father had died two years before she met Gideon, and she had no other family to call upon for assistance. She had considered writing to Lawrence, but she wasn’t about to jeopardize her friend’s safety for her.

With no one to turn to, Phoebe had remembered hearing Madame Sabine needed a new bookkeeper, and she offered the dressmaker her services. The woman had been skeptical at first, but when Phoebe explained she had nowhere to go, Sabine had taken pity on her.