Page 63 of The Rogue’s Countess

“Does this mean the Chronicles were not pleasant reading for you this morning?”

At the laughter in his mother’s voice, Gideon scowled darkly at her but didn’t reply. Instead, he released the marchioness’s hand to greet Phoebe. As if it were something he’d done dozens of times before, Gideon leaned forward to brush his lips across the silky softness of Phoebe’s cheek. The scent of orange blossoms filled his nostrils as he lifted his head to meet her gaze.

“I was disappointed not to see you at dinner last night,” he murmured. It was a true statement. In fact, he’d been far unhappier at her absence than he cared to admit.

“I was tired and decided to retire early.”

It was a reasonable explanation, but Gideon was certain it was more than exhaustion that had prompted Phoebe to avoid dining alone with him. Yesterday when he’d presented her with the Chelmsford’s emerald, she’d been as skittish as a young colt. It filled him with frustration. Had he made a mistake insisting they marry quickly? Gideon pushed the thought aside and accepted Phoebe’s explanation with a nod.

Offering the marchioness his arm, Gideon escorted her to the dining room with Phoebe following them. As he helped his mother take her seat at the table, Phoebe moved to sit next to her, but the marchioness waved her hand in objection.

“Please sit across from me, Phoebe,” Lady Wrotham said with a mischievous smile. “I have no desire to feel as if I’m at Wimbledon with my head turning back and forth during a conversation between the three of us.”

As his mother sat down at the table, Gideon turned to Phoebe, whose expression was unreadable. She offered him a half-smile, as she did as his mother decreed, and allowed Gideon to help her take the seat on his left.

Once he was seated at the head of the table, Gideon gestured for Pendleton to serve lunch. Their meal was brought out in less than a minute, and the footmen made their way around the table with dishes of veal cutlets, asparagus, and braised carrots. The footman serving the veal bent his head as Lady Wrotham murmured something to him. With a nod, the man waited on the marchioness to select her cutlet before returning to the pantry.

Gideon had just taken a bite of veal when the footman reappeared with the morning’s edition of the London Times. The dowager accepted the paper with a word of thanks and a cheerful smile. Narrowing his gaze at his mother, Gideon cleared his throat.

“I thought you would have read the morning’s paper by now, mama.”

“I didn’t have time to read Currer’s Chronicles.”

“And you simply couldn’t wait until later to read the damned thing,” he grumbled as he scowled at his mother.

“And clearly, Currer’s latest column managed to put you in a foul mood.” Lady Wrotham released a sound of amused exasperation.

“I am not in a foul mood,” Gideon said coolly.

“Really?” the dowager said with an arched look of motherly dissent.

Gritting his teeth, Gideon muttered an oath beneath his breath and focused on his meal. As the marchioness opened the newspaper, Gideon looked at Phoebe. Fear and pain shadowed her features as she met his gaze. Puzzled, he quirked his eyebrow upward in a questioning manner. The moment he did so, alarm flared in Phoebe’s brown eyes, and she quickly averted her gaze.

Perplexed, Gideon was about to ask if she was unwell when the newspaper rustled slightly. A second later, Lady Wrotham gasped then laughed. The sound made Phoebe jerk her head up to meet his gaze. It was impossible to tell if she was eying him in dismay or sympathy. Almost as if she wanted to reassure him, she stretched out her hand and gently touched his arm.

Instantly, the heat of her touch drove its way through the material of his jacket and shirt, then pierced his skin like a hot iron to fire his blood. Her touch emphasized how easily she could stir his emotions. There was a quiet intimacy about the way her hand rested on his arm. Desire always hovered in the background whenever he was close to her, but this was altogether different.

If someone had asked him to describe the sensation he was experiencing, he would be unable to do so. It was a strange yet familiar silent communication that passed between them. As he met Phoebe’s gaze, an emotion flickered in the depths of her brown eyes that made his heart slam into his chest.

In the next moment, his mother made a soft sound from behind the newspaper, and his connection with Phoebe was lost as she pulled her hand away. Irritated that his link with Phoebe had been broken, Gideon scowled at the newspaper hiding his mother’s face. He looked back at Phoebe, but she was cutting her meat into bite-size portions.

The newspaper rustled again as the marchioness folded it and laid it beside her plate. A serene expression on her timeless features, Lady Wrotham picked up her fork and began to eat her lunch. Gideon laid down his silverware and leaned back in his chair when she didn’t say anything to provoke him.

“It appears Currer’s latest chapter amused you immensely, my lady,” he said with annoyance as he studied his mother. Lady Wrotham smiled at him.

“I think Mr. Currer was quite kind to you in his latest chapter, Gideon.” The dowager’s voice held a distinct note of amusement. “Although I confess, I didn’t know you gave names to your plants.”

“I do not name my flowers in the solarium,” he coolly. “Nor have I ever lost a boxing match with the Duke of Aveley.”

“The Duke?” The marchioness eyed him in confusion before laughing. “Of course, strand instead of avenue. So that’s who Sir Strandley is. Currer was clever to use “sir” as one would after being introduced to the Duke.”

“The man might be clever, but his work has the potential to damage innocent people, which is why I hired a private investigator to discover the man’s identity.”

“What?” his mother looked at him in horrified amazement, and beside him, Phoebe made a gurgling sound. He looked at his bride-to-be and frowned at how pale she’d become.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Gideon reached out to touch her hand. His frown deepened as she jumped at his touch and quickly pulled away from him.

“I’m fine,” she said with a shake of her head as her lips thinned with obvious anger. “I’m simply appalled that you would wish to bring harm to Mr. Currer.”