Page 76 of The Rogue’s Countess

“Oh my dear, Lady Wrotham,” the woman exclaimed in an overwrought voice. “Thank heavens, you are here. I’ve been beside myself as I don’t have an answer for any of the servants’ questions.“

Gideon half-listened to the woman’s prattling, his attention focused on Phoebe and the trepidation on her face. Suddenly Lady Gresham gasped loudly, and the countess brushed past his mother to grab Phoebe’s hands in hers.

“My dear, Lady Hel—Chelmsford, welcome. I just heard the joyous news this morning at Madame Sabine’s. My dress needed some last-minute alterations. But I saw Lady Mary Pepperell in the shop, and she told me that Lord Chelmsford had married and that I would never guess who his new bride was. Of course, I had no idea, but when Lady Mary said it was you, well naturally, I was astonished. Not that you were to blame for—”

“Lady Chelmsford and I thank you for your best wishes, Lady Gresham. However, I believe you were in need of the marchioness’s assistance?” Lady Gresham flinched at the icy note in his voice as Phoebe pulled her hand from the countess’s.

“Yes, thank you for your best wishes, my lady.” Phoebe’s reply was soft, and it wasn’t difficult to see the woman’s words had made Phoebe deeply uncomfortable.

Angered by Lady Gresham’s behavior, Gideon eyed the woman with open disdain. Clearly disconcerted by his abrupt manner, Lady Gresham’s lips moved, but she said nothing. Although Phoebe’s mouth was curved in a small smile, her distress was almost palpable. Gideon gently pulled Phoebe’s hand into the crook of his arm. Her fingers immediately clutched at his arm fiercely, and her slight trembling pulsated into him. Another jolt of anger barreled through him at Lady Gresham’s insensitive greeting. Arching his eyebrow, Gideon eyed the woman coldly and gestured toward the ballroom.

“But…but…of course. How…silly of me. The first guests…they will be arriving…in a few minutes,” the woman stammered. “Forgive me. If you’ll come with me.”

With a frown on her face, the marchioness took a quick step toward Phoebe and kissed her cheek. His mother whispered something to Phoebe before squeezing her hand and turning back to Lady Gresham with an expression of displeasure. An uneasy look settled on the countess’s face as her gaze flitted across their faces.

As if suddenly aware she’d made a grievous error in the way she’d greeted Phoebe, the countess quickly turned and led the way into the ballroom. Lady Wrotham’s posture as she followed Lady Gresham indicated she was as angry as he was for the way their hostess had greeted Phoebe. As the two women moved away from him, Gideon bent his head to kiss his wife’s cheek.

“The woman’s an infernal gossip, and you’re to ignore her.”

“I did warn you that people would talk if you married me,” Phoebe said quietly as she avoided looking up at him.

“I don’t give a damn what others say or think,” he said with a ferocity that made her jerk her head up to look at him in surprise. “And I’m ordering you to do the same.”

“A command?” Her smile was genuine, but the pain he saw in her eyes wrenched at his gut.

“A request then,” he said firmly. “I’ll not tolerate anyone treating you with anything less than respect. Anyone who dares to treat you with condescension will find me unforgiving when it comes to my family.”

“Oh Gideon, if only—I don’t deserve you as a defender.”

“If only, what?”

“It’s…it’s simply that the circumstances under which you married me were less than desirable,” she said softly. “I know it wasn’t something you wanted.”

“As I told you at our first dinner as husband and wife, I have no regrets. In fact, I find being married to you even more pleasurable than I expected.” Gideon smiled as he lowered his voice. “And while I thoroughly savor our conjugal exchanges, I find your company equally enjoyable.”

Phoebe’s cheeks grew pink, and she scowled at him in feigned anger. She didn’t reply to his playful comments, but it was the light shining in her eyes that stole his breath away. Gideon bent his head and kissed her brow. Inhaling the sweet scent of roses off her hair, desire stirred inside him, and he wished they were in his bedroom where he could worship her as she deserved to be.

With a smile, he guided her into the ballroom. In a room directly adjacent to the ballroom, he saw his mother standing at a table laden with food. Laughing, the marchioness waved to them to join her. As they entered the room serving as a buffet, Gideon saw a dessert table with a large cake as its centerpiece. It was decorated with an array of different flowers and smaller cakes disguised as small animals and birds. Beside him, Phoebe inhaled a sharp breath and came to an abrupt halt.

“Gideon…I’m afraid you’re going to be furious with me,” she said in a soft, apologetic tone.

“It would take a great deal for me to be angry with you.”

“Oh, I think this will meet that challenge.” There was a look of deep regret and dismay shadowing her features, and Gideon eyed her with puzzlement. As if realizing he wanted an answer. Phoebe rolled her shoulders. “When you first returned home from Amsterdam, you made me so angry, and I…well, I…”

“What are you trying to say, Phoebe?” He frowned at her growing distraught manner.

“I…truly am sorry, Gideon…I shouldn’t…but I was furious…I wanted—”

“Phoebe. Gideon.” The marchioness called out with a wave of her hand. “Come look at the artistry of this cake. It’s marvelous.”

Frowning with puzzlement, Gideon took a step forward and hesitated as Phoebe pulled away from him. She met his gaze before quickly bowing her head. She had paled slightly, and he caught her hand as concern sped through him.

“Are you feeling unwell, sweetheart?”

“Yes…no… it’s the bumblebees,” Phoebe whispered.

“Bumblebees?”