Page 80 of The Rogue’s Countess

“Burned it. Why on earth would you do such a thing,” Edith snapped as she glared up at him. “I was merely being thoughtful and wished to call on your wife and offer my best wishes on the occasion of your marriage.”

“You’ve never done a kind or thoughtful thing in your life, Edith.”

“How dare you talk to me that way.”

“I’m stating facts, Edith. You are cold, calculating, and shallow.” At his sharp, pointed words, Edith blanched, and she took a quick step backward. In the next instant, anger flashed across the duchess’s face.

“You seem to have forgotten that I can easily make your little mouse of a wife unwelcome in all the best houses,” Edith sneered with disdain, her features ugly with scorn. “It won’t be difficult. After all, she’s an American who whored her way into not just one, but two titles.”

At her insult to Phoebe, Gideon went rigid with a raw fury, and he struggled to keep from wrapping his hands around the woman’s throat. His jaw locked with tension, he glared at the duchess.

“I strongly suggest you think twice about saying that again to anyone.”

“I will say what—”

“And if you do, I’m certain you will sorely regret doing so, your grace. While I would hate to involve the duke in the matter, I will if I believe it’s necessary,” Gideon said with an icy look of disgust. Edith blanched at his cold words as she straightened her shoulders.

“Your threats are pointless where the duke is concerned. He adores me.”

“Does he adore you enough to look away when he hears about your bed sport with Marberry?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Edith sniffed in a dismissive manner, but Gideon saw the flash of trepidation in her eyes.

“I think you do, and if I catch you within arm’s length of Phoebe, his grace will know every sordid detail of your liaison with Marberry.”

“You wouldn’t,” she gasped in obvious fear.

“Try me,” Gideon said in an icy, detached voice. “If you do anything, Edith, even the slightest hint of gossip about Phoebe, you will wish to God you had paid heed to my words here.”

Satisfied that Edith understood the consequences of doing anything to injure Phoebe in any way, Gideon spun about on his heel and stalked away. The raw fury still pounding its way through him made Gideon’s stride fast, and he forced himself to slow his pace. He needed to give himself a moment to let his anger subside. But it was more than anger.

It was fear.

Although Gideon had made it clear to Edith that her life would be a living hell if she harmed Phoebe, the woman might still be a threat. Edith was a viper. She wouldn’t hesitate to make trouble if she could, if simply for the pleasure of making someone else as miserable as she was. The thought of the woman upsetting the delicate balance of his marriage made Gideon’s muscles tighten.

Aside from Lady Gresham’s insensitive greeting, Phoebe seemed to be enjoying herself. But when he’d said he was happy, her response had been less than he’d hoped for. The word content meant different things to different people. Perhaps for Phoebe, contentment was happiness. From everything she’d shared with him, it was clear she’d not had a very happy life.

Phoebe had numerous reasons to be wary of him and any potential happiness she might find as the Countess of Chelmsford. It was easy to understand why she might choose her words carefully when it came to admitting she was happy. The light from the ballroom brightened the path in front of him, and a surge of determination swept through him.

As he entered the small salon and strode out into the ballroom, the memory of how his wife had smiled at him a short time ago made his heart lighter. Gideon grinned. Lady Chelmsford had told him she was content being married to him. But his wife was about to learn how much better happiness was than contentment.

Chapter 21

Phoebe smiled up at Gideon as he promised to return quickly. The warmth in his gray eyes caused butterflies to flutter wildly in her stomach. He hesitated for a brief second as if reluctant to leave her before he turned and walked away. As her gaze followed him, the sound of Constance’s soft laughter echoed in her ears.

“The man is well and truly besotted with you.” Her friend’s observation made Phoebe wince slightly as she rejected the countess’s suggestion with a shake of her head.

“I would like to believe that, but I have no desire to have my hopes crushed if you are wrong. There is also the other matter that has yet to be resolved. Until it is settled, hope is something I can’t afford.”

“I’ve known Gideon for years, Phoebe. If he is not already in love with you, he is well on his way.” Constance caught her hand in hers and squeezed it reassuringly. “As for a certain gentleman, you worked well into the afternoon in our library yesterday. I have no idea how you finished so quickly, but you did, and the package was successfully delivered.”

Phoebe nodded as she tried to stifle the hope Constance’s words ignited in her heart. A confident smile on her lips, Constance laid a reassuring hand on Phoebe’s arm before a woman Phoebe didn’t recognize caught her friend’s attention. After greeting the woman, Constance immediately introduced Lady Frances Woodburn to Phoebe. Still distracted, Phoebe took a half-hearted interest in the conversation as she looked around the room in the hope she would see Gideon.

Disappointment threaded through her when she didn’t see him. Phoebe was just about to turn her full attention to the conversation between Constance and Lady Frances when she saw Gideon’s tall, handsome figure across the room. Happiness sped through her at the sight of him, but a split-second later, the emotion was dealt a crushing blow as a small group of guests shifted their positions to reveal a woman clinging to Gideon’s arm.

In horrified dismay, she watched as he escorted the woman into one of the small salon rooms adjacent to the ballroom. Several days ago, she and Lady Wrotham had visited Gresham Place to determine the best place to set up the buffet. The room Gideon and the woman on his arm had entered was one Phoebe remembered vividly. It was a small salon with a door that opened into the garden.

Frozen in place, Phoebe felt as if someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart to stop it from beating. For a long moment, she stared at the room’s empty doorway. Unable to think straight, she blindly accepted a glass of champagne a footman offered her from the tray he carried.