Page 82 of The Rogue’s Countess

“I have a headache, and I would like to go home, but I don’t want to cause a scene or draw attention. Perhaps Constance could walk me out as if we are going to refresh ourselves.”

Phoebe had no idea how she managed to sound coherent with every muscle in her body screaming as if someone was beating her with a stick. With an abrupt nod, Gideon circled her and Lady Wrotham to speak with Constance. Her friend was at her side in an instant, and she locked arms with Phoebe. Without a word, she began to lead Phoebe toward the exit, her head bent in a conspiratorial manner.

“I sent Lucien to call for your carriage. No one will think anything is amiss if Gideon lingers behind for a moment.”

Phoebe nodded and remained silent. She wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere to either die or simply find a way to end her pain. It took only a minute to reach the main entryway, and Constance walked Phoebe out into the warm late spring air. They waited in silence for several moments, and when her senses began to hum, she knew Gideon was close once more.

Dear God, the thought of being alone with him in the carriage was almost too much to bear. As his hand cupped her elbow, Phoebe flinched, but she didn’t pull away. It would indicate something other than a headache was troubling her. The carriage rolled up in front of Gresham Place, and in less than a minute, Phoebe was huddled in the corner of the carriage. Gideon slid toward her on the seat to brush a stray tendril of hair off her cheek.

“We’ll be home soon, my darling.”

The endearment he uttered was an invisible weapon hitting her viciously. Unable to speak for fear of crying, Phoebe simply answered with a brief nod.

It seemed to take an eternity for them to reach Chelmsford House, and with each passing second, she fought to ignore the warmth of his body sitting so close to her. When they finally arrived home, Phoebe automatically accepted Gideon’s hand to exit the carriage. The solicitous manner in which he tended to her was even more difficult to endure than the carriage ride home. She tried to object to his assisting her up the stairs, but she had no strength to do so. As they stopped in front of Gideon’s bedroom door, she drew in a sharp breath.

“I think I shall sleep in my own room tonight.” Although he stiffened beside her, Gideon simply nodded and steadied her as they walked to her room.

“I’ll have Mrs. Murray send up some tea to help you sleep.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Goodnight,” she murmured as she entered her room and closed it behind her without another word.

§ § §

Phoebe stirred under the covers as she heard a whisper of a sound. Groggily, her hand reached out to touch Gideon, but her fingertips only felt the cool sheets where his warm body should be. Eyes fluttering open, she stared at the spot next to her. Had he risen early? Her next breath brought back the pain of the night before.

She’d cried herself to sleep last night as she tried to forget the woman Gideon had led out into the garden. The woman who’d returned to the ballroom with a rumpled gown and hair out of place. Phoebe was miserable, and the only way out of her situation was to use the marital agreement she and Gideon had signed.

Fingers sliding through her hair to push it off of her face, Phoebe stared up at the ceiling, trying to decide what she should do. A sane person would have told her to leave and hold Gideon to the agreement they’d signed before they were married. But how could she leave? She loved him. Was she willing to live in misery for the rest of her life here in Chelmsford House, or did she want to live in misery elsewhere? Someplace where she would never see Gideon again?

Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly closed her eyes to stop them from overflowing. She’d cried enough into her pillow last night. If she continued to cry, her eyes would be red and puffy, which meant Gideon would question her. It was a conversation she wasn’t ready to have just yet, but she would be unable to hold off for long.

A quiet knock on her bedroom door made her jerk upright in bed. Gideon? No, he would have come through the corridor that connected their rooms. Lady Wrotham? Quickly brushing away any sign of tears, she invited her visitor to enter. The sight of Mabel’s sweet countenance made her breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

“My lady, I brought you breakfast,” the maid said quietly as she entered the room carrying a large tray. The maid smiled at Phoebe as she walked toward the bed. Phoebe had no real appetite, and she gestured toward the small table near the divan situated in front of the window overlooking Gideon’s arboretum.

“His lordship told Mrs. Murray that you’d come home with a headache last night. He asked her to send up some chamomile tea in case you might still be feeling unwell.”

“Thank you. Is his lordship still here?”

“No, my lady. He left a short while ago, but there is a note from him on your breakfast tray. There is another letter as well that was delivered after Lord Chelmsford left.”

“Is Lady Wrotham up yet?”

“No, my lady, she asked not to be disturbed until eleven.”

“Thank you, Mabel. That will be all.”

Sliding out of bed, Phoebe pulled on her robe as the young maid bobbed a small curtsey then quietly left the room. Her gaze fell on the tray and the two letters that were placed on top of the morning’s newspaper. Slowly she walked over to the table and stared down at the two letters. The one on top displayed her name written in Gideon’s strong hand. Unprepared to read his words just yet, she pushed it aside and pick up the letter beneath it. As Phoebe turned over the note, she gasped at the crest on the wax seal. Sinking down into a chair, she quickly tore open the letter.

My dearest, Phoebe,

I am quite angry with you, my pet, which we will discuss shortly. Meet me at ten-thirty in Victoria Gardens at the Buxton Memorial Fountain. I am incognito for obvious reasons. I’ve grown a rather refined beard, which compliments my dark brown hair.

If you are unable to come now, send me a time and place where you can meet. Send the note to the Clarendon Hotel care of M. Louis Bisset of Villiers-le-Mahieu. Hurry now, I am eager to see you, my darling, darling, Phoebe.

Lawrence

Stunned, Phoebe stared down at the letter. Lawrence had returned to London. But why? She’d not heard anything about his father’s passing. It didn’t matter why he was here, and she was eager to see her friend. She’d missed him dearly. The mantel clock chimed the quarter-hour. It was almost ten. She would need to hurry.