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He might even do that before his sire’s portrait just to spite the bastard.

Phoebe, however, might not care much for it, and as much as the idea had its merits, he could not see any enjoyment in it without her enthusiastic participation.

Perhaps my study would be a much better location.

Maybe then, he would be able to fulfill that recurring fantasy of bending her over his desk while he thrust into her from behind…

Such activities were also said to enhance one’s creativity, and shehadbeen meaning to write a sequel for her book. As a supportive husband, it was his duty to provide his wife with all the inspiration she would need…

A slight ruckus broke through his fantasy with as much finesse as a raging bull in a china shop. A small group of gentlemen had just entered the premises, with their mistresses hanging none too discreetly on their arms. One of the women even looked vaguely familiar, and Ethan would probably have recognized her if he was not too annoyed by the disturbance.

Instead, he turned around with a slight look of displeasure. He really should finish his drink and leave to prepare for the ball. Phoebe would not be too happy if he was late again, and heloathedthe very thought of disappointing her.

He was about to finish his whiskey when hesmelledthe cloud of perfume that took up the seat beside him before he even saw the woman wearing it.

“Well, well, well… I never thought I would chance upon the Duke of Sin at such an early hour.” She laughed throatily. She eyed him openly, a smile curving her painted lips. “You look well, Your Grace.”

It was the opera singer from last night. Andrea Bianchi. The new star of the London art scene and, apparently, the latest mistress of Lord Winthrop, from the way she had been hanging on his arm earlier.

“As do you, Signorina Bianchi,” he replied mildly.

“I am not well, I amdespondent,” she sighed dramatically, inching closer to him. “I missed our time together, Ethan… Your body pressed against mine?—”

Ethan finished his drink quickly and set the glass down on the polished wooden surface with a thud. “Well, I donot,” he told her plainly. “I cannot stay for long, Signorina, but I do hope you enjoy your time here.”

He stood up and grabbed his hat, turning to leave, when he heard her say, “You have fallen for her.”

It was a statement, not a question.

The opera singer looked at him in astonishment. And then, her eyes glittered with amusement as dry laughter poured from her lips.

“You have fallen for your Duchess!” she exclaimed wryly. “Imagine that. The Duke of Sin finally meeting a woman who could bring him to his knees.”

Oh, she had brought him to his knees, Phoebe. She had him eating out of the palm of her hand, worshipping her with his tongue and lips and fingers.

Ethan glared at Andrea Bianchi. “Do not be absurd.”

She laughed again and waved him off. “Do not worry overmuch, Your Grace, for I shall not bother you again. I have no taste for men who are enamored with other women.”

It was a casual dismissal. A woman like Andrea Bianchi knew where her interests lay, and none of it could be found with him.

Because she was right—he was not interested in any other woman who wasnotPhoebe.

She had consumed all his thoughts. His very desires centered solely on her.

No other woman could ever compare.

His pace quickened until he all but dashed to his waiting carriage, uncaring of the stunned looks he managed to garner on his way out of the club, while Andrea Bianchi’s laughter trailed after him.

Damn, I have been such a fool!

The only thing more foolish was to remain one, and Ethan was resolved not to be an idiot for much longer.

“To the townhouse,” he instructed the coachman.

He had a ball to prepare for—and a wife he needed to properly woo if he meant to do everything right this time.

CHAPTER 30