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“Excuse me, ladies,” Ethan growled. “It seems that the good Viscount needs a lesson on the etiquette expected of wedding guests.”

No one—absolutely no one—had the right to makehisbride uncomfortable on her wedding day.

That privilege was reserved for him only.

The Viscount Dexford could go find another young woman to foist himself on—Ethan did not care.

Just nothisPhoebe.

CHAPTER 9

She did not want to dance.

Nor did she want to be anywhere within the vicinity of the man she had narrowly escaped being married to.

But the Viscount Dexford was being incredibly persuasive that he was bordering on forceful.

Of course, a gentleman would never dream of forcing a lady—particularly a newly married one, at that—but that was exactly how she felt as he led her to the dance floor.

“My Lord, I am certain that this is not appropriate,” she insisted.

She attempted to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held on to her fast, his urbane smile never wavering even once.

“Oh, come now, My Lady,” he cajoled. “A dance between us both could convey to the ton that we parted amicably and that there are no ill feelings between us.”

Phoebe did not initially harbor ill feelings towards the man. Admittedly, she did feel a great deal of relief at not having to marry him, but now…

Well, this was another situation entirely.

She didnotparticularly like being dragged halfway across the room and then made to dance with the Viscount.

She had not even danced with herhusbandyet. What made him think he had the right to this dance?

“Your Grace.”

She turned to find Ethan towering over the both of them, his usually easy smile now edged with an icy coldness.

The Viscount frowned. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace? I do not quite understand what you meant.”

“Mywife. You referred to her as ‘My Lady’, when you should have addressed her properly as ‘Your Grace’,” Ethan corrected.

The Viscount stiffened visibly at the subtle reprimand. “Your Grace,” he echoed hollowly, his grip on Phoebe’s hand finally loosening.

“That is much better now.” Ethan smiled coldly at him. He smoothly stepped between them and plucked Phoebe’s trapped hand from the crook of the man’s elbow to tuck it firmly in his. “And thank you.”

“For what, exactly, Your Grace?” Lord Dexford bristled, his smile becoming stiff and visibly forced.

But that was nothing compared to Ethan. Phoebe could feel the blistering cold emanating from her usually warmhusband.

“Why… for leading my wife to the dance floor for our first dance, of course. Although,” Ethan added, “I assure you that we shall not require your assistance on such matters henceforth.”

She could practically see Lord Dexford fuming, glaring at Ethan as if the man was the devil incarnate. For a moment, she feared that the two men were going to come to fisticuffs right there on the dance floor, but then with an incensed sound, the Viscount angrily stomped off the dance floor.

“Good riddance,” she heard Ethan mutter.

Good riddance, indeed.

Phoebe still wondered if it had been her mama who made the ill-advised call to invite Lord Dexford to the wedding. She would need to have a talk with her about that later…