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“You might not like the idea of being married to me, but you could have at least respectedyour husbandenough to reserve your first dance.”

Her eyes quickly snapped up to Ethan’s, and she frowned. “You think I would enjoy dancing with the Viscount?”

“You were smiling and being congenial enough.”

Phoebe nearly burst into laughter.

He was being ridiculous. Absolutely hilarious.

“What do you suggest I do instead? Throw him out bodily?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, his smile thawing just a little at her suggestion. “That would have been far more preferable.”

She supposed he found it a reasonable undertaking, considering his… size, but she doubted she had the physical strength it would require to haul the Viscount out of the ballroom.

And even if she did give the Viscount the cut direct during her very own wedding breakfast—as she very much wanted to—would that not cause quite the stir?

Unfortunately, she was just a woman, and bound by the rules of Society at that. While men could be quite direct, she had to rely on words and flattery to dissuade men like the Viscount from approaching her further—and sometimes, they refused to takenofor an answer.

It was a truly exhausting dance. If only there was one man who could tell her to do as she pleased, to be as impertinent or as much of a termagant as possible and he would take care of the consequences…

“You could do whatever you wish with him, you know.”

She looked up at Ethan, her heart pounding in her chest.

“You are a duchess now—myDuchess,” he clarified with an edge in his tone. “You outrank him, sweetheart, and as such, you may scold him on the dance floor if you have the heart for it.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Will you not find me unbearable, then? And people are going to talk?—”

“Let them talk,” he scoffed. “I shall take care of everything else. As my wife, you will never need to worry about such trifles ever again.”

What a tempting thought that was! To openly rebuke anybody who offended her and not have to fear the consequences. Why, she could become a little tyrant of the ton for as long as her husband had her back.

But for how long would he tolerate such misbehavior?

Men often made promises one moment and changed their minds the next.

“I did not think you were the jealous type.” She smiled up at him.

The music had already started, and together they began to move on the dance floor.

As a debutante, Phoebe had had a great many dance partners. Some were good, and some were plain awful.

However, none of them were like Ethan, who moved with such lithe grace. His movements were powerful yet elegant. Inexplicably masculine and just the slightest bit domineering. His presence seemed to fill the entire ballroom without suffocating her.

In his arms, she felt safe, and yet there was a strange exhilaration that filled her, as if she was a small bird about to learn how to fly.

But would he catch her? Or would she come crashing to the ground, broken, because she dared to trust a dangerous Wolf?

“I am not jealous,” he told her softly, his eyes boring intensely into hers. “I just do not like other men touching what is rightfullymine.”

Mine.

What a delicious thought.

And he was looking at her with great interest as well. Certainly more than all those other gentlemen who had mouthed platitudes and expressed their passing fancy for her.

But was hehersas well?