Page 36

“You will soon find that I am right on many other things as well, husband,” she told him cheerfully.

Ethan could not help but laugh, although the sound echoed hollow in his ears.

For better or for worse, they were married now. Phoebe would soon come to her senses about the realities of most ton marriages, although theirs did not need to be adversarial. Theycould be happy in each other’s company, and that would be more than sufficient.

For now, he would allow her the whimsical innocence of her youth.

He owed her that much, at least.

CHAPTER 11

Is this how it feels to be a husband?

Ethan raised his hand to block out the bright morning light that had filtered through his windows, wincing slightly as memories of last night flashed through his mind.

Even after Phoebe left him standing there at the front door, he had been in a state of constant, unabating arousal. One that even a heavy dose of liquor could not douse.

In the end, he had clambered into bed, stroking himself as he imagined his golden-haired wife straddling him with her luscious thighs, her breasts bouncing as she rode him to sunrise or completion—whichever came first.

It was the only way he could catch even a wink of sleep.

“Huxley!” he called out, summoning his faithful valet.

The man appeared at the door to his bedchamber, silent as a damned ghost. “Right here, Your Grace.”

Ethan grimaced as the consequences of his previous intoxication exerted themselves on his most unfortunate skull.

“What time is it?” he grumbled, throwing off the covers.

“It is already a quarter past ten, Your Grace.”

Ethan paused in the middle of washing his face. “Has the Duchess eaten her breakfast?”

“Not yet, Your Grace.”

That was understandable. It was her first day as the Duchess, and even he himself had woken up rather late. Phoebe should be resting after the taxing events of the day prior.

“Tell the others not to disturb her rest,” he instructed Huxley. “Later, when she awakes, have the kitchens send breakfast to her rooms.”

Only silence met his directives.

Ethan looked up from the basin and wiped his face dry. He turned towards the valet, who was able to heroically keep a straight face through it all.

“She is already awake, isn’t she?” he muttered.

“Since daybreak, Your Grace,” Huxley confirmed.

Daybreak? What was she doing up and about at daybreak?

This was London, where it was considered fashionable to rise at noon. If Phoebe had missed breakfast, he would not have faulted her for it. Most of the ton—himself included—went straight to luncheon after a night about town.

But for her to rise well before him? Was she made of steel? From where did she get such strength?

“Where is she now?” Ethan snapped.

“I believe Her Grace is currently in the kitchens, Your Grace.”

“You believe—” He broke off, his eyebrows snapping together. “Where was she before that?”