Page 11 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 11

I s 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?”

The valet was visibly discomfited by the barrage of questions. He cleared his throat before relaying the various things the new Duchess had been up to while Ethan lay abed like a damned invalid.

When she awoke, she had called for her maid to help her dress, which—according to Huxley—she accomplished without much fuss. After that, she went out to meet the butler, Morton, and the head of staff, Mrs. Craddock.

Now, she was in the kitchen, meeting the cook and the rest of the kitchen staff.

She certainly has been productive.

Much more productive than him, at least.

“Let us hurry, then, Huxley.” Ethan smiled grimly.

“Will you be going out, Your Grace?”

Ethan chuckled. “Of course not. The Duchess has already been up since sunrise. Who are we to languish about?”

He finished dressing in record time, with poor Huxley hurrying after him with combs and brushes and whatnot. Ethan merely brushed the man off. He was more interested in seeing what Phoebe was up to than parading like a peacock in his own home.

“But, Your Grace, the Duchess?—”

Ethan simply quelled his valet’s protests with a single look.

If Phoebe could not be seduced when he had been dressed excellently as he had been on his wedding day, then he presumed that she could care less what he wore at home, without guests to entertain.

Perhaps he might even elicit a more favorable reaction from her en déshabillé.

Now, there is a thought .

He chuckled to himself. He did not have much reservations about nudity, but Phoebe might have strong opinions about it. Not to mention that the household would probably be scandalized to find their master romping about in a state of undress.

He made his way to the kitchen, having scarcely buttoned up his shirt properly, rounding the corner when he heard her melodious voice floating through the open door.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” he heard her say in a pleasant tone. “And I can see that you all do such a splendid job. The wedding breakfast was the best I have ever had.”

She was so nice and sweet to everyone, even the damned kitchen staff.

Everyone .

Except him.

He saw the cook turn pink at her compliment. “It was our honor, Your Grace.”

That morning, his wife was dressed in a sage green dress embroidered with tiny lilac flowers. Her golden tresses were coiled in a rather sensible knot that only drew his attention to the sensual curve of her neck…

If he kissed her there, what would her sigh sound like?

Ethan found himself almost dying to know just that.

“Thank you so much for your efforts, Mrs. Wolsey.” Phoebe smiled at the cook. “Now, about breakfast… I am not quite familiar with His Grace’s preferences…”

“Ah… perhaps that is a matter to b-be taken up with His Grace…” the cook stammered, her eyes darting to the door.

Ethan watched with unabashed delight as his wife’s graceful spine stiffened as if someone had shoved a poker down her back. Slowly, she turned around to face him, and his smile grew even wider.

“Indeed, my darling Duchess,” he drawled. “I would be more than happy to discuss all my preferences with you.”

Rogue! Rascal!

That was all Phoebe could think of as she heard the muffled giggles of the kitchen staff at the barefaced innuendo he casually flung her way. Heat flooded her cheeks as she turned towards him with a reproachful look.

Someone should really take him to task! How could he talk so casually in front of the servants?

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she murmured politely.

The scoundrel had the gall to just grin at her visible discomfiture as he walked over to her, placing a hand on her back and pressing a kiss to her cheek the way any doting husband would do to his cherished wife.

“Should we take breakfast, wife?” he murmured in her ear.

She glared up at him. “I was just discussing it with Mrs. Craddock and the others?—”

Ethan simply waved her off and steered her to the door. “The servants are already aware of my preferences, and I would very much like to discuss them with you over breakfast, as well. You might even want to enlighten me about your desires…”

Phoebe gawked at him.

What was wrong with this man? Did he really have to word it like that ? Did everything that came out of his mouth have to be some sort of innuendo?

This is what you get for marrying a rogue , she reminded herself, close to tears. Of course, he could not be prevailed upon to behave himself!

Well, she would not allow him to make a spectacle of her in front of the staff!

Plastering on a cool smile, she neatly stepped away and past him.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she murmured politely.

“Ethan.”

She frowned at him over her shoulder. He simply smiled back at her—the charming rogue.

“Ethan,” he enunciated. “I believe my beloved wife should call me by my name.”

Beloved, indeed!

She nodded and moved to the door, when he caught up to her and whispered briefly in her ear, “You should practice it for when you are screaming my name in the bedroom.”

To her eternal dismay, she stumbled at his words, and he caught her just as easily.

Phoebe glared at him, but she was soon finding that it had no effect on him whatsoever. The man was incorrigible—there was no improving him, sadly.

They made their way to the breakfast room, and when Phoebe headed for the seat opposite his, he stopped her.

“My Duchess will not be seated so distantly from me,” he told her. He led her to the place immediately to the right side of the head of the table and pulled the chair out for her. “This is where you shall sit during all our meals.”

It was close, much too close to him, but she could see that the plates and cutlery had already been set out to his preference.

Perhaps I should have a word with the servants about this later.

She sat down gingerly, and Ethan pushed in her chair carefully. She thought that he would go over to his seat, but he paused to lean down and play with a stray curl that dangled down the side of her neck before tucking it behind her ear.

“I apologize, Duchess. You are far more tempting than this feast before us.” He shrugged with an impenitent grin.

He sat down and placed a slice of ham and some bread on her plate as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“How did you sleep last night?” he asked her.

“Er… quite well, thank you very much.”

“You would have slept far better if you had allowed me in your bed,” he replied with a dramatic sigh.

Phoebe opened her mouth to argue, but Ethan gave her a pointed look and set his knife and fork down.

“My darling Duchess, if you truly mean for us to get to know each other better, then I believe you should be more forthright with me.”

Fair enough. One must be honest if one was to expect honesty in return.

“All right,” she relented. “I had… some difficulty sleeping. Just the excitement from the day, most likely,” she added, before he could insert another of his inappropriate remarks into their conversation.

“Of course.”

She watched as he served himself some ham and bread, before smiling genuinely at her.

“I am quite pleased that you have taken the time to become familiar with the estate. After all, you are now the lady of the house. You may do whatever you please—change the draperies, paint the entire facade pink… Everything now belongs to you.”

Except for his heart.

Phoebe smiled as she cut into her ham. “I will have a sofa added to the library, then,” she told him. “As that is where I will be spending most of my time.”

He looked a little surprised but nodded. “That sounds nice.”

They continued to eat in relative silence, with merely the sound of the cutlery and the obvious tension filling the space between them.

Phoebe had finished her breakfast and was adding some milk to her tea when Ethan spoke again.

“Have you considered amending your terms, my dear Duchess?”

Her hand hovered over the teacup for a moment, and then she smiled lightly.

So, he thought he could simply have her capitulate, didn’t he?

Her dear husband was going to find himself sorely disappointed this morning.

“No, I have not,” she replied blithely, stirring her tea. She set the spoon down on the saucer. “And you owe me as much for saving you from Miss Delaney’s clutches.”

“Indeed,” he averred.

She smiled. “I am glad we are in accord, then.”

He stood up, and she continued to sip her tea. Her papa often left the table early, too, back when he would personally attend to business matters, so she thought nothing of it.

She was surprised, however, when Ethan pulled his chair to sit right beside her.

“W-what are you doing?” she squawked.

He grinned at her. “Why, getting to know my Duchess, of course.”

“You can get to know me perfectly from where you were seated earlier!” she protested.

“True, but the connection between us would not have been the same,” he countered.

If by connection, he meant the way his thighs brushed against hers or how he leaned so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his masculine form, then she was extremely aware of it.

“You look a little tense, Duchess,” he teased her softly.

She pressed her lips together into a thin line. You think?

“You need not think overmuch about it,” he continued, tucking back that lock of hair that had slipped from her chignon. “I am your husband, after all. It is only natural that we engage in a little conversation after breakfast.”

“You mean over breakfast.”

He shrugged those broad shoulders of his. “Before, over, after. Does it really matter?”

When he put it that way…

“So, what do you want to know about me, Duchess?” he teased her, his warm breath fanning the sensitive skin of her neck.

What did she want to know about him?

Phoebe was tempted to say, “ Everything .” However, when she thought of all his… exploits, she found herself recoiling almost instantly.

No, she would most certainly not want to hear about those things.

“Shall I regale you with tales of my boyhood?” he continued, laughing softly.

She could not help looking at him with some surprise. “You must have been quite the enfant terrible , Your Grace.”

“And you would be wrong on all accounts. I was an exceptionally well-behaved child,” he told her, looking incredibly miffed.

“And who would vouch for this claim?” she asked with a slight eye roll.

“You can ask Morton—he’s been here the longest. There is also Mrs. Craddock, who was here ever since she was a young woman.”

Phoebe basked under the warmth of his easy smile. “Are they going to tell me of the time you set all of your father’s undergarments on fire?” she teased him. “Or that time you put a handful of earthworms on each of your governess’s boots?”

He chuckled softly, leaning ever closer to her. “So, you have been speaking to them about me.”

He was so much closer now. Close enough for his arm to brush against her breast. Or for him to lean in and steal a kiss.

If she had been trying to ignore the sheer force of his pull, it was practically impossible at this proximity.

“I know what you are doing,” she told him breathily.

“Hmm… And what is that, Duchess?”

She looked up at him, her lips curling into a slight smile. “How could I not be aware, when I have seen you doing it countless times?” Her smile grew. “You draw ever closer so quietly so that a lady never notices she has already become your prey. A slight brush of your thighs, your arm casually brushing against her breast…” She paused as he played with the curl that lingered at the side of her neck. “And then, you pretend to tuck her hair behind her ear.”

She looked up into his eyes and willed herself to not fall into their depths. To not become just another of his hapless prey.

She must resist this man.