Page 17 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 17

T hat horrible, wicked man!

Phoebe sucked in a harsh breath as she splashed her face with water and proceeded to scrub her face clean as if it would cleanse her mind of the scandalous things she had been dreaming of the entire night.

For the first time in her entire life, she cursed her highly imaginative mind, the same mind that enabled her to bring stories to life on the pages.

And then, she proceeded to curse Ethan for planting those seeds into her.

I would not mind it terribly if he planted his seeds as well , a devious voice quipped in her head, to her great horror.

He was only here for no more than an hour and a half . How could I have devolved into a creature of depravity in such a brief time?

Perhaps debauchery truly was contagious. The only difference was that Ethan Audley was the sole object of her fantasies, whereas she might not be the only object of his.

She threw the cloth into the washbasin angrily, much to her maid’s surprise.

“I… do not feel well today,” she muttered hastily.

But Ella only smiled in understanding. “You have been the spirit of kindness ever since you were a little girl, Your Grace. It is not wrong to feel emotion sometimes.”

Phoebe let out a long-suffering sigh and sat in her vanity while Ella began to brush her hair. For so long, she had aspired for perfection. Every smile had been practiced, her hands always positioned the exact way, with nary a hair out of place.

It was a little tiring, to be honest.

However, since she met Ethan Audley, she realized that nothing in her life had gone according to plan.

Even now, she could not stop thinking about him—or the way his tongue lashed against her aching slit.

She squirmed a little in her seat, squeezing her thighs together, and she hoped that Ella would not notice her strange discomfort. But even if she did, the maid had spent enough time with her to know that when she was anxious and worried, she vastly preferred silence and the company of her own thoughts.

“Did… His Grace say anything before he left?” she asked the maid.

The brush hovered slightly over her silken locks, and for a moment, hope soared inside her. But then, Ella shook her head.

“I did not hear of anything, Your Grace,” the maid said in an almost apologetic tone.

Phoebe affected a look of nonchalance and shrugged. “It is hardly of any consequence. After all, this was his residence even before it was mine. He may come and go as he pleases.”

Those words struck a chord deep within her, as much as she hated to admit it.

Come and go as he pleased, indeed!

After Ella finished with her hair and helped her into her dress, Phoebe made her way to the parlor, where she usually took a light breakfast and a spot of tea, even though she scarcely had the appetite for it.

If she did not eat, the servants may very well report that to Ethan, and Phoebe would rather he did not realize just how great an effect he had on her.

Or what if she refused to eat and the servants reported that to him? Would he anxiously come running back to the estate then?

Phoebe scoffed softly at her thoughts. She had always felt such disdain for the petty games that ladies played on their beaux and husbands, but here she was, considering those very same schemes.

She smiled softly as the servants laid out an array of bread and pastries before her, as well as some butter and a great assortment of jams. A pot of freshly brewed tea was also brought out, along with cream and some sugar.

As had become the household routine in the past month since Ethan left for his townhouse, the butler came in with a silver tray bearing the day’s correspondence. Usually, there would be this or that Lady inviting her out for tea or luncheon.

However, today, there was only one single card on the tray.

“Just this one?” she muttered, frowning slightly as she picked it up. “How strange…”

“His Grace advised me to clear your schedule, Your Grace, as he will be coming over for tea,” Morton explained simply.

Phoebe nearly dropped the card back on the tray in her surprise. “His Grace?”

“The Duke of Sinclair.”

“Naturally.” Phoebe managed a feeble chuckle. “But why would he send his card instead of just sending word?”

She saw the hint of a smile on Morton’s normally stoic features.

“His Grace said that he had never called on you before,” he told her. “He would very much like to try doing so now.”

“His Grace has rather… unconventional ideas,” she murmured.

Still, she could not help but smile as she looked at her husband’s card. It was deceptively simple, and yet it conveyed his status and wealth from a single glance.

Perhaps it is time I have my own cards created, as well . After all, the Duchess of Sinclair cannot embarrass her husband with a shabby card.

“Very well, Morton.” She smiled. “Do send word to His Grace that my schedule has been appropriately cleared as he advised and that I shall be waiting for him this afternoon.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

The butler bowed and moved to exit the room when Phoebe suddenly thought of something.

“Ah, before I forget, Morton,” she said, biting her lower lip. “I’m afraid I am not quite familiar with His Grace’s tea preferences…”

How could a wife not know what her husband liked? If her mama ever found out about it, she would probably cry in disgrace.

But Morton just smiled at her. “His Grace advises you not to worry at all, Your Grace. He has his plans.”

Phoebe could not help but shake her head and smile at that. How very like Ethan to have thought of everything and still leave her on tenterhooks, wondering as to what he will do next.

After the butler left, she happily ate her breakfast, her appetite miraculously restored.

“Well, what did she say?”

Ethan looked at Huxley with great impatience, tapping his foot on the thick carpet. He only realized how foolish he must have looked when the valet regarded him with mild surprise.

“Her Grace sent word just now that she will clear her schedule as advised and that she is expecting you for tea in the afternoon,” the valet relayed.

“Fantastic!” Ethan grinned, clapping a cheerful hand on the poor man’s shoulder. “And do not forget those bonbons! The Duchess of Blackthorn claims they are her favorite.”

Indeed, Alice had been quite surprised when he dropped by Blackthorn Estate well before it was considered polite for guests. Colin, on the other hand, had not been so hospitable and threatened to throw him out the door for disturbing his wife at what he claimed was an “ungodly hour for such foolishness.”

Ever since finding out that his wife was with child, his friend had become even more overbearing, and only Alice could get him to exercise even a modicum of restraint. It was only her soft, gentle reprimand that kept Colin from making good on his threats.

Huxley let slip a slight smile. “Your Grace might also like to know that Her Grace already had her breakfast and expressed great satisfaction with the tea.”

Ethan smiled smugly at that. Pestering Daniel for that new blend certainly paid off, although Ashton did warn him that the next time he barged in on him and his wife during their “reading hour,” he would have him tied up and shipped off to Phoebe with a warning tacked to his forehead.

Would she like that, perhaps? Ropes and games and all…

As provocative as he had been with her, he had been greatly pleased to find that his more lascivious suggestions did not offend her. Rather, she seemed aroused by them.

Imagine that—his innocent, little Duchess apparently enjoyed his wickedness.

Very well, he would make sure that she benefited from that.

One of the great advantages of my roguish ways . And my dear Phoebe shall reap the rewards of my experience.

But first, he must woo his wife—gently and sweetly. Phoebe wanted romance, and he would make sure she would have it.

“Shall I have the blue coat prepared for tea with Her Grace?” Huxley asked him.

Ethan stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Which blue one, Huxley?”

He had a great many blue coats. He could not be expected to keep track of all of them.

“Ah… The one you prefer to wear when you?—”

“Dear God, no!” Ethan blanched.

Surely his valet was not suggesting he wear the same clothes he wore to meet his past mistresses to tea with his wife . Had Huxley gone mad?

“I apologize, Your Grace. I had thought that you preferred this specific coat for… specific reasons.”

That particular coat indeed brought out certain attributes, but if Phoebe ever learned of Ethan’s intentions whenever he wore that coat, she would be more likely to dump the steaming tea on his head than be inclined to any sort of productive interaction with him.

“No, Huxley,” Ethan said in a low, dangerous voice. “In fact, I will have no need for that particular coat henceforth. I shall go with a midnight one. Or better yet,” he added with a gleam in his eyes, “that deep green with the golden trim.”

Just like her eyes .

He had come to a realization last night after she left him in his study. He had sunk into the couch, her scent lingering all around him.

Ethan admitted it had been quite hard to think at first, with his raging arousal like a fever in his blood, and that was when the thought hit him.

It was rather strange, for one would say that it would be counterproductive to think at all with an erection that simply refused to go away, but fortunately for Ethan, it worked out well enough.

Although he had heard from Alice and Evie that Phoebe had enjoyed some success during her first Season, none of her suitors had actually been able to “win her heart,” as she had told him. If someone had managed such a feat, then her papa might have never needed to resort to betrothing her to that lout Lord Dexford.

But Ethan was different from all those simpering fops who gathered at her parlor, mouthing off bad poetry.

He could give her what she wanted—what she truly wanted.

This simple, companionable affection—with lots of lovemaking interspersed in between, of course. And the best part of it was that nobody would need to lose their grip on their mental faculties as his father had.

In time, she would realize that this was much better than the mindless obsession she seemed to have confused with love.

Phoebe was still young and idealistic, as his mother had once been when she married the former Duke of Sinclair. She thought that love was the sort of all-consuming passion they wrote about in books.

Ethan knew all too well how quickly that sort of passion could devolve into madness, as it had for his father.

Unlike his mother, though, Phoebe would never have to go through the suffering of a man demented with ‘love’ because Ethan would make sure that no woman ever suffered under that sort of insanity ever again, most of all his wife.

He would save Phoebe from her idealistic notions and make her happy at the same time, and to do that, he need not surrender his heart, as she required, nor did she have to lose hers to him.

They could just as well keep their hearts for their own, thank you very much.

All he needed was time and patience to convince her otherwise.