Page 2 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 2

O f all the things he thought would happen that night, he never expected to find Lady Phoebe Barkley in a disreputable establishment frequented by rogues and all sorts of ruffians who could not even be bothered to make a pretense at civility.

And dressed in a poor attempt at imitating a man at that.

On paper, it was a gentlemen’s club, but not all of its patrons could be said to behave in a gentlemanly manner.

Just a quick glance around the room and he already noticed that a significant number of the patrons had begun watching the scene with interest. A few of them even had that familiar gleam in their eyes when their gazes swiveled over to Phoebe, dressed in that repugnant outfit as she was.

Ethan knew all too well what those gazes meant, and to say he did not appreciate the attention was an understatement.

No, he was suddenly possessed with the urge to pluck every single eye out of the sockets of every man who dared to look at her that way.

Ethan groaned inwardly as he quickly assessed the situation that they were currently in. He gave it approximately less than five minutes before all hell broke loose and those men descended upon them.

The sooner he could get her out, the better it would be for her.

And for his sanity.

“Unhand me, Your Grace!” she seethed, those unique eyes of hers glowing with fury. She swatted his arm away and turned to the bartender once more, but he caught her wrist.

He glared fiercely at her, but the silly goose did not even seem to comprehend just how much danger she was currently in.

“I told you to?—”

“We are leaving,” he told her firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “You are done here. I am taking you back to Brandon Estate.”

And hopefully, your father will keep you under lock and key before you wreak havoc and set the rest of London on fire!

His last recollection of her had been one of a shy and blushing maiden, visibly uncomfortable with his teasing advances.

That and the fierce gleam of triumph in her eyes when they both won the treasure hunt at Lady Wellington’s last house party.

Whatever.

Back then, she had certainly seemed like a reasonable enough young woman. Sensible, most certainly.

Who would have thought that Lady Phoebe Barkley had such a side to her? That she could cause so much trouble?

Or that her wrist would feel so small and delicate in his hand?

He stifled the growl bubbling up his throat as he tried to help her off her perch.

Phoebe, however, was having none of it.

She tried to squirm out of his grip, her arm twisting in his grasp like a damned eel. “As if I need another man to order me around and tell me what to do!” she spat at him.

Ethan smiled as he continued to steer her out the doors, his hand still firmly on her wrist and his other hand splayed on her back. Even through the dismal costume she was wearing, he could feel the heat of her skin searing his palm.

It must be from all her pent-up rage.

Once they were outside, he allowed her to shrug him off, watching her bristle in indignation as she glowered at him.

“What gave my disguise away?” She scowled, massaging her wrist. “I did everything Alice ever did?—”

“Your eyes,” he said simply.

Phoebe stopped and looked at him in surprise.

He eyed the delicate wrist he had held briefly and felt a wave of remorse wash over him at having manhandled her so harshly.

She was still a gently bred young lady, pampered and spoiled, no doubt—even if she had proven that she had the ability to raise an unholy ruckus with her presence alone.

“There are many others with hazel eyes,” she sniffed delicately. “I cannot be the only one with that eye color.”

To the best of Ethan’s knowledge, though, no one else had such deep, vibrant green eyes lit with glowing flecks of gold.

But she was right—there were certainly other things that gave away her identity.

“Aside from that, no man in his right mind would bluster up to a bartender and demand the strongest drink in the establishment,” he continued with a mischievous smile. “But there were other things, of course. Should I name them?”

She pursed her lips. “What other things?”

His smile grew ever wider. If she wanted to know, he was not so selfish or unkind as to deny her an important part of her education—and hopefully, she would take it as enough warning to steer clear of places like dubious gentlemen’s clubs.

“Why, it was rather obvious from your ill-fitting clothes that you are not a man.”

He grinned at her, his hand wandering boldly from her back to her waist. He pulled her closer, feeling great satisfaction when her eyes widened, her nostrils flaring slightly as a slight gasp escaped her parted lips.

If he leaned in just a little closer, he would be able to taste those succulent lips of hers. Discover for himself if they were as sweet and luscious as they looked under the flickering streetlamps.

“I must say,” he whispered. “It was your curves that ultimately revealed your identity, My?—”

He was not able to finish his sentence, as the sting of her palm meeting his cheek interrupted him. He grinned at her as he let her go, her chest heaving with furious indignation as she stumbled out of his embrace.

“You are unbelievable!” she fumed.

He laughed and gently rubbed his cheek. Her slap hardly had any effect on him. He must teach her a better way to hit a man—one that would render him unconscious if he dared touch her.

Or even look at her the wrong way.

“I am a Wolf, remember?” he reminded her cheerfully.

“As you so like to remind me,” she retorted with a sarcastic eye roll. “How could I ever forget, Your Grace?”

“Tsk, tsk, My Lady,” he sighed with a woeful shake of his head. “I thought we were past these stuffy titles.”

She smiled caustically at him. “That is the politest word I can think of, I’m afraid.”

At that point, he could not help but throw his head back in laughter. She was proving to be far more entertaining than any other woman he had ever encountered in his life, and she had not even had a single drop of liquor in her yet, thank all that was holy.

An intoxicated Phoebe Barkley—now, that was something his imagination could run wild with.

Fortunately, he managed to stop himself right there.

“Well, in any case, I must thank you, Lady Phoebe.” He chuckled. “I cannot recall having this much fun before. One cannot help but wonder what the hell has gotten into you. This is all so very unlike you.”

There it was again. That slight scowl of indignation.

Why was he finding it so adorable?

“Everyone seems to know what I am like without really asking,” she snapped, turning away from him.

“Oh, please do not be cross with me,” he pleaded laughingly as he fell into step beside her.

A sort of companionable silence settled over them as they walked. For the first time in his life, Ethan found himself waiting patiently for his companion to speak, instead of demanding answers.

After the space of a few more breaths, she finally spoke.

“My father has already arranged for my marriage,” she said with a sharp exhale. “I am to be married in a month.”

Married?

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, even as he looked at her in shock. Bile rose in his throat, and a keen desire to hit someone surged inside him.

Ethan had never felt such an unspeakable rage before.

The only problem was that he did not understand where it came from.

“What a sad coincidence,” he muttered.

She tilted her head up at him, her gaze suddenly curious. “Why would you say that?”

He grimaced as he thought of the most unfortunate situation that he found himself in. “As it turns out, My Lady, I am to be married as well,” he admitted bitingly. “Sooner, in fact. But I do not put myself in unnecessary danger because of it, do I?”

She suddenly drew to a halt and faced him. Was she going to chafe at his reprimand again?

Surprisingly, there was mirth flickering in those remarkable eyes of hers. Like fireflies dancing amidst the foliage of an evergreen forest.

And then, she burst into laughter.

“I apologize, Your Grace,” she managed amidst a fit of giggles.

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Somehow, you do not seem quite as contrite as you profess.”

“I am sorry. Really, I am,” she continued, nearly choking in her amusement. “But you ? Married?”

It was his turn to feel indignation at her words.

“I fail to see how this is a laughing matter.” He scowled at her.

Maybe he had been mistaken. Maybe she had indeed imbibed some spirits before she managed to stumble into the club. It was the only explanation for her ridiculous reaction to his troubles.

“I’m sorry!” She giggled again, brushing tears from the corners of her eyes. “But it really does not make any sense. How could you have been felled by some scheming mama or desperate debutante?”

She gave him a jaunty look that did funny things to his chest and tested his mental fortitude in equal measure.

“It would seem,” she chortled, “that you, Your Grace, have lost your… well…”

“Lost my what?”

“Your Wolfness !” She burst into laughter again.

Wolfness? Was that even a word?

But under the faint glow of the moonlight, she was simply effervescent in her glee—never mind that she was laughing at his expense.

Was he simply going to tolerate her impertinence?

Of course not. Lady Phoebe Barkley needed to be taught a lesson in how to not take inherently dangerous situations lightly.

Like hurtling purposefully into some seedy gentlemen’s club in the most horrendous, ill-fitting disguise, demanding that she be served the establishment’s strongest liquor.

Or laughingly taunting a Wolf in a dark street, lit only by a handful of scattered streetlamps.

And Ethan decided that he was going to teach her that very lesson before she got herself in more trouble.

He heard her slight squeak as he reached out and grabbed her by the waist, drawing her to him once again.

This close, he could see the individual golden flecks in her eyes. Feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. Smell the distinctly feminine fragrance that wafted from her hair.

“Do you want me to show you just how much of a Wolf I can be, Phoebe?” he growled, enjoying the delicate flush that spread across her cheeks.

She was dangerous—he already knew that. The reactions she elicited from him, even more so.

But Ethan could not find it in himself to stay away from her.

Did she want to find out just how much of a Wolf he could be?

The honest answer was a shamefully wanton yes .

As a proper young lady, though, she most certainly should not .

Or at least she should offer some token resistance by trying to push him away—which had just about as much effect as fighting against a brick wall.

“Your Grace—” she protested, pushing against his chest and trying her hardest not to curl her fingers to test just how solid the muscles underneath his clothes were.

At her muffled complaint, the earlier glint in his eyes faded, and he was once more the charming but sufficiently proper Duke of Sinclair.

He straightened up and helped her steady herself as the sound of hooves and wheels clattered up to them.

“Come, My Lady.” He smiled at her, extending his hand. “That is enough revelry for one night. It is time for you to head home.”

Home .

Where she would soon be caught up in wedding preparations and the awful dance of pretending to at least like her betrothed.

Phoebe shuddered. She would much rather be anywhere else than Brandon Estate right now.

Still, she quietly slipped her hand into his and allowed him to help her into the waiting carriage.

Phoebe Barkley, you truly are a coward of the highest order .

The rest of the carriage ride was filled with a tense sort of silence for both of its occupants.

For the better part of their journey back to Brandon Estate, the Duke occupied the seat opposite her in silence, his figure a little too stiff than his usual effortless grace.

Meanwhile, Phoebe pretended to be thoroughly fascinated by the dark streets outside. So abysmal was her performance that she was mildly surprised when they finally reached the gates of her family home.

“We have arrived,” the Duke announced.

She nodded blankly. “So we have, it would seem.”

Ever the perfect gentleman, he helped her out of the carriage as if she was dressed in the finest ball gown, despite her poor attire.

Suddenly, she wished that she had at least worn something more presentable. Something a little more ladylike.

How thoroughly embarrassing to be caught in such an outfit before one of the most charming rogues in all of London!

Phoebe pursed her lips. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Besides, it was not like she ventured out with the express intention of stumbling upon him .

This meeting was purely coincidental and would most likely never repeat itself.

Sadly .

“Lady Phoebe!”

She paused, her heart pounding in her chest as she turned towards him.

Standing in the moonlight, his hair seemed to be a much paler gold, his eyes a darker blue. The grin that graced his lips was enough to make her knees go weak and invite her to do something ridiculous.

Well, more ridiculous than aiming to get drunk in a disreputable establishment dressed as a man, certainly.

Like running into his arms.

Phoebe shook her head at her folly. There must be something in the night air that had addled her wits.

Or perhaps she was more distraught about her impending nuptials than she initially thought.

Either way, these were not the thoughts she should be entertaining!

“I hope to see you at my wedding,” he told her with a mischievous wink. “Do try to wear a dress for the occasion!”

And then, he hopped back into his carriage, and Phoebe was once more left with the question of why she ever found him attractive at all.

He was simply insufferable—nothing else!