Page 22 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)
CHAPTER 22
W ho would have thought that Society was so easy to manipulate?
Phoebe smothered the triumphant laugh that bubbled in her chest as she walked away from another conversation with the Viscountess Haversham, who had openly admired the ruby and diamond necklace around her throat.
“Oh, His Grace is simply the very soul of generosity!” Phoebe had gushed with breathless enthusiasm. “Why, he just showers me with gifts of all sorts!”
“How… charming,” Lady Haversham had managed. “And such good taste, I might add! Haversham, on the other hand…” she trailed off and shook her head with a dejected smile.
By the time Phoebe moved away from that conversation, Lady Haversham seemed quite determined to remind her husband of the Duke of Sinclair’s generosity if he was ever inclined to complain about a sapphire necklace she had every intention of purchasing that very week.
I gather the Viscount will be rather cross with me after this . Phoebe shook her head inwardly. Or Ethan.
But then again, she was also a little more certain that the Viscount would never make such a fuss, lest he appear less capable than the Duke of Sinclair.
It seemed that Lady Haversham—and all the other married women that Phoebe had spoken to that night—would be expecting a lot more from their spouses in the coming weeks. She could not help but smile happily, flushed with the success of her campaign to clear Ethan’s reputation for that night.
Ever since Daniel had stolen Evie for a waltz, Phoebe had calmly and methodically gone around the ballroom, conversing with anyone who would listen to her about how affectionate, generous, and considerate Ethan supposedly was to her.
Hopefully, they will overlook the fact that he has been staying in his townhouse for more than a month already, while I remained at Sinclair Estate .
Nonetheless, their appearance together, coupled with her effusive—if a little self-deprecating and over-the-top—praise for her husband’s alleged affections should be enough to stave off the rumors for the time being.
“Oh, there you are, darling!” a boisterous voice called over to her. Almost immediately, Phoebe was swarmed by a swathe of silk as Scarlett enveloped her in a hug. “I have been looking all over the ballroom for you!”
The redhead pulled back slightly as she eyed her with some confusion. “I have been hearing the oddest thing since I arrived,” she told her.
“Which was just a quarter of an hour ago,” Evie teased her, still flushed from the dance. “But you know how Scarlett can catch up on the latest news the minute she steps into a room.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes affectionately. “You make me sound like a dreadful gossip, Evie,” she complained.
“And we love you all the more for it,” Phoebe reassured her with a slight chuckle.
“Yes, yes, yes. I know how irresistible I am,” Scarlett said, impatience creeping into her voice. “But I have been hearing the oddest thing all night.”
“For all of fifteen minutes.”
She shot Evie an aggrieved look, but the Duchess of Ashton merely smiled back at her sweetly.
“Like I said,” she continued. “The absolute oddest thing.”
Phoebe hid a smile behind her gloved hand. “And what is this absolute oddest thing that you have just heard?”
The redhead turned towards her with a shocked look. “Well, it would make sense for you to not have heard about it, since you are involved in it! And you already know how it is with gossip.” She sighed and shook her head. “The ones involved are always the last ones to know.”
“Not exactly,” Phoebe said, suppressing a smile. “My mama always seems to know when someone is talking about us.”
“So does my grandmama,” Evie agreed. “But what is this that you have been hearing about Phoebe? Nothing awful, I hope.”
Scarlett shook her head. “No, no… Nothing that requires getting your terrifying husband on the case, at least.”
“Well, Daniel being terrifying has never stopped you before,” Evie remarked with a wry smile, before blushing. “Not that I am saying that he is terrifying… but do continue.”
Phoebe shuddered inwardly as her usually pleasant smile turned a bit frosty, as if she was contemplating ruining someone’s standing in Society for daring to speak badly about someone she cared for.
“Well, they have been saying that you”—Scarlett turned towards her—“have been going around telling everyone that Sinclair is a paragon of husbandly virtue.”
The warmth exploded in Phoebe’s cheeks, and Scarlett gasped.
“So, it is true, then?”
Phoebe nodded weakly.
“You? Defending the Duke of Sin and calling him a saint of a husband?”
“All of it,” Phoebe admitted weakly.
“But… why?”
Phoebe bristled. “Because they were disparaging him, that is why. They have been calling him all sorts of names behind his back and assuming we were estranged barely a month after the wedding…”
She knew her husband was a Wolf. She knew he was a rake with the very worst reputation.
But she also knew that beneath all of that, he was a man of incredible restraint. One who respected her boundaries and did his very best to do right by her as her husband.
Which is more than I can say for the husbands of the ton .
Really, these people were one to talk!
“I am sure that Sinclair would appreciate your sentiments,” a silky voice drawled from behind her. “But I can assure you, your husband does not take kindly to these rumors.”
“Daniel!” Evie smiled at her husband as she rushed over to him. “I thought you would be somewhere else.”
The Duke of Ashton regarded his wife with a raised eyebrow. “Where should I be except for here?”
Phoebe saw a faint pink hue spread across her friend’s cheeks.
“But you say that Ethan is…” Evie trailed off.
“Oh, rest assured that he is taking care of things,” Daniel stated coolly. “In fact, you may look at a demonstration of it now.”
He angled his head, and Phoebe followed his cool gaze across the ballroom, feeling her blood run cold in her veins at the sight before her.
Ethan was standing by a pillar, slightly obscured by a cluster of potted greenery, and cozied up to his side was a voluptuous, dark-haired beauty who was smiling up at him as she wrapped her arm around his.
The Harolds’ ball had nothing to offer—not in terms of novelty, entertainment, and even the fare they were serving.
The only reason that Ethan ever dragged himself to this godforsaken event was to show his support for his wife and to quell the rumors about their estrangement swirling around London.
Estranged? Ha! If they only knew how he could hardly keep his hands off of her.
In fact, in the carriage ride to the ball, he had been half-tempted to tell the coach to turn back to Sinclair Estate and just spend the rest of the night in bed with her.
But there were eyes all around the ballroom, and a show of unity was the most effective way to squash these rumors. For the moment, at least.
“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the Duke of Sin himself,” a low, sultry voice breathed in his ear. “Why are you standing here alone, Your Grace?”
He did not even deign to spare Lady Wilshire a passing glance as he scanned the ballroom for the familiar gleam of Phoebe’s golden locks.
However, the widow was a persistent woman—and one who would not take no for an answer.
“I must say, when word of your nuptials got out, I could scarcely believe it,” the widow admitted with a low chuckle. “We never thought that the Duke of Sin would ever consider marrying such a naive and idealistic chit fresh from the nursery. Very far from your usual tastes, indeed.”
By that time, Ethan had had enough of her incessant tittering.
“My Lady, you have no idea what my tastes actually are,” he told her coldly.
But Lady Wilshire was not used to being rebuffed so unkindly, and if she was, she had always been of the firm belief that no man was immune to her charms—not even the Duke of Sin.
Especially men she thought were like the Duke of Sin.
But Ethan and those men were vastly different, although, to her, they might have seemed one and the same.
“Oh,” she said silkily. “I know all too well the kind of women you prefer, Your Grace.” She coiled her arm around his and ran a finger brazenly down his chest. “One day, you will tire of your little debutante and your past will catch up to you.”
Highly unlikely.
Ethan simply pretended the woman did not exist.
Actually… he did not need to. With his eyes locked on Phoebe, following her every move, it was altogether hard to notice anything else.
Even if it was a scandalous widow winding herself around his arm like a damned snake.
“The ton will also not be kind to a poor, romantic girl like her,” she sighed in mock sympathy.
When even that failed to catch his attention, Lady Wilshire let out an indignant huff and stomped away.
Only then did Ethan allow a smirk to grace his features. It would seem that the esteemed widow did not take so kindly to being ignored.
He should make it a point to do it more often.
Now, to find my poor, romantic, naive, and idealistic wife.
He grinned to himself as he crossed the ballroom towards her.
Phoebe looked at him in surprise. “Ethan.”
“Duchess.” He smiled at her. “Missed me?”
Before she could utter a contrary word, he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “I believe that your dance card has been sadly empty all evening,” he sighed with sham solemnity. “Why don’t we take care of that?”
She smiled up at him, her gold-flecked emerald-green eyes twinkling at him. “Married women do not have dance cards, Your Grace,” she reminded him politely. “And neither should we dance with our husbands.”
“You are a duchess now, sweetheart,” he replied with a rakish grin. “We can do as we please, and the rest of Society can just stuff their opinions—preferably where the sun never shines.”
His adorable wife let out a choked laugh, and he caught Daniel smirking in approval, most likely because the man had just been dancing with his wife and only his wife that evening.
“You can ask the Duke of Ashton himself,” he continued jovially. “After all, he follows the rules better than I.”
“When it suits him, yes,” Evie remarked, wrinkling her nose. She smiled at her friend and urged her, “Go dance with your husband, dearest. I assure you, they will only talk for a while before they move on to Sir Winfrey’s puce pantaloons.”
“So horrid, they will be talking about it for weeks,” Scarlett assured her.
Phoebe’s hesitation began to wane, and she smiled shyly up at Ethan. “I do not suppose a dance will hurt anyone,” she said.
Her voice was soft, but steady, gently wrapping around his heart.
Ethan led her to the dance floor, but at that point, he had no idea who was truly leading whom.
All he knew was that the most beautiful woman in the ballroom was in his arms, and not even twenty voluptuous, highly experienced widows could make him leave her side at that moment.
“Come, sweetheart,” he told her with a wicked smile. “Let us break all the rules one by one, you and I.”
Phoebe laughed. “Are you going to turn me into a Wolf like you, husband?”
He flashed her a grin as the music started. “Not a bad idea at all, Duchess.”
Her answering smile made his heart stutter in his chest. How odd. It had never done that before.
“Then, let us shock them all, husband!”