Page 23 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 23

L ips on hers in a sensual caress. His hands roaming all over her body. Fingers digging into her flesh as if he was loath to let her go…

Phoebe let out a soft moan as she twisted a little between the silken sheets of her bed, her body stretching luxuriously like a cat as a smile traced itself across her lips.

Last night, the ton had watched, transfixed, as the Duke of Sinclair, the Wolf of Sin, and the bane of many an ambitious mama’s plans, remained by her side for the rest of the evening after their dance.

Phoebe giggled as she rolled onto her back. It was simply the most scandalous thing she had ever done in her life. No doubt that her mama would have a word with her the next time they met.

She swung her legs over the bed and rang for Ella. What time was it already? She always did wake up late after these seemingly endless balls.

Only last night, it did not seem unbearably interminable.

Oh no—in fact, it rather seemed all too short, for all that it ended close to sunrise.

“Quick, Ella, help me get washed,” she called out to the maid. “And for this afternoon’s tea with the Duke, I think that pale blue dress with the ruffled lace at the neckline would do nicely…”

Ella laughed lightly as she brought out the basin and towels for her mistress. “Your Grace is in good spirits—this is wonderful.”

“When was I never in good spirits?” Phoebe mumbled as she washed her face and her hands. “Really, Ella. You exaggerate sometimes.”

“Well, you are not ill-tempered at all,” the maid teased her. “But you were not given to such cheerfulness in the mornings either, especially after a ball.”

Phoebe paused as she reached for her towel.

Indeed, her days before marriage—and even soon after—seemed to blend together, becoming an endless blur of routs and picnics and tea parties and balls.

She rarely found any true excitement in any of them.

Well, except for that house party the Dowager Countess of Wellington held last year at Fitzroy Hall. She had felt the thrill of competition in the treasure hunt.

Or maybe it was simply because you were partnered up with him .

A soft warmth spread across her cheeks as she wiped the dampness from her face.

“Quit teasing me and help me get dressed,” she told the maid with an eye roll. “What time is it already? Is it too late for luncheon?”

“Not so much, Your Grace,” Ella replied as she deftly ran a brush through Phoebe’s lustrous waves.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Phoebe moaned, covering her face with her hands. “I should have been up an hour ago, at least!”

“Well, His Grace told us not to disturb you…”

She looked up at her maid. “His Grace… came by already?”

Ella nodded as she artfully arranged coils of her hair into a seemingly simple yet elegant chignon at her nape, emphasizing the graceful column of her neck, before adding a few pearl-studded pins to set it off.

“His Grace also said that he would not be able to come by for afternoon tea and sends his apologies,” she told Phoebe. “But that you may also invite Lady Scarlett and the Duchess of Ashton over in his stead.”

Phoebe resisted the urge to sulk like a sullen child. It was most unbecoming of a duchess.

“It does not matter,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I have a great many things to do today…”

Like moping around in my rooms.

“… I still need to finish writing my book…”

And hope that I will be able to make progress in this state.

“And there is simply too much to be done around the house,” she finished with a firm nod of her head. “So, really… it is a blessing that he chose not to come today!”

Inwardly, she was seething like a pot set to boil.

She was tempted to march over to his townhouse and demand why he was missing out on afternoon tea today.

But a proper lady never demanded such things of her husband, and if he wanted to have a day free of her… Well then, she would enjoy it just as well on her own, too!

I am not getting anything done at all today!

Phoebe let out a soft groan and buried her face in her folded arms.

She had spent the last hour staring at empty pages, and the only words she ever wrote were Ethan Audley, the Duke of Sinclair.

Right beside her name, Phoebe Barkley Audley, the Duchess of Sinclair.

And right between their two names, a laughable doodle of a heart.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

She had spoken too soon and would now pay for her hubris.

“Your Grace, is something amiss?”

Phoebe raised her head to find Ella carrying a tray of her favorite pastries and some tea, a look of concern in her eyes.

The sight only reminded her of Ethan, who was not coming for afternoon tea as he usually did.

Is something amiss? Did he have some sort of emergency to take care of?

Or, dear heavens, had he found a mistress who better catered to his needs?

Phoebe felt her blood run cold in her veins.

She turned back to her table and grabbed two sheets of paper, scribbling hastily on them before handing them to Ella.

“Please send one to Ashton Estate and another to Lady Scarlett,” she instructed. “It would be a shame to waste Cook’s scones today.”

Thank goodness for good friends.

“Oh… these scones are divine . You must share them with me!” Scarlett fairly swooned as she heaped clotted cream on her scone.

Or maybe they are here for the food.

It would seem that Scarlett was.

In any case, Phoebe was just happy that Evie and Scarlett came for tea and kept her from losing her mind.

“So… I do not see that husband of yours,” the redhead noted, delicately wiping her lips with a napkin after finishing off her third scone.

Phoebe pursed her lips. “Business,” she replied offhandedly. “You know how it is.”

“Ah… so even the Duke of Sinclair has other matters to attend to aside from chasing hapless damsels out of parlors,” Scarlett declared dramatically. “Truly an overbearing beast, that one.”

“Ethan? Overbearing?” Evie snorted. “Are you sure you are not talking about my brother or Daniel?”

“He is not exactly?—”

“You would not believe it,” Scarlett recounted, her eyes widening. “Phoebe and I were enjoying tea very much like we are now. The scones were scrumptious. The tea light and fragrant. It was perfect.”

Evie wrinkled her nose in amusement. “I can tell from your description alone.”

“The very picture of feminine friendship!” the redhead continued. “But all that came to an end when the wolfish Duke of Sinclair swept in and most politely kicked me out of the parlor because it was his time to have some tea with his wife!”

Scarlett fell back in her chair with her hand on her forehead, while Phoebe tried to stifle her giggles.

“Oh, come on now. He was not that bad!” she protested.

“I would have expected it from Blackthorn or Ashton,” Scarlett told her. “But Sinclair has always been so nice that it came as a shock.”

This time, even Evie joined in the laughter, shaking her head at Scarlett’s humorous retelling of the events of that day.

“Well, it must be a thing with Wolves.” She giggled. “If I recall, Daniel also warned Ethan not to darken his doorway during our ‘reading hour’ the last time he came barging in.”

“Oh? And what were you doing during ‘reading hour’ that has the cold Duke of Ashton chasing out his guests?” Scarlett wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

A faint blush tinged Evie’s cheeks as she primly smoothed her skirts. “Why, reading, of course. What else is there to do?”

Phoebe doubted that. Otherwise, Daniel would not have explicitly ordered Ethan never to disturb him and his wife again.

“Reading what exactly?” she asked her friend.

“Why, your book, of course!”

Scarlett was aghast. “You mean you were reading that scandalous book with your husband? How shameless! I love it!” She cackled.

Evie smiled mischievously at them. “Who better to read it with, right?”

“My, oh my.” Scarlett shook her head. “You have been corrupted by the Duke of Ashton. Corrupted, I tell you.”

Phoebe laughed, feeling the knot in her heart slowly loosening since she realized that morning that Ethan was not coming.

She sipped her tea. So what if he was not coming? She was not going to keel over and expire from a broken heart over it.

Alright, maybe she would keel over—a little.

“Your Grace, I beg your pardon, but there is a Madame Delacroix waiting for you outside.”

Phoebe set her cup down and looked at Morton in surprise. Madame Delacroix was one of the most highly sought after—if not the most sought after—dressmakers in all of London.

“Madame Delacroix is here in your home ?” Scarlett looked absolutely flabbergasted. “Now, I think I might want to be a duchess, too.”

“There is only one unmarried duke in London right now,” Evie reminded her. “And that is the Duke of Wolverton.”

Scarlett shuddered. “Oh… all right. Perhaps I should settle for a marquess.”

“Shall I send her in, Your Grace?” Morton asked.

Phoebe could only nod woodenly. She did not recall ordering anything from the very exclusive and very expensive couturière.

And if she did, she would not have so easily forgotten.

“Greetings, Your Graces, Lady Scarlett,” Madame Delacroix greeted the ladies with a warm smile.

“Madame Delacroix.” Phoebe smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

The couturière smiled and gestured to the boxes she had brought with her.

Boxes .

Phoebe’s eyes widened. So did Evie’s and Scarlett’s.

“His Grace had these made for the Duchess of Sinclair.” Madame Delacroix’s smile grew wider as she gestured towards the boxes.

Scarlett let out a low whistle. “Oh my. If this is how a Wolf apologizes to his wife for missing teatime, then I just might decide to marry the Duke of Wolverton, after all!” She turned towards a box marked with a dark green ribbon and pointed at it. “Why does that one have a different colored ribbon, Madame ?”

“Oh, this one?” Madame Delacroix turned towards the box. “His Grace chose this specifically for Her Grace. A man of rather fine tastes, the Duke of Sinclair.”

“I would say,” Phoebe muttered under her breath.

“Open it, dearest!” Scarlett urged her excitedly. “Let us see what is inside!”

“You sound far more excited than the recipient of the gift herself.” Evie laughed, although she was regarding the box with some curiosity as well.

Phoebe smiled and tugged at the dark green ribbon. Inside the box lay a dress of deep emerald green gauze, embroidered with threads of gold. Upon closer inspection, there were tiny golden glass beads that were worked into the delicate golden patterns.

It truly was a work of art that must have taken hours to create—no, days .

And that was if they worked on nothing else but that.

“That’s it. I am marrying a Wolf, too!” Scarlett declared, to everyone’s amusement.

Evie shook her head at their outspoken friend. “I am not quite certain you would like that, dearest. The Duke of Wolverton is a very complicated man who does not take kindly to jokes.”

“Well, I am not joking,” the redhead replied with a sassy grin. “I never joke about the subject of marriage.”

“His Grace liked this dress immediately when he saw it at the shop,” Madame Delacroix said in a hushed whisper. “Said it would match the Duchess’s eyes. I see that he was right.”

Did Ethan really say such a thing?

Phoebe felt her heart fluttering against her ribcage like a hummingbird’s wings.

“A man of good taste, indeed,” Evie murmured, nodding in appreciation. “ Madame did not speak wrongly on this account.”

Madame Delacroix laughed. “I never lie, Your Grace. Except about my age, maybe.”

Phoebe gently took the dress out of the box to look at it and smiled when she saw the ruffled neckline that provided a hint of modesty.

Ethan truly thought of everything when he had this dress made.

He had thought of her and her preferences.

If he had thought of himself, he would probably have commissioned something a little more indecent. Perhaps one with a scandalously low neckline.

Or in a fabric as sheer as windows.

Instead, this gown was made according to Phoebe’s tastes.

But not entirely .

“It is a beautiful dress, Madame Delacroix,” she said softly. “But I hope you would not mind making a few alterations for me?”

Scarlett sucked in a deep breath, her gaze swiveling to the much-esteemed couturière as if in a panic.

Madame Delacroix was well-known in Society for being extremely picky with her clientele. She also took great pride in her creations.

Nobody would dream of making adjustments to her designs.

What if she took offense at having to make adjustments to what could already be considered a piece of art?

She might very well take back the dress and all those other boxes and leave in a huff!

But it was a testament to her experience in dealing with her exclusive clientele that she did not even bat an eyelash as she smiled most solicitously at Phoebe. “I had a feeling Her Grace would say that.”

Phoebe smiled and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Madame Delacroix.”

The couturière laughed. “These trivialities—you need not mention them at all, Your Grace. It is the least I can do to ensure that you have a most memorable experience with this dress, yes?”

Phoebe smiled and nodded in agreement.

Her dear husband was not the only one who knew how to plan surprises. She had a few tricks up her sleeve as well.