Page 25 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 25

“ Y our Grace, a message from the Duchess.”

Ethan looked up from his meal, his appetite curling dead in his throat.

“From the Duchess, you say?” he managed past the lump in his throat, his gaze dropping to the single-folded missive on the tray held out before him.

He had been waiting for her reply all day yesterday ever since Madame Delacroix reported that she had successfully delivered the first of the items he had commissioned for Phoebe. Instead, he had been met with silence.

Cold, dreadful, awful silence.

It was enough to drive a man to madness. And now, she sent this one note.

What could she possibly have written?

Ethan suddenly found himself beset with conflicting thoughts.

Had she sent him a note as thanks for the gifts? Or did it take her the entire night to pen a scathing enough remark for daring to buy her affections with paltry material offerings?

With Phoebe, he was never quite sure.

He suppressed a sigh as he reached for the nondescript slip of paper, torn between laughter and tears that she had not even used the proper writing materials that a duchess should have at her disposal.

Instead, he unfolded what looked like a hastily scribbled note from a page she had torn from her journal.

I expect your presence at the opera tonight, husband , it said.

The last word was underlined thrice , as if she furiously wished to remind him of his role.

He smiled widely and carefully folded the missive and tucked it into his jacket pocket, close to his chest.

“Tell Benson to clear my schedule for the rest of this evening,” he instructed his valet. “I will be heading out tonight.”

Huxley blinked in what appeared to be confusion. “Out, Your Grace?”

“I believe I made myself quite clear,” Ethan told him with a slight frown.

“Well…” Huxley looked visibly discomfited. “Seeing as Your Grace has not gone out at night for more than a week save for?—”

“Save for when?”

“Save for the Harolds’ ball, when you escorted Her Grace…” the valet trailed off, and a faint smile appeared on his face.

Oh, yes. That one night.

“Well, what is so unusual about going out at night?” Ethan shrugged. “In fact, you may inform the rest of the staff that I will be occupied for the rest of tonight.”

“Will you be returning to Sinclair Estate, Your Grace?”

Ethan glowered at the man. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I hired you for the express reason that you do not talk unnecessarily.”

Huxley smiled. “That and the fact that I have managed to do my duties with utmost dedication.”

“As I said, you were not one to talk unnecessarily.”

The valet looked as if he might burst into laughter.

Great. Now, everyone seemed to be regarding him with amusement. When he married Phoebe, he had not signed up to become a spectacle.

And yet, here he was, with his valet holding back his laughter.

“As you wish, Your Grace. Will there be anything else?”

Ethan glared at him. “I will require your services for tonight.”

“When you return to Sinclair Estate, Your Grace?”

“No, damn it. For the opera . I am going to the opera tonight,” Ethan seethed.

The laughter on the valet’s face faded and gave way to a look of censure.

Ethan resisted the urge to throw his hands up in frustration. Even the staff was now taking her side.

Have they forgotten who pays their wages?

“The Duchess requested my attendance at the opera tonight,” he enunciated through gritted teeth. “That is what I will be requiring your services for.”

“Oh.” A look of understanding crossed the valet’s face. “In that case, Your Grace can rest assured that I will do an exceptional job.”

Ethan wanted to tell the man that he was very much expected to do an exceptional job—with the wages he was earning—but he was strangely delighted that his staff liked their new mistress.

One might even go so far as to say that they perhaps liked her better than they liked him .

But he was the one paying them. Shouldn’t their loyalty be led by their purses?

He shook his head. Then again, who could blame them when he himself felt irresistibly drawn to her?

It was maddening.

It was exhilarating.

Like jumping off a cliff with the wind whistling in his ears, and every bit just as dangerous.

If he was not careful enough, he might be doing far more dangerous things. Things he had no intention of ever doing at all .

Like falling in love, just like she wanted.

One step in front of the other…

That was how human beings were supposed to walk to get to wherever it was they intended to go.

Up until an hour or so ago, Phoebe was quite confident in her ability to make her way up and down the stairs, but this time was different.

This time, she was wearing a most scandalous gown that ran the risk of betraying her confidence and spilling her chest over the treacherous neckline and embarrassing her before all of London…

Just a little bit more and I shall be safe in Daniel and Evie’s box . Truly, how hard can it possibly be to get from one place to another on one’s two feet?

Much harder than she initially assumed, it would seem.

Phoebe sighed and squared her shoulders as she glared at the stairs before her.

Just one step in front of the other. And another one.

And another one.

She heaved a great sigh of relief when she finally made it to the box without incident.

Madame Delacroix certainly had more confidence in my suggestions than I have in my dress , she mused inwardly as she set her cloak aside.

She found Evie already seated, with Daniel standing a little to the side, regarding the crowd below them coolly.

A little bit more to the side sat Ethan—and he was staring at her in shock, his eyes wide open.

As was his mouth.

Was that a good sort of shock or a bad one? The line between the two was much too thin, and her eyesight was not too strong in the low lighting of the auditorium.

“There you are, Phoebe!” Evie smiled warmly at her. “Come, sit beside me.” She motioned to the space between her and Ethan. “It is not due to start soon, and Scarlett will be here any moment now.”

Phoebe smiled and decided to put Ethan’s reaction aside—for the time being.

“I do not see Alice and Colin,” she remarked worriedly. “It has been some time since I last saw them both…”

“They could not make it,” Evie sighed. “Alice was still feeling a bit dizzy and is now fostering a closer friendship with her chamber pot. Colin has been swearing up and down that when that child of his comes out, he would berate it soundly for putting dear Alice through so much suffering!”

Despite her keen awareness of Ethan’s presence at her side, Phoebe found herself laughing slightly. She saw Daniel looking at his wife with a raised eyebrow.

Evie caught his look, and a soft, teasing smile traced itself across her lips. “Will you berate our child in the same manner, as well?” she asked her husband.

“Our child shall be possessed of the good sense necessary to treat his mother with every respect she deserves,” he replied smoothly. “If not, I will have him hung by his toes until he learns it.”

Evie gaped at him in shock, and then she rolled her eyes at him. “You are being much too harsh on an infant yet to be conceived.”

He flashed her a rare smile. “Then why do we not abscond from this inanity and get to making this babe you keep mentioning?”

Evie blushed and huffed, complaining that he should not be saying that in the presence of Phoebe and Ethan.

Daniel merely smirked and looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“Do keep me out of your arguments,” Ethan pleaded as he casually draped his arm over the back of Phoebe’s seat. “As I recall, I was promised I would watch this opera in peace.”

Phoebe turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that your only reason, then?”

“Well, no,” he admitted with a cheerful grin. “Someone sent me a note this morning, and I have no intention of offending this esteemed personage. Besides…” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer to her ear. “I was wondering if you liked the gown I had Madame Delacroix make for you.”

Phoebe suppressed the slight shudder that danced down her spine as his warm breath fanned her ear and the side of her neck.

“Do you like what I have done to it, though?” she purred. She coyly traced the adjusted neckline with a finger, watching with satisfaction as his eyes darkened with desire.

Well then, two can play this game . I can be every bit as much of a tease as well!

“Oh, very much,” he averred, his lips grazing her ear. “But I would vastly prefer it off of you, sweetheart.”

The last bit was said so softly, for her ears only.

Phoebe felt her cheeks—and the rest of her—heating up at the suggestion, just as the orchestra by the stage struck up the first few strains of the opera.

“Rogue,” she muttered under her breath, although it held none of the rancor it should have. “Well, I hope you would at least allow me to enjoy this opera in peace.”

She tore her gaze away from him and turned back to the stage just as the curtains started to open.

She would have found the entire show entertaining, too, if her dear husband had not been leaning back in his chair, his arm slung casually over the back of hers, his fingers toying with the golden curls coiled elaborately at her nape.

Alas, every nerve ending in her body was only made dreadfully aware of his blatant masculinity, so much so that it became increasingly hard for her to focus on the performance at all.

It was not until the crowd erupted in appreciative applause that she finally realized that the show was over, just in time to catch the opera singer casting a longing glance in the direction of their box and winking.

A strange rage Phoebe had never felt before simmered in her chest.

“One of your conquests, Your Grace?” she asked Ethan with an arched eyebrow.

His reply was a teasing smirk. “Jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous of an opera singer?” she scoffed.

“Indeed,” he murmured huskily in her ear. “I did not even notice who you were referring to, sweetheart. There is no one here but you.”

And you.

“What a skilled liar you are,” she remarked with a roll of her eyes. “And do not call me that ever again.”

“Call you what?”

“Sweetheart.”

“No?” He frowned. “Why not?”

“You probably call everyone that,” she told him acidly. “Just so you do not end up confused and calling me by another woman’s name.”

“Ah… I see.”

But he did not see , and Phoebe was getting tired of these little games, wondering if he truly cared for her as much as she was beginning to care for him.

Perhaps to him, this was all nothing more than a game.

Phoebe, on the other hand, was betting her whole heart in this affair.

“My little wife is jealous,” he purred. “And what would you have me call you instead?”

“I am not jealous!” she hissed.

Unfortunately, she must have raised her voice a little too loudly, because Evie turned towards her.

Phoebe felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment at her friend’s knowing smirk.

“Why don’t you figure it out yourself!” she snapped at her husband, standing up in a fit of feminine pique to follow after Evie and Daniel, who were now preparing to leave.

Do not look back .

If she looked back, she would be caught in his snare once more.

Not tonight , Phoebe silently promised herself.

She stormed off, stomping down the carpeted hallway, when she heard a familiar voice calling after her.

“Your Grace! Oh, Your Grace!”

She turned around and found the Viscount and Dowager Viscountess Dexford walking towards her. The older woman was waving at her as if they were merely promenading in Hyde Park and not in a theater packed with their acquaintances.

“Oh my, you look breathtaking tonight, Your Grace!” the Dowager Viscountess enthused. “Does she not, Dexford?”

“Indeed,” the Viscount replied smoothly. He took Phoebe’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Your Grace, you look absolutely exquisite tonight.”

Was it just her imagination, or did he just drag out the word exquisite ?

Nonetheless, the way he said it made her skin crawl, so she withdrew her hand with a stiff smile. Lord Dexford appeared surprised for a moment, and she belatedly realized that she may have done it a little too hastily.

Just then, she felt an arm slither around her waist, pulling her close to a hard, masculine body.

Phoebe fumed inwardly.

Who dares ? —

Her fury faded when she looked up and found Ethan smiling at the Viscount coldly, his arm holding her securely to his side. His fingers splayed possessively over the curve of her hip.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, I did not notice you there,” Lord Dexford muttered, although the apology rang hollow in Phoebe’s ears. “I did not mean to offend the Duchess. I just could not help it.”

“No offense taken.” Ethan laughed lightly. “I do not blame you, My Lord. If anything, as her husband, I quite agree with you.”

Despite his lighthearted tone, Phoebe felt his arm tightening around her, and she found herself gently leaning into him, seeking his warmth and protection.

When the Viscount and his mother finally left—with Lord Dexford more or less dragging the Dowager Viscountess—Phoebe wriggled out of her husband’s arms and glared balefully at him.

“Thank you for your assistance, husband , but I am still cross with you!”

She turned on her heel to follow Evie and Daniel, but a strong hand clamped around her wrist.

“Oh no, Duchess,” Ethan told her with a dark smile. “Not in that dress. You are coming with me.”