Page 33 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 33

E than spent the evening at his townhouse, and Phoebe spent the entire morning in the estate, nursing a wine-induced headache and being forced to imbibe the worst tonics known to mankind in her maid’s painstaking efforts to help her.

I do not think I will ever try any of Ella’s remedies again .

Nor would she touch anything of an alcoholic nature with a ten-foot pole. It simply was not worth the trouble of having to learn how to function as a human being again the next morning.

It was close to lunchtime when Phoebe was finally feeling well enough to summon Ella to help her dress. However, when she descended to the dining room, there was still no sign of her husband.

Not even a note or anything.

Her heart sank as she listlessly tried to eat something, but her stomach just seemed to churn at the very notion of food.

In the end, she absconded back to her favorite place in the entire estate with a new book that Alice had sent her a few days ago. Hopefully, it was not a love story, as her sister was morbidly fond of scandalous novels.

She cracked open the book and managed a slight smile as the scent of fresh pages assailed her beleaguered senses. There truly was no joy like reading a new book. It was like meeting a new friend for the very first time.

Or finding someone who simply spoke to her heart.

She had thought that Ethan would be the one person who could convince her to live a life outside of the written page, but alas! Placing her hopes on human beings never ended well for her.

There was no better company than a book, who would neither argue, disparage, or treat her with such distrust.

Nor will it stay away from me when I need it the most .

When she woke up, a book would be exactly where she placed it, and she would never have to wonder where it went at night.

But books will never give you the same pleasure as he does, a small voice in her head pointed out. Books cannot touch you the way he does.

“But books cannot give me the same immeasurable heartache he has as well,” she grumbled.

She settled on the couch and got as far as the fifth page when the door to the study suddenly burst open.

“Ethan!” she exclaimed, sitting up.

He looked at her irately. “So, you still remember your husband?”

Phoebe glowered at him. “I do. Do you remember your wife?”

“Most certainly,” he replied, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Which is precisely the reason why I brought you this.”

He tossed that morning’s scandal sheet to her, and she scrambled to catch it.

Really, he could not even just hand it to her properly?

The odds of their conversation being a productive one were dwindling by the minute as her temper rose in equal measure.

“Read it,” he urged her. “And then, tell me what you think.”

It has come to this Author’s attention that the union between the Duke and Duchess of S. may not be as romantic as we all presumed it to be , it read. In fact, there may be more to this sordid tale than immediately meets the eye…

The rest of the pamphlet dove into a dramatic detailing of how the poor Miss M. D. was robbed not only of her fiancé but also the father of her child by the scheming and conniving Lady P., who was once betrothed to Lord D.

Three guesses as to who the characters were.

As it turned out, Lord D. had been suffering from significant financial woes brought about by a combination of ill-advised investments and a nasty gambling addiction. Lady P., in an effort to save her beloved from financial ruin, volunteered to disrupt the wedding and marry the Duke of S. with every intention of siphoning her newly acquired wealth to her lover.

It was absolutely ridiculous and the kind of thing the ton loved to read the most. Romance, intrigue, and a lot of unnecessary drama .

“You… certainly you do not believe this?” Phoebe scoffed, tossing the paper aside as she looked up at Ethan. “Do you?”

“What I believe hardly matters,” he responded coolly. “What I want to know is what Dexford told you last night.”

So, he did not believe her.

He preferred to believe a dubious scandal writer hiding like a coward behind papers, happily ruining lives with a mere stroke of the pen.

Phoebe had never been more disappointed in her entire life.

But beyond that, she could feel her heart beginning to crack painfully in her chest.

She carefully rose from her seat and arranged the folds of her skirt. She faced him coolly, her chin raised to meet his furious gaze.

Very well, she was just as furious with him.

“Is it yours, then?” she asked him softly.

Ethan laughed hollowly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He regarded her with a raised eyebrow, the sneer on his lips mocking her.

“You should know the answer to that question better than anyone,” he replied sarcastically. “Besides, what did the great Lord Dexford tell you? Your husband should be privy to such things, don’t you think?”

Phoebe reeled back as if he had just slapped her, and it was not from the effects of her inebriation the night prior.

He had truly hurt her. He might as well have laid his hands on her, for all that mattered.

“Don’t tell me you believe what was written in a scandal sheet ,” she retorted scathingly. “Do you think that I concocted this farce to force you to marry me instead? Let me remind you of this, Your Grace. ” She practically spat out his title. “You forced me to marry you . I had every intention of living my life in peace as a spinster before you convinced my family that marrying you was the best course of action for everyone involved!”

Her chest heaved with the effort it took to finally slap some sense into him with those words. Phoebe knew, too, that she had finally managed to make him see some sense.

But the damage had already been done to her heart. There was no going back from that.

“No, of course not!” he defended himself. “I just… I… do not like seeing you with him.”

“Likewise, husband ,” she sneered. “You impose your ridiculous rules on me and demand I adhere to them, but what about you?”

Ethan looked confused. “What about me?”

Phoebe shook her head and waved him off. “It does not matter now,” she sighed. “You have no right to offend me and cast aspersions on my character as you please.”

She grabbed the book from the couch and turned to leave when he grabbed her upper arm.

“I told you this would happen,” he told her.

Phoebe shrugged him off. If only it was just as easy to shake off his emotional hold on her as well.

“Do you want to hear what I really think, Ethan?” she spat. “I think you are terrified . You saw how it could have been between us, and you felt scared . Now, you see an opportunity to get away from me or push me away, and you grab it with both hands.”

His hands fell to his sides as he stared back at her solemnly.

But Phoebe was not done yet. She would get everything off her chest even if it was the last thing she would do.

“I should be the one who is upset that everyone in the ton thinks my husband is about to have an illegitimate child and I have been framed as a wicked, conniving Jezebel who steals other women’s husbands,” she told him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “But you turn around and make this all about you and your insane, unfounded jealousy because you cannot admit the truth to yourself!”

“I am not jealous of the Viscount,” he insisted. “I just?—”

“You just what?”

He grabbed her arms again and tried to get her to look into his eyes. “Please do not get mad, sweetheart. I remember him at the party that night?—”

Phoebe frowned. “What party are you talking about?”

She had not been to any party with the Viscount at all, and in every other social affair she had attended, Ethan had always been by her side.

“Never mind,” she said, feeling ultimately drained as she shook off his hands once more. “I do not want to know.”

“Where are you going?” he asked as she turned to leave.

Phoebe paused with her hand on the doorknob as she looked at him over her shoulder.

“I will be at Scarlett’s,” she told him flatly. “If you truly are the father of Miss Delaney’s child, then please apologize to his mother on my behalf and take good care of him.” She gripped the doorknob and steeled herself for her next words. “You will need an heir, since I will never let you touch me again.”

Phoebe let out the sigh she had been holding in and finally allowed the tears she had been holding back to fall.

“Farewell, Ethan. I hope you have a happy life without me.”

Ethan groaned and sank onto the sofa, raking his hands through his hair before covering his face. Outside, he could hear the commotion of the carriage being prepared, valises being loaded.

Phoebe was leaving him .

He could stop her. He could run down flights of stairs and holler at the servants to just stop , but what good would it do?

She would just load the carriage on her own and attempt to drive it if I dared to stop her .

There was a pause, and he walked to the window just as he saw her emerging from the front door with her maid, Ella. Even from his vantage point in his study, he could see how she walked with her back ramrod straight, her chin held up at a defiant angle.

Just before Ella could help her into the carriage, she looked up, and Ethan wanted to just call out to her. To tell her he had made a mistake and he wanted her back. Wanted her more than anything else in the world.

But would it be enough to make her stay? Would it make all the wrongs magically become right?

No, Ethan did not believe in magic—not since his mother passed away and he had had to live alone as the sole heir of the Duke of Sinclair.

But Phoebe had already turned her back to him and stepped into the carriage, and with her, she seemed to take all the happiness and light that had filled Sinclair Estate ever since she arrived.

Ethan heard a familiar knock on the door, but he could not turn away from the window. His eyes followed the carriage as it rolled down the tree-lined drive.

“Your Grace, the Duchess has already left.”

It was Morton, and despite the man’s neutral tone, Ethan could tell that the butler was most displeased at having to convey the news to him.

More than four decades of service and it was the first time Ethan had ever heard the faithful servant express displeasure at anything that did not involve dust on the mantelpiece.

“I can see that, Morton,” he muttered, his fingers gripping the windowpane as he watched the gates swing open and the carriage roll past it.

“Is there anything else you need, Your Grace?”

Phoebe. I want Phoebe back.

“No, Morton, that will be all. Thank you.”

The door closed behind the butler, and Ethan was left to wallow in his thoughts.

Alone, once more, just as he had always been.