Page 8 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 8

J ust one step.

One step in front of the other.

One more step closer to the altar, to binding herself eternally to a man she had sworn never to surrender her heart to.

If only he did not look like a Greek statue made of flesh and blood, his hair of burnished gold glinting in the sunlight as he smiled at her.

Her heart seemed to stutter in her chest at the sight of him—the foolish, traitorous thing.

One more step , she reminded herself resolutely. Just one more step…

“Are you nervous, darling?”

She looked up to find her papa smiling down at her affectionately.

He was a good man, her papa, and she had wanted nothing more than to marry a man like him—a man she could love and would love her in return.

“I know that it seems rather daunting to marry the Duke,” he murmured, patting the gloved hand tucked in the crook of his arm. “But he assured me that he will treat you well.”

Of course, he will treat me well. He probably still thinks he owes me for saving him from Miss Delaney’s clutches.

As if a man of the Duke’s station needed saving.

If she had simply told him the truth from the very beginning, he might have found a better way to cancel the wedding. One that would not have necessitated her sacrificing her reputation at the altar of matrimony.

“I am just a little nervous, Papa,” she said softly. “I have never done this before.”

The Marquess chuckled softly. “You are doing wondrously, darling girl. And if the way your groom is looking at you is any indication, then this will be a happy marriage, indeed.”

Can a marriage be happy without love?

Can she learn to live with an unrepentant rogue for a husband for the rest of her life?

So many questions floated in her head, but they had already reached the altar, and her papa was already entrusting her hand to her groom.

She looked up at him again, her heart fluttering when he grinned at her.

That damned charming grin.

If she was not careful, that grin could lead her down paths she dared not tread.

“Hello there, sweetheart,” he muttered under his breath. “Glad to see you wearing a dress for this occasion.”

How can he still afford to joke on such an occasion?

She shot him a half-hearted glare, but like everything else, it seemed to just slide off his slick hide.

“Oh, do not look at me like that,” he sighed dramatically. “We are supposed to be so dreadfully in love that we could not wait to get married.”

Dreadfully.

Oh, yes. It was supposed to be just awful.

And yet, every fiber of her being seemed to be thrumming with excitement.

What is wrong with me?

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…”

As the vicar’s voice boomed across the grand ballroom, her hands gripped her bouquet tighter, her insides churning until she thought she would be violently ill.

Just then, she felt a hand covering her own, fingers intertwining with hers.

She looked up to find Ethan looking straight ahead with nary a change in his expression. The vicar, too, had noticed it and even stopped for a while, looking pointedly at their joined hands.

“Forgive me, I simply cannot wait to wed this woman,” Ethan explained simply. “Do carry on with the ceremony, Father, so that my anxiety may be relieved posthaste.”

A ripple of laughter rose from the small gathering of guests, most of them just close friends and family.

Phoebe just shook her head inwardly.

How could anyone despise him when he was so charming?

But that was simply what made Ethan Audley so dangerous. From the curve of his smile, down to his broad shoulders, that narrow, tapered waist, those muscular legs encased in breeches—he was seduction on two legs.

He was the very image of a fallen angel. A celestial being no woman could ever resist.

Phoebe managed to maintain her composure long enough for the good reverend to conclude the ceremony, and when he finally pronounced those fateful words, that strange thrumming throughout her body came back with renewed force.

“You may kiss your bride, Your Grace!”

Her breath hitched in her throat as they faced each other. Slowly, almost reverently, Ethan lifted her veil, her last remaining shield against the devastating onslaught of his allure.

Her gaze quickly snapped up to his, just as his lips started to descend upon hers.

No!

A wild panic seized Phoebe, and she shyly turned her head away. If his lips landed on her cheek, then perhaps she could still manage to come out of the wedding ceremony on two legs.

And that was a very big perhaps .

But then, there was that low chuckle again, and she felt his fingers on her chin.

“My Duchess shall have no insipid kisses on her wedding day,” he murmured. “You, Phoebe Barkley Audley, need to be kissed properly .”

Properly!?

Her mind whirled at that.

Just what did he mean by— oh .

At the feel of his lips on hers, her entire mind went embarrassingly blank. When his lips started moving against hers, her whole body felt as if it had been set on fire. That strange, strange thrumming had become an even more frenzied hum as her knees buckled beneath her. She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as his lips teased hers over and over and over…

Oh my…

It was simply the most divine thing that Phoebe had ever felt, and she did not want it to end.

That was until the vicar cleared his throat most audibly and gave Ethan another one of his pointed looks, as if he thought that being stern with the rake would even work.

“Your Grace, perhaps some things should be reserved for the privacy of your bedchambers,” he reminded the groom.

Phoebe felt her face heat up with mortification.

Never had she ever imagined that her groom would be reprimanded on their wedding day for his, ah… excessive ardor .

Nor did she expect to like it.

Good heavens, what has come over me?

Their guests erupted in applause, and Phoebe found herself leaning into Ethan, her knees still embarrassingly weak after that powerful kiss he had just given her.

One that she had just eagerly participated in.

“The good father was right.”

She looked at him so swiftly that she could swear she heard her neck crack .

Ethan grinned at her and then whispered in her ear, “Some things do require privacy, my sweet bride, but not necessarily in a bedchamber.”

He was oh so wicked, and when he smiled at her like that, it made her look forward to those promises.

Inside and outside their bedchambers.

It was so incredibly indecent.

And yet, why did she want nothing more than for him to show her the full extent of his wickedness?

Dear God in heaven, had she actually been infected with his depravity when she married him?

A kiss.

It was supposed to be a simple kiss, and nothing more.

A brief prelude to the delights he would show her.

Certainly, he could trust himself with one simple kiss?

But how did that one kiss get so wildly, horribly out of control?

Kissing Phoebe was like kissing ice and fire at the same time, and Ethan found himself thoroughly, inexplicably in a turmoil of want and longing.

And then, she looked at him over her shoulder and coolly told him, “We must go to the wedding breakfast and tend to our guests, dear husband.”

Ethan had never felt more aroused, and it was only the morning, dammit. They had wedding guests to attend to, as she so calmly told him.

Surely, they would not say anything if he stole his bride away for a quick moment?

A sudden tap on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts, and he scowled at Daniel. “What are you smiling so happily about?” he muttered. “It’s not your wedding.”

Instead, his friend merely regarded him with raised eyebrows and a knowing smile that only grew.

“So… you actually like your new bride,” Daniel murmured.

“No more than any other young lady of the ton, I assure you,” Ethan replied easily.

Daniel looked at him pointedly. “ Right .”

The man looked thoroughly unconvinced, but that was Daniel for you. He dealt in secrets and rumors, and he knew people more than they knew themselves.

It was just rather disconcerting to be on the receiving end of his scrutiny.

Ethan shrugged as he helped himself to some wine. It was never too early in the morning for some alcohol.

Besides, he was a Wolf, was he not? He could certainly hold his liquor.

That, and he needed to at least wash off the taste of Phoebe’s sweet, sweet lips…

Ethan shuddered inwardly. A kiss like that—surely, she must have felt it, too. He cannot be the only one to be so affected by that kiss…

“I have it on good authority that the Baron Latimer has taken his whole family to the country, including his daughter.”

Ethan stopped in his tracks and frowned. Inclining his head just a little, he caught sight of Lady Scarlett whispering to Evie.

“No, no, no,” Evie brushed her off. “Miss Delaney was sent off to the countryside with an aunt. The Baron and Baroness are still in London, I assure you, although I doubt they will show their faces in public again.”

“After all the ruckus they caused.” The redhead shook her head. “But a young lady being sent off to the country with an aunt—it can only mean one thing.”

Disgrace .

Ethan knew all too well how quickly the ton could turn against one of their own, and Miss Delaney had broken all of their rules in one fell swoop.

“Alice, dear, why are you frowning like that? It’s not good for… well, you know.”

The Duchess of Blackthorn rarely made an effort to hide her displeasure, and it had become a running joke amongst the ton that just the slightest frown from her could have her husband rushing in to immediately rectify the situation.

Ethan heard her heave a sigh as she turned her gaze to the other side of the ballroom, right by the dance floor.

“I still wish Mama had not invited him ,” she said, frustration creeping into her tone.

Him being the Viscount Dexford, who looked exceptionally dapper that morning with his coat and hair slicked back with so much oil that Ethan surmised his own chefs could cook on the man’s pate.

“I wish so, too.”

All three young women turned to look at Ethan. Alice looked mildly discomfited.

“Ethan,” she chastised him gently. “Has no one ever told you that it is bad form to eavesdrop on ladies?”

“A bad habit that he had acquired from my husband, no doubt about it,” Evie added with an eye roll.

Scarlett crossed her arms over her chest. “I still think the good Viscount should have just declined the invitation. A gentleman attending the wedding of a woman he was once betrothed to…”

She shrugged and let the sentence hang, although the meaning of her words was clear to everyone who heard it.

The group of women sighed collectively. The Marchioness of Brandon truly erred when she invited the Viscount. Especially seeing that now, he was approaching Phoebe with a determined look in his eyes.

Ethan noted that the ladies’ eyes had swiveled back to him before they turned back to the Viscount with great unease.

And then, another collective gasp.

“He cannot mean to?—”

“He cannot possibly be that stupid!”

The last exclamation had come from Scarlett, and Ethan had to agree with her choice of words.

The Viscount was, indeed, that stupid, for he was now leading a visibly uncomfortable Phoebe towards the dance floor.

The first dance of the bride after her wedding.

“Excuse me, ladies,” Ethan growled. “It seems that the good Viscount needs a lesson on the etiquette expected of wedding guests.”

No one—absolutely no one—had the right to make his bride uncomfortable on her wedding day.

That privilege was reserved for him only.

The Viscount Dexford could go find another young woman to foist himself on—Ethan did not care.

Just not his Phoebe.