Page 9 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin (Ton’s Wolves #3)

CHAPTER 9

S he did not want to dance.

Nor did she want to be anywhere within the vicinity of the man she had narrowly escaped being married to.

But the Viscount Dexford was being incredibly persuasive that he was bordering on forceful.

Of course, a gentleman would never dream of forcing a lady—particularly a newly married one, at that—but that was exactly how she felt as he led her to the dance floor.

“My Lord, I am certain that this is not appropriate,” she insisted.

She attempted to wriggle out of his grasp, but he held on to her fast, his urbane smile never wavering even once.

“Oh, come now, My Lady,” he cajoled. “A dance between us both could convey to the ton that we parted amicably and that there are no ill feelings between us.”

Phoebe did not initially harbor ill feelings towards the man. Admittedly, she did feel a great deal of relief at not having to marry him, but now…

Well, this was another situation entirely.

She did not particularly like being dragged halfway across the room and then made to dance with the Viscount.

She had not even danced with her husband yet. What made him think he had the right to this dance?

“Your Grace.”

She turned to find Ethan towering over the both of them, his usually easy smile now edged with an icy coldness.

The Viscount frowned. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace? I do not quite understand what you meant.”

“My wife . You referred to her as ‘My Lady’, when you should have addressed her properly as ‘Your Grace’,” Ethan corrected.

The Viscount stiffened visibly at the subtle reprimand. “Your Grace,” he echoed hollowly, his grip on Phoebe’s hand finally loosening.

“That is much better now.” Ethan smiled coldly at him. He smoothly stepped between them and plucked Phoebe’s trapped hand from the crook of the man’s elbow to tuck it firmly in his. “And thank you.”

“For what, exactly, Your Grace?” Lord Dexford bristled, his smile becoming stiff and visibly forced.

But that was nothing compared to Ethan. Phoebe could feel the blistering cold emanating from her usually warm husband .

“Why… for leading my wife to the dance floor for our first dance, of course. Although,” Ethan added, “I assure you that we shall not require your assistance on such matters henceforth.”

She could practically see Lord Dexford fuming, glaring at Ethan as if the man was the devil incarnate. For a moment, she feared that the two men were going to come to fisticuffs right there on the dance floor, but then with an incensed sound, the Viscount angrily stomped off the dance floor.

“Good riddance,” she heard Ethan mutter.

Good riddance, indeed.

Phoebe still wondered if it had been her mama who made the ill-advised call to invite Lord Dexford to the wedding. She would need to have a talk with her about that later…

“You might not like the idea of being married to me, but you could have at least respected your husband enough to reserve your first dance.”

Her eyes quickly snapped up to Ethan’s, and she frowned. “You think I would enjoy dancing with the Viscount?”

“You were smiling and being congenial enough.”

Phoebe nearly burst into laughter.

He was being ridiculous. Absolutely hilarious.

“What do you suggest I do instead? Throw him out bodily?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, his smile thawing just a little at her suggestion. “That would have been far more preferable.”

She supposed he found it a reasonable undertaking, considering his… size, but she doubted she had the physical strength it would require to haul the Viscount out of the ballroom.

And even if she did give the Viscount the cut direct during her very own wedding breakfast—as she very much wanted to—would that not cause quite the stir?

Unfortunately, she was just a woman, and bound by the rules of Society at that. While men could be quite direct, she had to rely on words and flattery to dissuade men like the Viscount from approaching her further—and sometimes, they refused to take no for an answer.

It was a truly exhausting dance. If only there was one man who could tell her to do as she pleased, to be as impertinent or as much of a termagant as possible and he would take care of the consequences…

“You could do whatever you wish with him, you know.”

She looked up at Ethan, her heart pounding in her chest.

“You are a duchess now— my Duchess,” he clarified with an edge in his tone. “You outrank him, sweetheart, and as such, you may scold him on the dance floor if you have the heart for it.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “Will you not find me unbearable, then? And people are going to talk?—”

“Let them talk,” he scoffed. “I shall take care of everything else. As my wife, you will never need to worry about such trifles ever again.”

What a tempting thought that was! To openly rebuke anybody who offended her and not have to fear the consequences. Why, she could become a little tyrant of the ton for as long as her husband had her back.

But for how long would he tolerate such misbehavior?

Men often made promises one moment and changed their minds the next.

“I did not think you were the jealous type.” She smiled up at him.

The music had already started, and together they began to move on the dance floor.

As a debutante, Phoebe had had a great many dance partners. Some were good, and some were plain awful.

However, none of them were like Ethan, who moved with such lithe grace. His movements were powerful yet elegant. Inexplicably masculine and just the slightest bit domineering. His presence seemed to fill the entire ballroom without suffocating her.

In his arms, she felt safe, and yet there was a strange exhilaration that filled her, as if she was a small bird about to learn how to fly.

But would he catch her? Or would she come crashing to the ground, broken, because she dared to trust a dangerous Wolf?

“I am not jealous,” he told her softly, his eyes boring intensely into hers. “I just do not like other men touching what is rightfully mine .”

Mine .

What a delicious thought.

And he was looking at her with great interest as well. Certainly more than all those other gentlemen who had mouthed platitudes and expressed their passing fancy for her.

But was he hers as well?

Phoebe laughed inwardly at that. It was impossible to train a wild beast. Was she about to tell a Wolf to come to heel?

She would be his, yes, but then would he give leave for other women to touch what was hers as well?

It was a sobering thought that brought her crashing straight back to reality, laughing at her foolish flight of fancy.

“Do not make me laugh, Your Grace,” she quipped with a tremulous smile. “Not too long ago, you suggested that I become your mistress.”

His eyes darkened as he pulled her closer. “You are treading on dangerous ground, wife. Do be careful.”

“No, husband ,” she shot back softly. “It is you who must take great care not to embarrass your wife with your indiscretion.”

The music had come to a stop and so did they, but Ethan refused to let go of her. They were so close, their bodies flush, their faces mere breaths apart.

Like they were just a kiss apart.

Phoebe looked up at him, into those eyes that had grown so dark that they swallowed the light, and all that was left was him and her…

Just when she thought that he would lean in and kiss her for the second time that morning, there was a burst of applause.

Of course, we are still in the middle of our wedding breakfast .

Phoebe grimaced inwardly as Ethan slowly released her, taking great care that she would still be able to stand on her feet.

She did wobble a little, mind you, but she would never tell him that.

They bowed to each other, and then, ever the showman, Ethan urged her to bow to the guests, who had crowded around to watch their first dance as well.

There was another burst of applause from the crowd, and Phoebe even caught a glimpse of her mama dabbing at her teary eyes with her handkerchief. Her papa was smiling softly at her.

She felt a strong hand on her back, and she looked up to find Ethan still smiling brightly at their guests, the very picture of a proud and happy bridegroom.

“Remember what I told you, Duchess.”

Phoebe tilted her head up at him and smiled back. “Do also remember what I told you, Mr. Wolf.”

She heard his soft huff of laughter. Saw the slight shake of his head as he walked away from her.

“As if I could think of anything else after that kiss,” she heard him mutter.

What could he possibly mean by that?

Phoebe started to follow him, but he held up a hand.

“You must attend to our guests for me, sweetheart,” he told her.

She frowned. “All right. But what about you?”

There was a tinge of irony in his laughter that she could not comprehend.

“I am going to need a strong drink.” He paused and added, “Much stronger than what they are serving to our esteemed guests, I’m afraid.”

She caught the glint of something in his eyes. Something wild and fierce and everything she had feared a Wolf would be.

However, instead of terror, a delicate shiver ran through her body. A tingle that radiated from her chest to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

She stood there, watching him walk away from her to fetch the strong drink he so needed.

Well now, I have done it. I have gone and married a Wolf.

The Duke of Sin, to be exact. The Defiler of Innocents. The man who purportedly seduced half of London.

A man who left a trail of broken hearts in his wake.

But she would not be one of them.

Just as she told Alice and their friends, she had married him to spare her parents the humiliation of her actions, but she would never give him her heart.

It was the last of her freedoms. The one thing that was hers and no one else’s. She would protect it with every breath she had left in her.

When she spoke her vows before the vicar, she made another one to herself.

The Duke of Sin would never be able to break her or her heart.