Page 1 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin

CHAPTER 1

The stench of illness pervaded the atmosphere, mingling with the pungent scent of medication in an unholy, cloying concoction that made Phoebe want to retch. From the canopied bed, one could hear the coughing fits that plagued an already weakened body.

Her papa, the Marquess of Brandon, had once again fallen ill, and unlike the last time, it seemed unlikely that he would make a recovery.

“Is that my Phoebe?” she heard him call out weakly from the bed.

She choked back the tears that threatened to spill from her lashes. “Yes, Papa,” Phoebe replied softly, hastening over to him. “I am right here.”

“My darling girl,” he murmured. “My sweet angel.”

An old nickname should not have her teetering on the edge, holding back her sobs, but it did.

Her papa had always referred to her as his angel. While Alice had been bold and mischievous, forever getting into scrapes from her adventures, Phoebe had always abided by her parents’ rules.

She never ventured too far or attempted anything that would invoke censure. Never complained or made a fuss, even when she wanted to.

Their governesses praised her as a sweet-natured child. Only Phoebe knew the truth for what it was.

Cowardice.

She simply lacked the courage that her older sister possessed in spades. Thus, she would cautiously stick to what she knew, what she was told, never daring to toe the line for fear of the repercussions.

“You know that there is nothing I want more in the world than to be sure that my ladies are cared for,” her papa wheezed. “You know that, don’t you, my angel?”

“Of course, Papa,” she murmured, rubbing his chest. “Hush now. You should not talk too much and let the medicine do its work.”

But he shook his head stubbornly. In his eyes, there was a determined glint that scared her.

Was he… giving her his final instructions?

She looked towards her mama in a panic, but her mother looked to be on the verge of tears as well, holding her handkerchief to her lips with trembling fingers.

“Phoebe… I have discussed… with the Viscount…” her father spoke again. He coughed weakly, and even that seemed to rob him of his remaining breath.

However, it was not her father’s condition that had her blood running cold in her veins, but his very words.

“Discussed…?” she breathed. Her hands clutched at the blankets at the edge of the bed. “Discussed what, Papa? With which Viscount?”

“Your marriage…” he told her feebly. “To the… Viscount… Dexford.”

Marriage. To the Viscount Dexford.

Phoebe felt as if the world around her shattered into a million shards, like glass. Her eyes wide with shock, she turned to her mama.

“It is for the best, my dear,” her mother sighed. “Your papa and I are well aware that you have never been as… tempestuous as Alice, and although you have your own share of suitors, you have never expressed a particular preference for any one of them.”

Of course, not a single one of them had caught her eye. All of them were much too busy preening over themselves to even talk to her. Most gentlemen in London were just like that.

All except one.

Almost unbidden, the image of the Duke of Sin hovering over her, with his arm braced on the wall just above her head, sprung to her mind. He grinned at her in that devilish manner that secretly sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine…

But even he would not make a good husband.

He was a rake set on his ways, and while Alice might argue that the worst rakes make the best husbands, Phoebe was not about to gamble her future and her happiness on an adage that very rarely came to fruition.

“The Viscount is a fine young man,” her mother consoled her, reaching out for her hand. “You would not be unhappy with him.”

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