Page 77 of A Bride for the Duke of Sin

“Daniel!” Evie smiled at her husband as she rushed over to him. “I thought you would be somewhere else.”

The Duke of Ashton regarded his wife with a raised eyebrow. “Where should I be except for here?”

Phoebe saw a faint pink hue spread across her friend’s cheeks.

“But you say that Ethan is…” Evie trailed off.

“Oh, rest assured that he is taking care of things,” Daniel stated coolly. “In fact, you may look at a demonstration of it now.”

He angled his head, and Phoebe followed his cool gaze across the ballroom, feeling her blood run cold in her veins at the sight before her.

Ethan was standing by a pillar, slightly obscured by a cluster of potted greenery, and cozied up to his side was a voluptuous, dark-haired beauty who was smiling up at him as she wrapped her arm around his.

The Harolds’ ball had nothing to offer—not in terms of novelty, entertainment, and even the fare they were serving.

The only reason that Ethan ever dragged himself to this godforsaken event was to show his support for his wife and to quell the rumors about their estrangement swirling around London.

Estranged? Ha! If they only knew how he could hardly keep his hands off of her.

In fact, in the carriage ride to the ball, he had been half-tempted to tell the coach to turn back to Sinclair Estate and just spend the rest of the night in bed with her.

But there were eyes all around the ballroom, and a show of unity was the most effective way to squash these rumors. For the moment, at least.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the Duke of Sin himself,” a low, sultry voice breathed in his ear. “Why are you standing here alone, Your Grace?”

He did not even deign to spare Lady Wilshire a passing glance as he scanned the ballroom for the familiar gleam of Phoebe’s golden locks.

However, the widow was a persistent woman—and one who would not take no for an answer.

“I must say, when word of your nuptials got out, I could scarcely believe it,” the widow admitted with a low chuckle. “We never thought that the Duke of Sin would ever consider marrying sucha naive and idealistic chit fresh from the nursery. Very far from your usual tastes, indeed.”

By that time, Ethan had had enough of her incessant tittering.

“My Lady, you have no idea what my tastes actually are,” he told her coldly.

But Lady Wilshire was not used to being rebuffed so unkindly, and if she was, she had always been of the firm belief that no man was immune to her charms—not even the Duke of Sin.

Especiallymen she thought were like the Duke of Sin.

But Ethan and those men were vastly different, although, to her, they might have seemed one and the same.

“Oh,” she said silkily. “I know all too well the kind of women you prefer, Your Grace.” She coiled her arm around his and ran a finger brazenly down his chest. “One day, you will tire of your little debutante and your past will catch up to you.”

Highly unlikely.

Ethan simply pretended the woman did not exist.

Actually… he did not need to. With his eyes locked on Phoebe, following her every move, it was altogether hard to notice anything else.

Even if it was a scandalous widow winding herself around his arm like a damned snake.

“The tonwill also not be kind to a poor, romantic girl like her,” she sighed in mock sympathy.

When even that failed to catch his attention, Lady Wilshire let out an indignant huff and stomped away.

Only then did Ethan allow a smirk to grace his features. It would seem that the esteemed widow did not take so kindly to being ignored.

He should make it a point to do it more often.

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