Page 29

But her feeble protestations hardly made it past the rather unladylike churning of her stomach or the animated discussion the Dowager Duchess and her mama were having.

A ball to find her a husband. She should have been charmed. No, she should have beenflatteredthat a dowager duchess would think so much of her.

Perhaps she should have stayed in the woods, in that hunting lodge, and waited for pneumonia to release her from the mortal coil.

Maybe the Wolf still might be up to the task if she goaded him a little bit more. So far, though, his attempts to scare heroff had only resulted in her being even more drawn to him. Scandalously so.

It was madness. Complete and utter insanity.

Her mama should be worried about the soundness of her mind instead of planning aball.

At her feet, Snowdrop let out a low whine, and she absently fed him a piece of ham.

A ball, however, might be just the thing to buy her more time—enough for her to completely fend off her betrothal to the Marquess or any other man her mama might think to foist on her.

Even better, it might prove to be enough of a distraction to stave off any ridiculous fantasies of the Duke of Wolverton, his wicked, wicked mouth, and hisbed.

No, not just his bed. She recalled the mention of his table. His chair.

Blessed saints above…

Scarlett’s cheeks reddened, her body thrumming in unrecognizable yet thrilling ways.

No!

She slammed her foot heavily on that train of thought. The Duke of Wolverton had already made it clear that he felt nothing for her—other than lust—and she was sure he could just as easily direct his energy towards anything that moved.

She reached for a cup and pursed her lips as she took a sip of her hot chocolate. She was certain she added a fair amount of sugar to her drink.

Why, then, was it so unexplainably bitter?

He heard the laughter coming from the open doors of the breakfast room before he even saw the ladies happily partaking of the morning fare.

Ruined. His morning was now irrevocably ruined, in addition to the sleepless night he had spent chipping away at marble, his hands running over stone-cold curves instead of warm, willing flesh.

And now, the very cause of that bloody affliction was sitting in that very room with hismother, eating breakfast at his table.

He should have kicked her—and her infernal mother—out when he had the chance. Should not have waited for the storm to roll in and trap him with her in a manor that now felt too small for both of them.

“You are much too kind to Scarlett, Your Grace,” he heard Lady Southford declare.

To which his mother replied with a hint of wistfulness in her tone, “I have always wanted a daughter. I hope you and Lady Scarlett do not mind my intrusion.”

“It is hardly an intrusion, Your Grace. Although your affection might be… somewhat improperly bestowed on my daughter.”

He clenched his hands into fists. What the hell did the Dowager Countess mean by that?

“It has been so long since I have been able to play matchmaker,” his mother chimed in. “Lady Southford, you will not find me irksome for finding a suitable match for your darling daughter, will you?”

Now, what the hell did his mother mean by that? Find Lady Scarlett a husband? Underhisroof?

“Truly, Your Grace, you are much too kind, paying so much attention to my dear Scarlett like this.” The Dowager Countess shook her head. She shot her abnormally quiet daughter a glare. “We had a perfectly fine match for her—one which her brother and I took great pains to secure—but she came up with the most elaborate plan to avoid him.”

Pride for the redhead rose unbidden in his chest before he saw her look down and bite her lower lip.

His own lips pressed into a thin line. Could she refrain from doing things that made him hard and aching so early in the morning? A respite during breakfast would have been nice, especially when all he could think of the whole night was feasting on her.

But he saw the hunch in her shoulders. The uncharacteristic hardness in her gaze. The whiteness of her knuckles as she clutched the fork in her hand so suddenly.