Page 30

She must truly be unwilling to marry this Marquess they found so suitable for her.

He could never tame her.

“And you can?”a small voice whispered insidiously in the back of his head.

He shook his head. It was not his business to meddle in the matrimonial affairs of Lady Scarlett Clarke, even if his mother seemed to take such great interest in her.

No, the sooner she and her mother left, the sooner he would be able to enjoy his peace and quiet—away from the ton and all its foibles.

“Oh, Hudson, there you are!” his mother chirped. “We were just discussing the ball I plan to hold this weekend.”

He regarded her with an arched eyebrow. “A ball?”

Wolverton Estate had not seen guests in ages. Lady Scarlett and her mother had been the first to see its interior ever since the previous Duke died. Now, his mother wanted to hold a ball.

Peace and quiet were becoming even more of a distant fantasy.

“Yes, a ball.” The Dowager Duchess regarded him unflinchingly. “To welcome our guests, naturally.”

“Guests?” he echoed.

“I took the liberty of inviting others to Wolverton Estate. This house needs the energy of younger people to liven things up, I would say.”

No, he could not say the same thing. If his mother wanted to ‘liven’ things up at the estate, as she put it, she did not need a ball to do that—she needed an exorcism.

But he never could tell his mother no. Not after everything she had been through. She deserved better than her own son putting her down and belittling her in her own home.

“Suit yourself,” he told her curtly, before turning on his heel.

Liven things up, indeed!

With what, exactly? Men fawning over the redhead who had managed to worm her way into his household and every damned waking thought he possessed?

He stalked up to his tower and slammed the door shut behind him. He grabbed his tools from the table, facing the unfinished sculpture.

He was met with clean, flowing lines. Curves that ached for his touch, demanding the pleasure he knew he could give her—and more.

His hand ran almost reverently over a round marble breast, its peak a stark white instead of dusky rose.

He recalled her arching into him. She had wanted him in that lodge—he was certain of it.

But if she knew half the things he had done, if she hadanyidea of it at all, he doubted she would still want his hands on her.

Quietly, he put his chisel to the marble once more.

He would let his mother have her ball. After this, he would not need to bother with Lady Scarlett ever again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Scarlett felt her heart sink slowly to the pit of her stomach.

She had been so certain that the Wolf would veto the idea of holding aball, of all things, right in his den. Nobody had seen the interior of Wolverton Estate ever since he inherited the title, and she had no doubt he vastly preferred it this way. As much as she adored the chatter and constant adoration that suitors heaped on her, she had begun to appreciate her solitude as well.

After all, it was hardly comfortable to entertain with the kind of thoughts currently running through her mind.

Warmth spread across her cheeks as she remembered the way he held her in the lodge, his bold touch and the unspeakable things he whispered in her ear. Her toes curled at the thought, and she realized with horror that she might never look at tables and chairs the same way again.

Not without him whispering in her ear all the creative ways he could use them. Withher.