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“It was just a kiss… A real one, this time,” she mumbled.

“A kiss can mean many different things for many different people.”

Oh yes. It could mean the fulfillment ofherdreams and merely the momentary slaking ofhislust.

“It hardly has to mean anything,” she finished.

“It does if it matters to you,” Phoebe told her softly. “Scarlett, the man kissed you, and he should take responsibility for his actions as well. You do not need to keep defending him.”

“But that is just it!” Scarlett exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air in sheer frustration. “So what if we kissed? If it does not mean much for at least one of us, then I do not see it as a good enough reason to marry.”

She had seen what could happen when marriages were forced, or arranged according to the convenience of families. There was no happiness in such unions unless one was quite fortunate, and even then it was rarer than a diamond in a pile of cow manure and required a great deal of work on both sides.

Scarlett knew herself all too well. She would never settle for a loveless marriage—she would exhaust herself trying to make him love her, and when that did not work, she would grow bitter and resentful. She would become like so many ladies of the ton, and that was a fate she was not willing to face.

No, she would much rather hide in the countryside as a pariah. At least there, she would have the freedom to be herself, even if she had to rely on the goodwill of her brother to provide a roof over her head. She could even earn a bit of income if she was so inclined.

A much better fate compared to the prison of a loveless match, as far as she was concerned.

“Kissing the Wolf means nothing to me,” she said in a tone much firmer than she intended.

And that is that, she added inwardly, hoping the emphasis would convince her treacherous heart.

But things rarely went her way as of late, and even if she managed to convince Phoebe, she was unable to stop the unholy screech that exploded from her doorway.

“Kissing the Wolf?Scarlett Clarke, you had better explain yourself right now!”

There were very few things that could inspire more horror than a mother so determined to see her daughter wed and wedwell. Such women had the fearlessness of a rabid bear and the single-mindedness of a horse with its blinders on.

So it was with her mama, who had burst into her rooms with a look fierce enough to level an entire townhouse. Maybe even an estate as grand as Wolverton Estate.

“Mama, I?—”

The glare that her mother shot her had her shaking in her stockings. Her mama had not looked at her like that ever since she had been a child and she had been caught wading into the brook in their countryside estate with her skirts hiked up almost to her knees. Only this time, Scarlett did not think that the consequences would merely be the revocation of dessert privileges for a month.

Half a year, was most likely.

With a side of marriage.

Always with a side of marriage.

“Mama, it is not what you think it is!”

The Dowager Countess closed her eyes as if she might swoon right then and there. When she opened them once more, they were blazing bright as she fixed them on Scarlett.

“We first rushed to Wolverton Estate because you claimed that the Duke kissed you.”

Scarlett nodded emphatically. “But youknowthat was a falsehood. His Grace did not kiss me.”

“Yet.” Her mama’s glacial tone cut through her protestations. “Now, tell me honestly, girl. Did you and the Duke of Wolverton ever engage in such intimate activities?”

Define intimate.

There was that time at the lodge when she had been so sure he would kiss her. When he had seductively whispered in her ear just how creative he could get with every available piece of furniture.

And then there was that matter in the orangery, where they had indeed kissed.

Not that her mama ever needed to know about any of that. If she did, there would be no stopping her from marching them—Scarlett and Wolverton—down the aisle herself with a special license, just so she could be certain.