Page 10 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)
CHAPTER TEN
M orning came too soon for Scarlett, the sunlight barely penetrating through a layer of clouds and the thin, gauzy curtains. At the very least, the rain had stopped, and although the roads might be considerably muddy, it meant that they could finally return to Southford.
Where her brother still waited, ready to marry her off to his dear friend.
“Darling!” Her mama beamed at her as she entered the breakfast room with Snowdrop in her arms. “I hope you had a restful evening. Come here and have some breakfast. They have your favorites—honey cakes and hot chocolate.”
Scarlett stiffened slightly before setting the puppy down on the floor. She did love chocolate—she just was not sure if it would be enough to help her swallow what was sure to follow.
It was so rare to see her mama this… enthusiastic . The last time the Dowager Countess was this happy was the moment right before they announced her betrothal to the Marquess.
Scarlett sat down slowly. Suddenly, the hot chocolate and honey cakes did not seem so appetizing anymore.
“Her Grace has very kindly extended her invitation for us to stay at Wolverton Estate,” her mama continued happily. “Another week, darling! Is that not lovely and so very kind of her?”
Scarlett’s smile felt so tight she was afraid her face would crack right over the breakfast table. “Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.”
The Dowager Duchess smiled brilliantly at her. “Oh, think nothing of it, my dear! This house has not heard much laughter in years until you arrived.”
The rows of disgruntled Wolverton ancestors lining the hallway on her way down did not seem to share that opinion. Neither did the current master of Wolverton Estate, for that matter.
“I have so enjoyed your company, Lady Scarlett,” the Dowager Duchess continued. “In fact, I am of the opinion that Wolverton has had enough of dreary days…”
Scarlett paused in the act of mindlessly stirring sugar into her hot chocolate.
“… so I took the liberty of inviting a few friends over…”
A few friends? She had a feeling that the Dowager Duchess’s reticent son would not be so happy about that.
“… and we have begun planning a great ball for this weekend to welcome everyone to Wolverton Estate!” the Dowager Duchess finished with a happy clap of her hands.
The Dowager Countess also turned towards her daughter with a warning smile. “Is that not exciting, darling? You do so love balls.”
Scarlett smiled through her wince. “That… sounds quite lovely, Your Grace.”
The Dowager Duchess laughed lightly, waving her hand. “I did promise you that I was going to help you find a more suitable match than my son, did I not?”
The honey cakes turned to ash in Scarlett’s mouth.
The last thing she wanted was another match. Not when she could feel his hands on her body, his warm breath fanning her sensitized skin.
She had spent the entire night tossing and turning and, to her great horror, arching as she would in his arms.
Just what has he done to me?
That question remained unanswered even as the sun began turning the dark sky purple and sleep finally claimed her.
No, staying in Wolverton was not in her best interest. Neither was finding a husband.
What her mama needed to do—as any appalled mother would under the circumstances—was take her to the country for a brief sojourn to ‘recover’ while they waited for whatever scandal she caused to blow over.
She clutched her fork in her hands and managed a tight-lipped smile. “I do not think that?—”
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 been flattered that 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 her off 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 a ball .
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 his bed .
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 his mother , 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? Under his roof?
“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.
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 had any idea 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.