Page 12 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)

CHAPTER TWELVE

S carlett turned over in her bed with a soft groan. Soft moonlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting shadows over the carpeted floor. Somewhere on the table, a lone flame flickered as a candle burned into the night.

One would think that a lavishly appointed bedchamber in a ducal estate would be enough to lull a weary soul to sleep, but not Scarlett—and she knew well enough the reason for her restlessness.

“I shall have you bent over my table, my chair, anywhere—your legs spread wide open for me as you beg me for release.”

She had not been lying to him. She did want those things—but only from him. Anyone else only made her shudder in sheer disgust.

Tables and chairs .

Scarlett bit her lower lip, her hands fisting the covers.

He had truly and irrevocably ruined all sorts of furniture for her. There was no way she could ever look at anything again and wonder just what Hudson could do to her, given only the slightest prodding of his imagination.

Ever since that afternoon in the lodge two days ago, a strange yearning had been lingering at the back of her mind. A low, throbbing ache pulsed between her legs, especially when she lay alone in her bed, her mind going over and over the words he had whispered in her ear as his hands boldly roamed over her body with nothing but blankets and a thin, wet shift between them.

Scarlett let out a soft moan as the longing flared hot and bright. Enough to send her tossing between the sheets once more and waking the little puppy, who had been sleeping beside her.

“Shh…” she murmured to Snowdrop, stroking his head lovingly. “Go back to sleep, little one.”

Dark eyes peered back at her with concern, before the little puppy laid his head between his paws and slipped into slumber once more.

Scarlett wrinkled her nose at the adorable sight. How fortunate to be able to sleep so peacefully through the night.

And then she let out a sigh of frustration that seemed to echo from the depths of her soul.

How had she sunk so low? Now, she was envying a puppy, who—not more than two days ago—had been homeless, cold and wet and shivering in the rain when she had rescued him.

“At least puppies do not toss and turn about, wondering if they are going insane,” she muttered to herself.

Nor did puppies dream of being bent over tables and chairs, hoping that a tall, darkly handsome man would do the most debauched things to them…

Scarlett tossed the covers aside. There was no point in waiting for sleep to find her. She had done everything she could the past four hours or so already. She had counted to a thousand sheep and sung herself a bunch of lullabies with the silliest endings. She had even tried to recall, word for word, the seemingly endless soliloquy Lord Ponsonby had subjected her to in the last ball.

If she was going to find sleep, then it was not in her bed, tangled up in her sheets, dreaming of a rogue doing the most deliciously roguish things to her.

No, sleep was most likely to be found in the kitchens, where there was hot milk and maybe a bit of honey. Scarlett sighed as she pictured wrapping her hands around a warm mug, breathing in the familiar fragrance.

If warm milk and honey could not help her, then she was beyond saving at this point. She might as well seek out the Wolf in his tower.

I wonder how he would react to that . He would most likely throw me out of the estate.

Or make good on his threats in the lodge.

Scarlett was slightly horrified to find that she was hoping for the latter. Debauchery must truly be contagious.

She slipped out of her bedchamber in nothing but her night rail and a luxurious velvet robe, courtesy of the Dowager Duchess. The Wolf had warned her against seeking him out in the middle of the night, but she was headed for the kitchens, not his tower.

She made her way to the door when she heard one of the scullery maids talking.

“Her Grace seems to have taken a liking to the young miss.”

“She is no young miss—she’s an honest-to-goodness young lady, or so I heard. The daughter of an earl, they say.”

There was a murmur of agreement amongst those gathered, and Scarlett bit back a small smile. Even the staff at Wolverton Estate were not immune to the allure of gossip, it would seem.

“Poor child! She came wanderin’ right into the Wolf’s den.” A matronly woman shook her head. “And so young, too.”

“Well, she did come with her mama, Mrs. Hudgens,” a younger maid spoke up.

Low murmurs rose up from the group, and Scarlett leaned in closer to hear what they were talking about.

“They can’t possibly have known about the rumors,” Mrs. Hudgens spoke out. “If they did, they would have never set foot in Wolverton.”

“Not even for a title?” One of the footmen guffawed. “Many young ladies would give an arm an’ a leg to be a duchess.”

“Not if they heard the rumors,” Mrs. Hudgens argued.

Scarlett frowned. They kept mentioning rumors, but what rumors were they talking about?

But Mrs. Hudgens had lowered her voice, and the rest of the servants simply drew closer to hear what she had to say. If only Scarlett could draw closer, she might be able to hear them, too.

She pressed her ear against the open door, peering at where the servants were huddled, when they suddenly dispersed and turned towards her with wide eyes.

Caught!

“I-I…”

What could she say? Oh, do go on, good sirs and madams, you were just getting to the good part?

It was one thing for a young lady to indulge in gossip in the ballroom, but another thing entirely to eavesdrop on servants—especially when they were talking about their forbidding master.

“I just?—”

“Your Grace!” Mrs. Hudgens gasped.

That was when Scarlett realized that all of them had paled and they were not looking at her. They were all looking at something—or rather, someone—behind her.

Slowly, she, too, turned around.

It was him—the very subject of the rumors she had so desperately wanted to hear.

And he did not look so pleased with any of them.

Hudson glowered at the pallid servants, who regarded him with fear. Apparently, he needed to have a word with his servants about gossiping about him in the presence of his guests.

His gaze dropped to the redhead, who was looking at him with surprise written all over her beautiful features. Her lips were slightly parted, and he had to physically restrain himself from tasting them. To see for himself if they were as sweet and as luscious as they looked.

“Y-Your Grace, we did not?—”

Oh, right. He had forgotten that they had a whole audience gawking at them.

He waved them off and swore he could hear a sigh—or more—of relief when they were all dismissed.

“Where are they going?”

Hudson regarded the source of that plaintive complaint with a raised eyebrow.

“It is late,” he growled at her. “Even servants need to sleep.”

She pouted petulantly, and need coiled low in his gut. “I just wanted some warm milk. Maybe a bit of honey.”

“Is that all?”

She nodded. “Yes, but you have already sent the servants away?—”

He bit back a smile as she stopped in the middle of her complaint. Her eyes had gone wide as he started a fire and set a small pot over it. “You were saying, My Lady?”

“You… know how to cook?” she asked in surprise.

“Not enough for company, but a cup of warm milk should not be so hard.”

Her smooth brow wrinkled as she peered up at him, her blue eyes drinking him in. Hudson could drown in those eyes forever and he would not even complain. Hell, he might not even notice it himself.

“Are you… joking?” She blinked at him. “You are joking.”

Yes, he was, and it was an abomination. If Ethan heard of it, he would have declared the world about to end.

“I am not,” Hudson clarified. “I was merely stating a fact.”

“No, you were not,” she replied in a sing-song voice. “The Duke of Wolverton is joking while making me a cup of warm milk in the middle of the night. Miracles do happen!”

It would have been so easy to let himself be drawn into her smile. To let his guard down around her and enjoy the simple pleasure of her company.

“We had few servants during the war,” he explained softly. “And the poor sods were stretched far too thin to concern themselves with something like a cup of milk.”

She sat down on a low stool, still regarding him with bright-eyed curiosity. “So, you fought in the war?”

“You did not hear it in some sordid ballroom gossip?” Hudson looked at her with an arched eyebrow.

She let out a little sigh. “Sadly, no. They were much more interested in discussing your amorous pursuits.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“That is because nobody needs to hear the list of women you have ruined ad nauseam.” She rolled her eyes at him. “War exploits would have been far more interesting.”

Except there was nothing interesting about the war. Nothing that would suit the tastes of a gently bred young lady like herself, anyway.

The truth of the matter was that Hudson had not been like his peers, who enjoyed the privileges of a higher rank because of their families. While the entitled sons wasted their time drinking and carousing in their tents, he had been in the range of fire. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the roar of cannons and the moans of the dying as they lay in the mud.

“Was that what Mrs. Hudgens and the others were talking about?” she asked him softly. “Your time at the war?”

Hudson pursed his lips. “Among other things.”

“What other things?”

Bloody hell, but she was a persistent little thing, and if he gave her the smallest opportunity, she would have him spilling his darkest, most gruesome secrets.

Maybe he should. Maybe that was all it would take to finally drive her away from him.

But Hudson did not want that. What he wanted was the sound of her laughter rousing him from his slumber. What he wanted was the feel of her naked legs over his.

He had told her that he wanted her bent over any surface, and he had not been lying about that. But more than that, he was starting to want things he had no business wanting.

“Do not ask questions you would not like the answer to,” he replied tersely, turning towards her with a glare that he hoped was enough to make her back down.

But tenacity was her strongest trait, and he should have known that she would meet his glare with one of her own.

“Or what?” she challenged him, her chin lifted in defiance.

They were standing toe to toe. So close that he could see the slight flare of her nostrils. The black consuming the blue of her eyes.

Desire, thick and heavy, hung in the space between their breaths. A space that could easily be bridged with a kiss.

Hudson had never wanted a woman more than he wanted her at that moment. Night after night of dreaming of her limbs tangled with his, his name on her lips as she moaned. And then screamed.

Instead, he said nothing and pushed a cup of perfectly warm milk with a teaspoon of honey into her hands.

“Do not poke your nose where it doesn’t belong, little cat,” he warned her. “I hope you have a good night, My Lady.”

He gave her a curt nod and pushed past her, striding towards the door as quickly as his feet could carry him.

Because he was a coward, and Lady Scarlett Clarke posed an enormous threat to him.