Page 15 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

S he was doomed. Hopelessly, irreparably doomed .

Scarlett sank onto the upholstered sofa right beside Snowdrop, briefly startling the sleeping puppy. That kiss had been everything she had hoped for and more . Now, she could not get it out of her head.

Or her racing heart.

Or her tingling… places.

It was enough to drive a sane, independence-loving young woman mad.

With want.

The Duke of Wolverton had become something akin to an addictive substance. Most illicit. Very probably highly frowned upon.

And probably just as difficult to obtain through conventional means.

Not that she would want to obtain him—dear heavens, no . The man was the complete antithesis of the freedom she craved. He ordered her around as if he expected her to simply fall to her knees at his command and?—

Do not go there!

Heat surged up to her cheeks as alarm bells rang in her head. Addiction never did anyone any good—just ask the Baron Farthington, whose weakness for gambling had chased his entire family out of London.

But gambling and kissing were two very, very different things, and although Society might frown upon them both, the former was at least kindly referred to as the gentleman’s vice .

Kissing— kissing rogues , especially—was a shortcut to ruin.

Men were allowed their dalliances. Society generally turned a blind eye, although the ladies might twitter endlessly behind their fans. But for a young lady to be caught in such a compromising position with a man?

Oh, she could consider the next half of her life in the countryside, hidden from polite company because of one tiny error.

“Well, I suppose my little made-up story has become a reality,” she sighed, stroking the soft fur on the puppy’s head. “His Grace cannot claim it is a lie now.”

That did not mean he liked it, though.

Oh, he wanted it well enough. She had felt it in the crush of his embrace. The insistence of his lips as they devoured hers. The way his hands wandered dangerously over her curves.

And then she felt the answering need in her own body.

It was a disaster—one she would do over and over and over again if given the chance.

And that is how I know I have sunk to depravity.

A slight knock on her door interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to find Phoebe peering in concern through the crack.

“I was wondering if you would like to talk about the, ah, the puppy.”

Of course, she was not here to talk about the puppy, but that was Phoebe—endlessly polite and ever the perfect young lady. She would never think about barging into someone else’s room, asking if they needed to talk about how they just ruined their life.

Scarlett managed a small smile. “He’s a little sleepy.”

“He is rather darling,” Phoebe conceded with a soft smile.

She took the seat opposite Scarlett, eyeing her as if she might burst into tears at any given moment.

It was ridiculous, of course. Scarlett was not given to tears or fits of emotion. Well, not always.

“I thought you would want to tour the gardens more,” she said softly. “Everyone says that the gardens at Wolverton Estate are the most exquisite.”

Phoebe let out an unladylike snort. Yet another piece of evidence of her husband’s influence on her.

“They are lovely enough, but I found the company wanting.”

Only a friend so loyal would declare the company of the Duke of Wolverton wanting.

“Do you not want to spend more time with your husband?”

The golden-haired woman merely rolled her eyes. “The ton already declares that we are practically joined at the hip. Besides, Ethan needs to talk some sense into his friend,” she grumbled.

Talk some sense into the Duke of Wolverton? Then Ethan had his work cut out for him. Scarlett doubted anyone could talk anything into that man. Phoebe had just sent her poor husband out on a fool’s errand, and Scarlett almost felt sorry for him.

“You are not here to talk about Snowdrop, are you?” she sighed. “Truly, Phoebe, I am perfectly fine. I have dealt with far more difficult people than Wolverton, I assure you.”

“Oh, no doubt you have dealt with a great many troublesome men, but Wolverton is not only troublesome, Scar—he is impossible. ”

Scarlett felt the corner of her lips tremble into a slight smile at the frustration in her friend’s voice. “I seem to recall you saying the same thing about your dear husband.”

Two delicate pink spots appeared on Phoebe’s cheeks. “That was different. I had far more patience for Ethan.”

“Because you love him.”

The blonde nodded emphatically. “Oh yes. But that did not mean he was easy to love. He certainly made things difficult for us for a while.” She paused and reached out to clasp Scarlett’s hand. “Is it the same with you and Wolverton?”

“What? Of course not! Do not be absurd!”

The exclamation came so swiftly, like a reaction to being punched, but her laugh came out hollow. Fake.

The look on Phoebe’s face told her that her friend did not believe it either, and Scarlett felt something sink into the pit of her stomach.

Dear heavens, did she actually feel something for the Wolf? Maybe she was indeed mad!

Or getting there.

“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 of her dreams and merely the momentary slaking of his lust.

“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 wed well . 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 you know that 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.

“No, Mama.”

Her mother looked fairly hysterical. “You are certain? This is the last time I am going to ask you, Scarlett, so heaven help me if you even think about lying?—”

“I am not an idiot!” Scarlett protested.

Her mama gave her a look that clearly told her what she thought of her intelligence when it came to finding a good match.

“There was no kiss,” Scarlett enunciated clearly. “Nothing of that sort. I was just talking to Phoebe about my desperate plan that brought us here.” She didn’t want to lie anymore, but she had to now if she wanted to get out of this situation. “And the Duke is right—we have overstayed our welcome. I wish to leave as soon as possible.”

Her mother let out a soft snort. “Well, we cannot leave now. Not when the Dowager Duchess is about to throw a grand ball just to help you find a good match.”

“I somehow doubt even she could do that.”

Lady Southford glared at her daughter. “The Dowager Duchess has been very kind, and you should be grateful.”

Oh, Scarlett was grateful. The ball bought her barely a week before she would be married off to that dreadful Marquess of Colton. If she wanted to avoid that man, then she had to find someone else during the ball.

But how was she going to do that when all she could think about was Hudson’s arms around her, his lips moving over hers in a seductive caress that had her spilling all that she had? How could she think about marrying another man when she still wanted to see just what wicked things he could do to her on those tables and chairs he mentioned?

“I understand, Mama, and I am grateful for her kindness. But,” she added, “perhaps we can head back to Southford, and then we can attend the ball. After all, we hardly brought any dresses and jewelry. How am I supposed to attract another suitor if I am dressed so shabbily?”

“Oh, so now you have considered that,” her mama huffed. “Well, I had dear Alexander send us your wardrobe and the box of jewelry. This is the first ball the Dowager Duchess has thrown in years. Of course, I will not have you dressed so poorly.”

“Oh.”

If her mother could order someone to fetch clothes and jewelry for them, why could they not go back? Why must she remain at Wolverton Estate for longer than necessary?

“If you want to leave so desperately, my dear, then it will have to be after the ball,” her mama told her firmly. “Otherwise, it would raise suspicions, and suspicions make tongues wag.”

Scarlett opened her mouth to make another token protest, but her mother had already swept out of the room, leaving her stunned in her wake. Her mama, who had never once raised her voice above the level of meekness, just walked out of the room.

She looked at Phoebe haplessly. “What do I do now?”

The blonde could only shrug. “Marry Wolverton?”

“Out of the question.”

“Then that leaves only one thing,” Phoebe sighed as she stood up and smoothed down her skirts. “You know your mama will never let this matter rest.”

Scarlett’s shoulders sagged. “I was afraid of that.”

Phoebe, however, was ever the soul of optimism. “Everything will work out fine in the end.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“If worse comes to worst, I suppose I can convince Ethan to speak more sense into his friend.”

“Now I am seriously doubting if you truly love your husband.”

Phoebe just laughed lightly. “Oh, I do—very much, in fact. And I have no doubt you will find your match in time, my dear.”

“Tell me where you are getting this much optimism,” Scarlett grumbled. “I should like to have some of it.”

But her friend simply shook her head with a smile and left her. To find her husband, no doubt. Hopefully, she would give up on the notion of convincing the Wolf to marry her.

If he did not want to, then Scarlett did not want it either.

Even if they kissed.

Even if she wanted him so badly that she could hardly think of anything else.