Page 2 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)

CHAPTER TWO

H udson did not bother to wrap his raw, scraped knuckles. No, he pushed his sleeves up his forearms to make sure they were in full view of the poor, miserable fools who dared to search him out.

One would think that acquiring the title of a duke would afford him a modicum of respect and privacy. In his first month alone, with the family in mourning , he’d suffered through a deluge of cards and condolences and young women eager to throw themselves at him.

Or at the prospect of becoming a duchess, rather.

Self-respect paled in the face of ambition, it would seem. In the battle for a good and titled match, these tender young maidens were much more feral than wild animals themselves.

And to think they called him a Wolf. Fools, every single one of them.

“Your Grace.” The butler bowed to him as he swept into the parlor like an angry hurricane.

The two ladies enjoying his tea immediately stood up—a sight that nearly had him balking at the door.

It was her .

The damned woman who had riled him up at the house party in Fitzroy Park as if he was a bloody wind-up toy.

For that morning, however, she had chosen a much more sedate palette for her frock—a muted violet shade that resembled that of a choking man whose air supply had been cut off. Or a gangrenous limb that most certainly required amputation.

Her vibrant curls were gathered into a neat, proper coif that had his fingers itching to release them. Her vivid blue eyes looked a tad… lifeless.

In fact, she seemed a mirror image of the woman right beside her, who looked just like her, save for the lines at the corners of her eyes and her brow. Was this how Lady Scarlett Clarke was supposed to look in a few decades?

Probably, if she succumbed to the demands of Society.

His gaze flickered to the younger redhead again. He recalled her vivacity when she dragged him to a particular sitting room in Fitzroy Park and locked the door behind her. It had taken all of his control not to make good use of the couch. Even the damned bookcase had been incredibly tempting, as he remembered it.

He had wanted to lay siege to that generous, mischievous mouth of hers. Drink in the laughter she had at his expense.

Well, she did not seem inclined to laugh now. Neither was she meeting his gaze.

Interesting .

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

He shifted his attention to the older woman—her mother, perhaps?—who bobbed a polite, if stiff, curtsy.

He regarded her with a raised eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. The Dowager Duchess always complained that it made him look more frightening, and he took a perverse delight in being just that, especially when the older lady’s eyes widened.

She did not, however, balk, as noblewomen were wont to do. In that aspect—sheer, foolhardy daring—her daughter seemed to have taken after her, as well.

“What is your purpose?” he growled. “Why did you dare to seek me out?”

And without sending a card beforehand, at that. No woman of aristocratic lineage would ever dream of committing such an infraction of etiquette, especially in the residence of a duke.

Imagine his surprise when the indignant mama bristled with barely concealed rage.

“The question, Your Grace , is how dare you take advantage of an innocent young lady!” she scolded him.

Right in his parlor. With all his fine china and tea served to them so nicely.

He directed his glare at Lady Scarlett Clarke, who looked away in visible discomfort. Now, he could see clearly where she got her fire from.

That was not to say that he relished being in the line of fire of a highly agitated mama with an unmarried daughter.

And what the hell was she going on about, talking about taking advantage of innocent young women? There was nothing innocent about the women he dallied with! Furthermore, he most certainly was not taking advantage of them when they were mutually beneficial transactions. And in the case of this innocent young woman, he only wished he could have taken advantage.

“I would be careful with my words if I were you, Madam,” he warned. “I would not so lightly offend a duke in his own home.”

The old woman pursed her lips, but she did not back down.

When he looked at Lady Scarlett, she looked quite mortified. His eyes narrowed at that.

Did the little hellion just accuse him of compromising her ? Was she so jealous of her friends that she wanted any duke for herself?

Very well, it would seem that he must get to the root of all this absurdity.

He turned to Lady Scarlett, who had remained miraculously silent throughout the entire debacle. If there was anyone who had something to say, it would be her .

“Did you make such a claim, My Lady?” he asked her, the softness of his tone belying its dangerous undercurrent.

He watched as a rather appealing flush spread across her cheeks at his intense scrutiny. It seemed that he could still fluster her. Good.

Maybe she would be flustered enough to admit the truth and end this charade.

For her own sake.

Huge. She had forgotten just how massive the Duke of Wolverton was.

With him so close, looming over her almost like he had several months ago in that sitting room in Fitzroy Park, those unbidden feelings rose to the surface once more.

But she gathered her dwindling courage and lifted her chin. “No.”

“No!?” The word came out of her mama in a horrified screech.

Scarlett immediately shook her head frantically. “I mean yes…”

The Duke smiled coldly at her. He had caught her in her little lie, and he was not going to make it easy for her.

And she deserved it for pinning the blame for her supposed lost innocence on him.

Her mama rounded on the Duke. Probably because he was the only reliable source of truth at the moment.

Well, more reliable than Scarlett herself, at least.

“Did you or did you not kiss my daughter at the treasure hunt in Fitzroy Park, Your Grace?” she demanded.

Demanded .

Scarlett closed her eyes in mortification. If the Wolf killed her mama on the spot, it would be her own fault.

How was she to know that her mother—timid and worn down by decades of marriage—would rally her long-lost courage to storm into Wolverton Estate and demand the Duke of Wolverton himself take responsibility for her daughter?

“I did what now?”

If Scarlett had any ounce of self-preservation, she really should start backing away now. Maybe also take her mama with her, if she could.

The threat in his voice was as naked as her falsehood. The intense gray gleam in his eyes stripped her bare.

“Did you want me to kiss you, My Lady?”

Well, of course that brief madness had crossed her mind, back then. She was not so sure she would indulge in such insanity at present.

She let out a long-suffering sigh.

Well, there goes my last attempt at freedom .

She would be lucky if her mother or Alexander ever let her out of their sight again, even to use the chamberpot. She had well and truly established herself as not only unreliable but also more than capable of spinning the most absurd yarns ever known to mankind.

“I told you we should not have come, Mama,” she muttered. “This is embarrassing.”

“No more than being accused of stealing a young woman’s innocence, I assure you,” the Wolf snickered coldly.

Her mama shot him a withering glare. “The other option would have had my son challenging you to a duel, Your Grace, and I do not believe you would want that,” she warned him scathingly.

The Wolf simply shrugged those massive shoulders of his and drawled in reply, “You mean you would not want that, My Lady.”

Of course not. He would win, and he would have absolutely no scruples at all of disposing of Alexander. If he did that and succeeded—as Scarlett had no doubt he would, given his notoriety—then the title would fall to some distant cousin. She and her mama would be kicked out of the only home they had ever known and forced to subsist on a paltry allowance.

If they were to even be provided that .

“Mama, might I have a word with His Grace in private?” she asked.

Her mama shot her a disapproving glare. “If you think I will let you alone with this beastly?—”

“Mama, please .”

It was the only time Scarlett had ever pleaded with her mother. She rarely even considered asking her for any sort of permission.

It was only that things had come so far, and she really, really, really did not want her brother to die at the hands of the Duke of Wolverton.

But she really, really, really did not want to marry the loathsome Marquess of Colton either. That man simply sent shivers down her spine the way a ghastly, flying cockroach might. If she had such visceral reactions to him in the parlor, in broad daylight, how would she react behind the closed doors of the bedroom?

Ruination by one of the most notorious rakes of England had been her only hope. She had not counted on her mama to rally enough courage to demand that the man take responsibility for the loss of her innocence.

“Mama.” She reached for her mother’s hands pleadingly. “I promise I shall explain later.”

Her mama regarded her with a suspicious look. “Five minutes,” she relented.

Scarlett balked at that. “Mama, that is hardly enough time for any sort of fruitful discussion.”

“I am not stupid, daughter.” The Dowager Countess eyed the Duke warily. “And I do not trust you alone with him .”

The Duke looked as if he might object to that, so Scarlett quickly cut in, “A quarter of an hour! That should be enough.”

Her mama stood astonishingly firm. It was beginning to get rather frustrating that her mother, the very same woman who stood by and allowed her husband to overrule her on almost every single aspect of her life, would now find the courage to stand resolutely on her two feet.

Scarlett sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Ten minutes, then.”

“And not a moment longer.” Her mama glanced at the Wolf warningly. “Or I will come for you, and I will not be remotely discreet.”

The Duke of Wolverton looked as if he might have something to say to that threat, but Scarlett quickly stepped in before they exploded into another argument.

“You would not need to,” she quickly reassured her. “Your Grace?”

He looked as if he would rather stick sewing needles into his eyeballs than talk to her alone.

“The study,” he snapped at her, before turning on his heel and walking out of the parlor in angry strides.

Scarlett hurriedly trailed after him as her mother called after her once more, “Ten minutes, Scarlett! Or I will tear down this entire estate?—”

She sighed and followed him into the study. At least he still possessed the consideration to hold the door open for her—or so she thought.

The thud of the door behind her sounded like a nail being hammered into her coffin.

She lowered her gaze and bit her bottom lip. Now that she was alone with him, how was she to approach the matter without adding fuel to his anger?

“I am terribly sorry, Your Grace,” she began.

Apologies always worked with her brother, and she had learned that gentlemen were more keen to listen when they thought they had her in their grasp.

Instead, the Duke scoffed as he gazed at her coldly. “Subservience does not become you, My Lady. It reeks of inauthenticity.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You have ten minutes, I believe, before I kick you and your darling mama out of my home.”

Scarlett cringed at the harshness of his tone. She should have known the usual tactics would not work on him . She also knew that he would not go easy on her just because she was a woman.

“I was running out of options, you see,” she explained, lifting her chin in defiance.

“Options?”

“Well, more like excuses.” She licked her lips nervously. “To not marry the man my brother chose for me.” The reptile.

He glared at her. “So, you thought to trap me in marriage instead?”

That sounded almost as ludicrous as Alexander coming out alive from a duel with the bloody Wolf.

Scarlett peered up at him—from the top of his unruly, dark hair, down to his bare, muscular forearms… further down to his legs and his scuffed boots—and gulped. There was no way in heaven anyone could force him into something he did not want, most of all unholy matrimony.

“Of course, that was not my intention,” she amended hastily, waving her hands before her. “I merely told Mama that I had kissed somebody, but she insisted on finding out, and your name might have popped out during that particular conversation…”

She was babbling like a complete and utter nitwit—and he did not look pleased at all. She had better choose her next words carefully.

“I never thought she would go against a duke !” she burst out in sheer desperation. “My mother hardly stepped a toe out of line when my father was alive. How was I to know she was going to start doing it now that he’s passed?”

So much for remaining calm, cool, and collected.

The massive man before her looked even more livid if that was possible.

“So, you did not want to be kissed by me?” he growled.

“By the Wolf himself? I might be reckless, but I am not stupid. I just wanted my mother to be a little afraid.”

That… somehow did not come out the way she wanted. How was he going to want to cooperate with her when she just made him out to be the stuff that sent ambitious mamas scurrying for cover?

“So, it is not marriage you want?”

Scarlett sighed. “No. I just want my freedom.”

And from the looks of it, he did not particularly relish the thought of marrying her either. Somehow, that stung far more than she thought it would.

The Duke of Wolverton glared icily at her. “Then you will explain to your mother that you lied,” he told her flatly. “And I never want to see you—or your mama—on my doorstep ever again.”

“Y-You can’t!” she gasped, grabbing his arm. When he glared at her, she dropped it as if the entire limb had suddenly turned to live coal. “I mean, I can’t. Not yet, at least. Please, Your Grace, I beg you to reconsider—just this once. It does not even have to be a real wedding. A fake betrothal will do!”

Was she going to allow her last shot at freedom to slip from her grasp? Most certainly not!

Maybe if she appealed to his more charitable side—if it existed—he would be inclined to take pity on her.

Or she could simply bargain her way out of it. Were not business deals made in such a way every single day? Well, she could do that, too.

As for the capital in question…

She swallowed audibly. “I… I will do anything in return.”

He arched a dark eyebrow. “Anything?”

The dark, forbidding man before her might have her knees quivering underneath her petticoats, but at least he did not leer at her the way the Marquess did.

So much so that she would rather take her chances with him.

“Careful, My Lady. You should not be making such promises to a Wolf. ”

And when his lips curled into a cold smile, Scarlett wondered briefly if it was truly wise to make deals with the devil.

Or the Wolf, in this case.