Page 21 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

H udson never knew his heart could suddenly stop beating like that, stuttering in his chest before it picked up its pace in a rush. But it did, and there was nothing he could do except gaze and gaze at her.

And then gaze some more like a bloody idiot.

Maybe he even smiled at her a little—he was not so sure anymore, as awestruck as he was by the sheer magnificence of her presence. At least he managed to keep himself from staggering when her eyes met his after a brief sweep of the entire ballroom, her lips curling into a slight smile as if to say, “There you are.”

When she started to walk down the stairs, he could feel his heart thudding to match the rhythm of her steps, the soft cadence of the subtle sway of her hips.

It was almost as if his very existence was anchored to hers.

“Lady Scarlett really knows how to make a grand entrance,” he heard Ethan remark with a shake of his head.

Fortunately for him, it was a harmless comment, one that a brother might make about a younger sister’s antics, or Hudson would have been unable to resist planting a fist in his friend’s face.

Colin laughed slightly. “I believe that half the scrapes Alice got into were of her orchestration. It would take a very patient man to marry her.”

“Also one blessed with incredible fortitude,” Daniel added blandly.

It finally took all three of his friends looking pointedly at him for Hudson to shake himself out of the trance she had put him in. His first coherent thought?

Just where the hell did she get that dress?

To say that she looked stunning would have been an understatement. The sight of her stole his breath. One glance and she just might steal his soul with it.

Unlike the soft pinks and lilacs most unmarried ladies wore, Scarlett was draped in a gown of the deepest emerald green that brought out the red in her hair, making it almost as fiery as herself. The fabric shimmered subtly in the candlelight, and the bodice—tight, much too tight for Hudson to breathe normally —was intricately embroidered with delicate silver thread, as though tiny stars had been sewn into the very fabric itself, their soft glow reflecting on her milky skin, outshining everyone else. As if there could be anyone else to notice when she entered.

The gown clung to her curves with a precision that left little to the imagination. Her waist was cinched, bringing out her hourglass figure. The cut of the bodice hung ever so slightly lower than most of her gowns, and Hudson’s breath hitched. His hands itched to rip it off her. Or maybe he could taste her while she was still wearing it. A goddess, taking his worship well. A little too well.

With some force, he moved his gaze lower, in a helpless attempt to escape the direction his thoughts were straying towards. The flare of the skirt beneath swayed and shimmered with every move.

By tomorrow, every debutante and her mama would be beating down her seamstress’s door to get something exactly like it, but no one would ever be able to wear it the way Lady Scarlett Clarke did. She was incomparable. Beyond words or human comprehension.

So mine . If only…

His hands clenched into fists. No, he would not consider… He was losing control already, drinking more than he should to numb away the roaring heat in his veins.

His legendary control had not always come so easily to him. He had won it through battle, rising through the ranks as a dreaded warrior. Then, he had honed it with his chisel, chipping away at the rough edges until all that was left was the cold Wolf that prowled the edges of Society.

That was until she crashed into his life, upending everything he had ever worked so hard for.

And he had never wanted anyone more.

“I am going to need another drink,” he grumbled, turning away from their small group.

“Get a lot,” Ethan cheerfully called after him. “You are going to need it!”

Hudson gritted his teeth. “Remind me again why we are friends?” he muttered under his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as his mother led Scarlett around the ballroom, beaming at her as if she were the daughter she never had. At least with her mama and his, she would be relatively safe from the advances of ill-behaved ruffians.

He pushed his way past a dowager countess with a feathered turban, earning a glare, before her eyes widened in realization.

“Your Grace!” she gasped. “Let me introduce you to my daughter, Lady Lavinia Hal?—”

“Charmed, My Lady,” he muttered brusquely, before pushing her out of the way.

The older lady looked miffed, which was unfortunate, for Hudson cared for neither her nor her daughter, this Lady Lavender Whoever. He continued to push through the crowd, finding his way to wherever those damned drinks were while keeping an eye on Scarlett the whole time.

And she did not even look at him again. Not since she smiled down at him from the top of the stairs as if she were a goddess granting a mortal her favor.

So, she was angry. He could live with that.

As long as she was all right and well away from him, Hudson decided he could live with anything .

What was not acceptable were the droves of young bucks crowding her and her mama, each one eager for an introduction or a dance.

And where was his mother? Should she not be overseeing this matchmaking endeavor of hers? Did she not assure Scarlett she would find her a good match? Why, then, was she allowing every fop and dandy in London to approach her?

This ball was devolving into madness, and they were all caught in the middle of it. The chatter, the clinking of glasses… it was all like being caught in the middle of a battle all over again.

Just where the hell were the drinks?

Hudson stumbled over to a footman, who emerged from one of the doors with a tray full of glasses, and grabbed one. He was just about to throw his head back and down the fiery liquid when he saw it .

Lady Southford was leading Scarlett to a familiar man with pale blond hair, cold blue eyes, and an even colder smile.

The Marquess of Bloody Colton.

Hell no.

The Dowager Duchess was right—there was no better beauty secret than a good night’s sleep. Or two.

“My Lady, you are as radiant as ever.”

Chills—and not the good kind—ran down her spine when she heard that familiar voice.

Him? What is he doing here?

“I hope you would not object to his being here,” her mama whispered to her.

Object? Scarlett would be fortunate if she managed to not unceremoniously eject the scones and tea she had consumed before preparing for the ball.

“Lord Colton.” She smiled less than enthusiastically. “A pleasure to see you tonight, My Lord.”

Her mama flashed an overly bright smile. “Come now. You two have known each other since you were children. There is no need to act like strangers!”

“He is Alex’s friend, not mine,” Scarlett muttered.

Her mama shot her a stern look, a subtle rebuke beneath a polite smile, before turning back to the Marquess with a wide smile. “You know how Scarlett can be, My Lord,” she spoke in a tone that grated on Scarlett’s nerves. “It was nothing more than a misunderstanding—a mere ploy to confirm your interest.”

Scarlett had never heard anything more absurd.

Lord Colton flashed a smile, practiced and deliberate. “Think nothing of it, Lady Southford. I can forgive Lady Scarlett almost anything.”

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “Almost anything?”

“As long as it is within reason, of course.”

She was certain that kissing another man was hardly within reason, but the Marquess must be made of more persistent stuff. Otherwise, he would not be so bold as to approach the so-called woman of the Wolf under his roof.

“But you have to make up for it, of course.”

“Make up for it? How exactly?”

“A dance, My Lady. Surely, you would not begrudge me the pleasure of your company?”

She would most enthusiastically begrudge him that and more. Unfortunately, if she refused to dance with him, she would have to sit out the rest of the evening, as etiquette demanded.

She looked up at him with all the vitriol in her petty, little heart.

I hope the Wolf brings down his anger on you right this moment!

She glanced around and found him looking at her from across the ballroom, fury evident in his stormy eyes and the hard set of his jaw. Even his broad shoulders were stiff with barely leashed anger.

Desire coiled low in her belly at the sight of him… only for her to remember that she would not have been forced to endure this ball if he had sent her away. He was the one who pushed her away.

Why should she cling to him when he had all but made it clear that he did not want her beyond the scandalous liberties she had given him?

“I truly hope you do not find me so narrow-minded, My Lord.” She smiled up at the Marquess.

“Never, My Lady,” he assured her, ever the charming gentleman.

His manners were impeccable, and he was a fantastic dancer. If anything, she would at least enjoy the first dance, if not his company. It was almost expected that she would want to be married to him.

Too bad she felt more like retching in his presence.

He was the perfect gentleman, true. But he was also sneaky and manipulative, and she simply abhorred how he was able to snake his way into obtaining her hand in marriage.

A loud sound went up from one part of the ballroom, jolting Scarlett out of her thoughts. She craned her neck to look, but her view was blocked by the Marquess—a maneuver that earned him a reproving glare and proceeded to knock a few more points off his approval rating.

“A slight commotion,” he told her smoothly. A little too smoothly. “You know how rowdy these balls can get.”

Of course, she knew that. Did he honestly think this was her first ball? The question was more like who would have the audacity to cause a ruckus in Wolverton Estate?

But the musicians had already begun to play, and as Lord Colton led her to the dance floor, Scarlett was forced to shove her curiosity to the back of her mind.

Just take one step after another .

Even if she wanted so much to just leave him standing in the middle of the dance floor, she could not risk her reputation—and her mama’s wrath.

They had scarcely started to move when a huge, dark-garbed figure stepped into her line of vision and obstructed their path.

“Move, Colton.”

Scarlett gasped, her heart singing with glee at the sound of that low, dark, deliciously forbidding voice.

Yes, Lord Colton. Do step aside!

But Lord Colton simply smiled coldly at Hudson. “I believe this dance is mine, Your Grace.”

The two men glared at each other for a moment. And then, like the rogue that he was, Hudson simply bowed and whispered in her ear, “Meet me outside, little cat.”

Oh, the shivers! The anticipation!

The absolute rage that she could feel coursing through the Marquess at having been effectively sidelined at their dance!

Scarlett could feel the mirth bubbling up her throat at just how brilliantly Hudson had managed to rile up a man who had so very carefully kept his true thoughts and nature hidden beneath a smiling veneer.

Without another word, he simply stepped back and quirked an expectant eyebrow at her before stomping out of the ballroom.

It was her greatest relief to say to Lord Colton, “Please excuse my horrible manners, My Lord. I am suddenly feeling faint…”

And before he could even eke out another word, she dropped his hand and picked up her skirts to follow Hudson out the open doors.

Hopefully, Lord Colton would not forgive her this time.