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

CHAPTER FOUR

S carlett decided that she liked the Dowager Duchess of Wolverton more than she did her ornery son. It was also much easier to get on her good side. She was not exactly sure if the Duke actually had a good side she could get on.

After the door closed, he strode over and turned the key in the lock. The mechanism click sounded like her death knell. Like the final nail being hammered into her coffin.

But if he thought that she was merely going to take everything he would dish out at her, he was mistaken. Very sorely so.

“Now that my darling mother has finally afforded us the privacy this conversation requires,” he growled. “I suppose you can now tell me what is it you mean to offer me, My Lady.”

He crossed those muscular arms over his massive chest and regarded her with a raised eyebrow. His entire posture seemed to say, “I’m waiting.” As for how patiently, Scarlett did not know.

Patience and the Duke of Wolverton just did not seem to go in the same sentence together. Nor in the same realm of possibility.

She heaved a sigh of disappointment and smiled up at him. “I meant to ask for a fake betrothal with Your Grace, but since you have refused me in no uncertain terms…” She peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “Then I do not feel at liberty to discuss any of the terms with you. Why should I give you anything in return when you have already turned me down?”

She watched a muscle tick in the corner of his strong, masculine jaw and felt like laughing. It seemed that nobody had ever refused his requests before. Truly, somebody should tell this big, sullen Duke no sometimes. It would be good for his character.

He snorted. “According to your little story, you already gave yourself to me. Do not test me, little cat.”

Little cat?

Scarlett bristled.

And why did he have to look so smug about it?

“It was just a kiss !” She rolled her eyes at him. “And if I knew you would be so grumpy about it, maybe I should have picked a different duke?—”

“Too bad you didn’t.”

She paused at the murderous glint in his eyes. When had he stepped so close to her?

Her eyes trailed from the savagery flashing in those silver orbs down to the long, muscular legs encased in scruffy breeches. Oh, she could very well imagine that it would not take so much for him to cross the room in a few strides. She, on the other hand, would require much more.

She blinked away the notion of racing across the room with the Wolf at her heels before she could wonder why it intrigued her so.

“Now, you are at my mercy,” he continued in that soft, dangerous tone that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. He smiled coldly. “For the night, at least.”

He raised his hand, his fingers hovering a mere breath away from her face. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked up into those wild, stormcloud eyes of his.

And then his hand dropped.

What is wrong with me?

Scarlett inwardly shook her head. Why was his pinewood scent suddenly the only thing she could smell? Why did that hint of a growl make her lips part and her breath come fast?

Why was she suddenly attracted to his barely leashed brutality?

Most of all, why was she suddenly wishing that he had reached out and touched her? Why would she want him to touch her?

Her mind careened from one thought to another as he took a step back.

“Perhaps you may be of use to me, after all,” he murmured.

“Of use?”

For what, exactly?

Scarlett feared she would not like the answer to that question.

But if he was willing to help her—at least for the time being—then perhaps she could buy herself enough time. Just enough for her to get out of the impending doom that was her betrothal to the Marquess.

He grinned at her, his teeth a slash of white against his tanned skin. “I hold a particular disdain for vapid, twittering ninnies who throw themselves at me left, right, and center in just about every ballroom in London,” he clarified. He lifted her chin and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Perhaps your presence can serve as a deterrent to those ambitious chits and their even more ambitious mamas.”

He wanted her to keep debutantes from flocking over to him? Was he not capable of achieving the very same feat himself?

Scarlett stared up at him and wondered if the female population of London had gone insanely suicidal to launch themselves at him. The man radiated danger in capital letters. Underscored. Possibly with a few curlicues on the letters and some illustrated margins.

But then again, she had wanted him to touch her not too long ago. Perhaps she was just as mad as the rest of them.

She licked her lips. She might be able to make the best out of this situation.

“And in return, you will pretend to be my betrothed?” she asked breathlessly.

Yes, this could work.

In fact, it would be rather ideal—the two of them coming together to keep marriage prospects at bay. Her mama would never question her betrothal to the Duke, and she was quite certain she could easily defend him from the hordes of fanciful females who dreamed of becoming his Duchess.

It was most unconventional, but certainly much better than the prospect of marrying the Marquess.

The Duke let out a sound that might have been a cross between a scoff and a laugh, as if he found her proposal incredibly amusing.

“No, Lady Scarlett. In return, I will not duel your brother and execute him for your offense.”

Then, he rudely ushered her out the door and closed it in her face!

Scarlett was rendered speechless. And then fuming mad.

“Fine!” she yelled, her voice precisely pitched so the man behind the door heard every single word. “Then maybe I should take Her Grace up on her offer and find a more agreeable man!”

So much for thinking the man had a single charitable bone in his body! Whatever goodwill she felt towards him immediately evaporated, obliterated by his unbelievable rudeness.

She glared at the offensive mahogany panel that he had swung between them. How dare he throw her out as if she was mere baggage!

Men! They are all the same—every single one of them!

Really, she should have never mentioned his name to her mama. She would be much better off with another man, but eligible dukes were rather hard to come by nowadays, and she needed someone who was intimidating enough to keep the Marquess of Colton away.

The Wolf was her best option. Too bad he was not cooperative.

Well, he was not the only man in existence. Perhaps she should take the Dowager Duchess up on her offer.

Perhaps she should stay away from the fearsome Duke of Wolverton for her own good.

And her sanity.

There was not a more infuriating woman in existence.

Incredibly infuriating and undeniably alluring in a way that made other parts of him stir to attention.

Bad idea.

Hudson fumed as he chipped away at the huge chunk of marble before him, dust trailing from his fingers.

Women like Lady Scarlett Clarke were where logic and self-control went to die, and he did not think he was that far gone yet. No, Hudson prided himself on being the master of his desires.

And hers, if you were inclined to take the lady up on her offer, a small voice in his head whispered insidiously.

Well… he did have a problem with that particular proposal of hers because he should not be feeling piqued that she did not relish the thought of marrying him.

And just where did she get the sheer audacity to actually consider roping in another fool to take his place? She even possessed the nerve to fling it back in his face!

The most disconcerting thing about that matter was that he still could not decide whether he felt amazed or furious that a woman—whose head barely reached his shoulders and whose weight was probably half his own—possessed the gumption to stand toe to toe with him and challenge him in his own study.

But as tempting as the offer was becoming, he would do much better to refuse it. In fact, logic dictated he do precisely that.

He did not understand why he was still considering a partnership with her, knowing just how capricious she could be.

He sighed in frustration and tossed his tools onto a table covered in marble dust, hammers, chisels, and polishing cloths. When he took a step back, it was all he could do not to groan.

The rough hulk of stone before him was far from finished, but the shape it had begun to take was all sinuous curves and flowing lines. A rounded hip, the shadow of an ample bosom.

Damn it, had she just wormed herself so deep into his thoughts that he had carved her onto marble? He ran a hand over the stony flare of a hip and flinched, drawing back as if he had been scalded.

“Your Grace?” one of the servants said timidly.

“What?” Hudson growled, his eyes still narrowed on the offensive form his sculpture had taken.

“Miss Josephine has arrived. Shall I send her to the usual rooms?”

Josephine. Right. He had almost forgotten that it was close to that time of night.

Another time, he would have appreciated her punctuality, but Hudson was not in the mood for it at present.

“Tell her that I am currently occupied,” he snapped at his servant instead. And then, belatedly realizing that he had allowed his damned emotions to get the better of him, he added in a more measured tone, “Tell her that I will send for her some other time.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Hudson glowered at his crotch. His cock would normally be eager at the mere prospect of sinking into a woman’s soft, willing flesh, but the mere mention of Josephine had his flesh shrinking .

What the hell was wrong with him?

But when he raised his eyes to his half-finished sculpture, the stirring in his loins began anew and with much greater fervor. The thought of his hands cradling those hips as he drove himself into wet, heated flesh had him stiffening with pure, undiluted desire. Those luscious red lips of hers would be parted on a moan as he thrust into her… right before he made her scream in wild abandon.

He leaned over the table, bracing his hands on the edges, as he furrowed his brow. He had had so many women in the past, but none of them had ever had the same effect that a certain redhead had on him. For a woman to control his desire was a dangerous thing.

Who knew if control was the only thing he would lose in her presence?

He reached out for his chisel and mallet as the thunder shook the windows and rain lashed against the glass.

Downstairs, his mother should be entertaining their guests over dinner.

It had been so long since Wolverton Estate received guests, and Hudson was hardly immune to the subtle pleading in his mother’s eyes when she suggested that Lady Scarlett and her mother remain under their roof while they waited for the storm to pass.

His mother had endured so much that the least he could do was endure a few more hours of their uninvited company.

He only hoped he could hold onto his wits long enough for him to safely—and politely—kick Lady Scarlett and her goddamned mama off his property.