Page 7 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)

CHAPTER SEVEN

W hatever gods existed never answered his prayers, for it rained throughout the night, and in the morning, his butler delivered the most unfortunate news that the roads remained impassable. Unless he possessed the means to make carriages fly, their guests would have to stay for another day at the very least—a fact that seemed to fill his mother with far more glee than what was logical.

“I should have paid for those damned roads to be paved all the way up to London,” he grumbled as he sifted through the documents on his desk.

Petitions from the villagers. Blueprints for a new machine that could produce twice as much fabric at half the time it would take current machinery…

But all he could think of was an infuriating woman with red-gold hair spilling past her shoulders, wondering if those tresses would feel just as silken between his fingers.

He tossed a sheaf of papers onto the messy pile on his desk and strode out of his study.

None of it mattered. Not while she was still in Wolverton Estate, diverting all his focus and attention simply with her proximity.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” his butler greeted him as he made his way down the stairs. “Will you be having your breakfast in the dining hall?”

“I was not aware that I would be excluded from dining at the table in my own residence, Dalton.”

The stoic butler did not even flinch at his sarcastic reply. “Certainly not, Your Grace. In fact, the Dowager Duchess has made it perfectly clear that your presence at breakfast would be much appreciated.”

I am certain she would do just that.

Hudson was also certain that his mother would be making side comments all morning about the virtues of Lady Scarlett. The Dowager Duchess possessed about as much subtlety as a raging bull in a china shop.

Not that it would ever stop her, no. Not now when the heavens seemed to have finally answered her prayers and dropped a woman of marriageable age and acceptable looks right into her lap.

He walked into the dining hall, gearing himself up for a glowing litany of Lady Scarlett’s finer traits.

Instead, he was met with two distraught women and a noticeably missing redhead. His heart rate should not have quickened, but it did.

Where is she? Why is she not here?

“Oh, Hudson! Thank goodness you have arrived!” his mother cried, rushing over to him.

The Dowager Countess of Southford remained silent, her pale lips trembling as her hands constantly worried her handkerchief into knots.

Alarm pierced through him like a hot blade.

“Is something amiss?” he asked.

His mother nodded, her eyes wide with worry. “We were just about to sit down for breakfast when Lady Scarlett claimed she heard something crying outside. She rushed out before we could stop her, and she has not been back since!”

Hudson pointedly ignored the fact that his mother apparently did not bother to wait for him.

“How long has Lady Scarlett been gone?” he asked.

“About half an hour, Your Grace.” Lady Southford’s voice was barely above a whisper.

His eyes narrowed as he turned towards the other servants, who immediately ducked their heads.

“And none of you bothered to stop her?” he demanded. “Or even accompany her?”

It was still raining heavily outside. His hands clenched into fists at the thought of her in that downpour. What if she was hurt? What if she had slipped in the mud and injured herself?

The bloody, little fool .

“Angus!” he called out.

His valet appeared almost instantly with a heavy coat in his arms. “Right here, Your Grace.”

Hudson gave him an appreciative nod. At least one of his servants still possessed some measure of intelligence.

“As soon as the rain slows down, send the men to scour the estate for Lady Scarlett,” he barked at Dalton. “The search will only be called off once the young lady is safe or I myself say so. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“She could not have wandered off very far,” Lady Southford murmured. “Just that the rain…”

The woman probably knew her daughter too well to expect the best-case scenario.

“Wherever she is, Hudson will find her,” the Dowager Duchess consoled her with a pat on her hands. “There, there, Lady Southford. Perhaps we should head to the parlor. Your hands are so cold—nothing that a spot of tea cannot cure.”

Hudson caught his mother’s glance. The message was clear in her bright eyes.

“Find her.”

He tipped his head briefly in response before sweeping out of the dining hall and striding out into the rain.

He was going to find Lady Scarlett, and when he did, she had better have a good excuse, or else she would not like the consequences of her actions.

Hudson would make sure of it.

A quarter of an hour into his search, he found her huddled under a tree, her body shivering in the cold, her red hair plastered to her face.

“There now,” she spoke softly through trembling lips. “I am certain someone will come out to look for us. Well, for me, at least, since they have not learned of you yet.”

He heard a soft whimper from her chest, and then a dark snout poked out of her embrace.

A puppy. She had gone out and risked catching pneumonia for a puppy .

“Lady Scarlett.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. “Your Grace? What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.”

She flushed despite her sorry state. “I… We were about to have breakfast when I heard him.”

Him. The puppy.

Hudson glowered at the tiny creature in her arms.

When it gave a soft whimper and buried itself into her chest, she only hugged it tighter and began stroking its soaked white fur affectionately, murmuring reassurances.

“You’re scaring him,” she scolded him gently. “He’s just a baby.”

“A baby that lured you out to your possible death in this downpour,” Hudson countered flatly.

She still had the temerity to glare at him. “There is no need to be so harsh, Your Grace. I admit that it was my fault that I panicked, causing Snowdrop to panic even more and rush into the woods.”

Snowdrop. She had even named the damned thing already.

“So, you thought it was wise to chase after it?” Hudson asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Naturally,” she replied with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Look at him—he seems to have been abandoned. Without anyone to care for him, he would never survive this downpour.”

“ You look as if you would not survive this downpour.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, there is no need to mock my appearance. I know I look quite horrid right now. But I have Snowdrop, and that is all that matters.”

All that mattered was that he had found her and she still found it in her to argue and roll her eyes at him—puppy or no puppy.

“As much as I would like to argue with you all day about the logic behind your actions, we are actually in the middle of a downpour that shows no signs of abating soon.”

She flushed again. Delightfully . “I am well aware of that, Your Grace.”

Hudson smirked. “Are you now?”

“There is no need to be so?—”

“Correct? Right on the mark?”

“Mocking.” She glared at him. “And terribly vexing.”

Not as vexing as she was, yes, but they were still arguing in a downpour. One he would like to get her out of as quickly as possible before the rain stuck her clothes any closer to her body.

The puppy—Snowdrop—let out a slight yip as if to agree with her.

“Well,” she prompted. “Do you have any plans of getting us out of the rain?”

He glowered at her. “ I am not one to rush out without a plan in place.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fortunately, there is a hunting lodge not too far from here,” he continued, pointedly ignoring her scowling countenance. “We can walk there and wait for the rain to stop.”

She shot up to her feet, clutching the very fortunate Snowdrop to her chest. “Well, why did you not say so in the first place? Lead the way, Your Grace!” she chirped.

How could a woman switch from desolate to haughty to cheerful so quickly? The speed by which she jumped from one emotion to the next had him almost reeling back.

He held up his cloak and motioned for her to get under it. “Come now. I shall take you there. You can even bring your little Snowflake?—”

“Snowdrop,” she corrected him.

“Snowdrop,” he amended. “With you.”

She smiled jauntily up at him. “Of course, he is coming with me. I would not go with you if you had suggested otherwise.”

To which the little puppy gave a high-pitched bark in agreement as Hudson narrowed his eyes at it.

Snowflake. Snowball. Snowdrop.

Whatever its name was, the little puppy was proving to be just as much of a handful as its rescuer was.

So, he did have some more admirable traits—other than his blatant virility, of course.

Scarlett ducked her head to hide the heat flooding her cheeks as she pressed closer to him. He was so warm, like a furnace, and she was so cold it seemed like the rain had seeped into her very bones.

Snowdrop let out a soft whimper, and she stroked his little head. “Do not be frightened, my love. His Grace might look frightful, but we are safe now.”

The Duke let out a scoff that sent tendrils of warmth to her toes and fingertips. “I do not know whether I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”

She bit back a smile. “Well, it is the truth.”

“And I should have known better than to expect a straight answer from you.”

“Being forthright was never a gift I pretended to have.”

“Oh, you do have a gift,” he replied with a slight quirk of his lips. “Quite the talent for it, actually.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “If you are going to say mischief or making trouble , then there is no need to be so smug about it. That is hardly the most original thing anyone has thrown my way.”

“I was going to say you have the talent for words,” he clarified.

“Oh.” She bit her lip and looked down at the mud caking on the hem of her dress. “Thank you, I suppose.”

“You can take that as a compliment.”

So, he was capable of giving them.

She hazarded a look at him and found the hint of a smile hovering at the corners of his lips.

Dear Lord, was he teasing her?

The man was already sinfully attractive against her better judgment, and now that she knew he possessed wit and humor enough to tease her…

No, no, no . She must not fall for his tricks.

What she needed to do was focus more on placing one foot in front of the other and keep Snowdrop from slipping out of her grasp.

Just one foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other until we are out of this infernal rain.

After what seemed like an eternity of being scalded by the sheer heat he radiated, he pointed to what looked like a brick lodge before them.

“There it is.”

She nodded. “Thank goodness. I feared that I would have to bear with the mud sucking at my shoes for a good, long while.”

The lodge was nicely appointed—not enough to host a tea party, but comfortable enough for a small hunting party composed of gentlemen with a distinct taste.

Hudson set about making a fire, and within a few minutes, a fire was crackling merrily in the fireplace.

He stood up and eyed her warily. “You will need to take off your dress.”

“I… what?” she said blankly.

“Your dress,” he enunciated. “It is wet, and you are going to catch your death of cold if you keep it on much longer.”

“Yes, but…”

“Do not make me repeat myself, My Lady.”

She lifted her chin and glared at him. “A young woman does not undress before a gentleman.”

He shrugged those impossibly broad shoulders of his. “You should know by now that I am not a gentleman, by any means. Undress or die of cold—it is your choice.”

“How much more morbid can you get?” She rolled her eyes at him. “You had better not be looking at me!”

Again, that slow, sardonic arching of one dark eyebrow as the corners of his lips quirked into a smile. No, a smirk . One brimming with arrogance.

Oh, how she wanted to wipe the smugness off his face!

Scarlett hated how her cheeks heated up like the summer sun under his gaze. The Wolf, however, merely turned around with maddening slowness.

And then threw a bunch of blankets at her.

No. He was still every bit as infuriating. Even if he had gone out in the rain to rescue her. Even if she longed to see the muscles in his back again, wondering what they would feel like under her fingertips.

Scarlett inwardly let out a groan of frustration.

Hopefully, the rain would stop soon and they would be back in the estate, where she could have a wall—or several—between them.

Hopefully.