Page 8 of A Virgin for the Ton’s Wolf (Ton’s Wolves #4)

CHAPTER EIGHT

H udson had been mistaken. Thoroughly. Egregiously so.

If he had thought that throwing a couple of the plainest, most unattractive blankets over Lady Scarlett Clarke could dampen the rapidly growing desire—or at least stave off the unnatural hunger—he felt for her, he was wrong.

No. If possible, she was even more glorious with her hair down. And knowing that she wore nothing more than sheer undergarments underneath all that woolly mass…

Hudson quickly turned away before he could act on his lurid fantasies.

“There. That should be enough to keep me from dying of pneumonia.”

She padded towards him on her bare feet, her shoes and stockings left by the fireplace to dry. Hudson caught a glimpse of her bare toes sticking out of the mass of heavy blankets, and he wondered if they would curl in the throes of passion. He had no doubt he could do just that—make them curl just so.

That did not mean he should, however.

“I can barely remember the last time I got caught in the rain.” Her voice held a hint of laughter as she sat down beside him on the warm, carpeted floor.

The dampness had made her hair a darker mass of red, flowing over her shoulders and curling at the tips. Again, with the curling . He should stop thinking about it, whether in the context of hair or toes.

“It was one of the first balls I attended—at Willoughby Manor, I think,” she carried on, biting her bottom lip. “There had been a veritable crush, and I thought I could get out for a few minutes to breathe. I managed to wander off into the gardens when there was a sudden downpour.”

He had been to Willoughby Manor himself and could attest that the ballroom in that accursed place was a fire hazard. There were hardly any windows, and too much draperies and plush carpeting. All it would take was one spark catching on all that frivolous fabric. It did not help matters that Lady Willoughby insisted on packing that ballroom full to the brim with marriage-seeking debutantes year after year.

He could picture Lady Scarlett—young and wide-eyed, naive enough to think that she could wander out of a ballroom unchaperoned without meeting any mishap.

“I was crying when they finally found me—my brother and his best friend.” She laughed. “Fortunately, the rain masked my tears, and Alexander managed to whisk me off to a carriage before anybody else saw me in that right state.”

“Your brother’s best friend?”

She nodded glumly as she stared at the fire crackling merrily before them. “The Marquess of Colton did not seem so bad when I first met him.”

But he was. He had probably taken one look at her, drenched and shivering, and felt the same hunger Hudson was now fighting to keep at bay. He had to give the man credit for at least having the patience to wait for so long, but it was not bloody long enough.

He felt something poke his side, blunted as it was by the layer of blankets. He looked down and had to suck in a breath at the sight of those sparkling bright blue eyes.

Sparkling . He never imagined he would ever use such a word, and certainly not to describe the eyes of a woman.

She prodded him again. “Say something, Your Grace. Your voice might help me relax a little bit more.”

“You find my voice relaxing?” he asked her with a raised eyebrow.

She wanted to relax, and she thought he could help her?

Hudson was coiled tight as a spring. He could help her, but it required far more creative use of his lips and tongue, none of them appropriate. In fact, none of his thoughts of her were even remotely appropriate.

He wanted her laid on the floor, her body soft underneath his, while he showed her just why she should not be rushing out into the rain. But more importantly, he wanted to taste her. To see for himself if those lips of hers were as sweet as he imagined them. If she was as wet for him as he was hard with need for her.

And when she sidled closer to him, he was a hair’s breadth away from making good on those fantasies.

“You should not be doing that,” he growled at her in warning.

“But I am cold,” she complained, pouting like a petulant child.

Hudson bit back a tormented groan as she pressed even closer to him. She was right—he was a furnace, and if she pressed any closer or squirmed just a little bit more, she would be like kindling to a forest fire.

Very well. If she insisted on tormenting him, then two could play this little game of hers.

She let out a surprised yelp when he grabbed her by the waist and hauled her closer to him. There was a layer of blankets between them, but he was so close that he could feel the pounding of her heart. Could see how her eyes, blue as the heart of a flame, darkened unmistakably with desire before they narrowed on him.

“You should not be touching me so intimately when you have refused to even be my fake betrothed, Your Grace,” she snapped at him.

Oh, she had no idea just how intimate they could get. Or how close to it he wanted to be.

Hudson leaned closer, delighting in the hitch of her breath as his lips ghosted over the side of her cheek.

“And you should not test my temper, little cat,” he murmured.

A slight shudder ran through her, and he smiled against her cheek.

“Well, you are not allowed such liberties with my person!” she huffed. “Not when you clearly do not want me.”

Was that a hint of peevishness in her tone?

“I was not aware you wanted me to want you,” he grunted.

She opened her mouth as if to say something and then shut it, her cheeks flaming with indignation. She squirmed in his grasp again—right where he was already hard for her.

“Keep still,” he ordered through gritted teeth.

But she had never been the best at taking orders from anyone, and she continued wriggling right there , her leg moving against his arousal.

“Keep provoking me, little cat, and your little falsehood just might come true.”

She stopped squirming then, her body going unnaturally still as she stared up at him. Her lips were parted as if begging him to taste them.

“You would like that, would you not?” he murmured. “My lips on yours… my hands all over your body, touching you. Taking liberties with your person, as you put it…” he trailed off, knowing that her mind was doing a far better job of conjuring those sensual images.

Then, he heard it—that sharp intake of breath followed by a soft, barely audible whimper.

Hudson smiled in triumph.

She should push him away.

But Scarlett had become a mass of want and heat the moment his lips touched her cheek and then trailed down to her jaw and neck, leaving a molten path that made her core clench and ache.

Oh, how she ached .

She wanted more . More of his hands on her body, taking liberties he should not. Touching her in places she dared not name. Kissing her where she ached and begged to be scalded by the wickedness of his mouth.

Against her thin chemise, her nipples had hardened to sensitive points as she felt his thumb sweep past one. Even with the thick blankets between them, she could feel it. Feel him . Hard. Heavy with arousal against her leg.

“I could have you spreading yourself before me like a feast,” he told her softly. “I know you do not like taking orders from anyone, but you will take them from me , My Lady—and more.”

The sheer arrogance, the dark promise in those words…

Scarlett was lost. Awash in a sea of need.

“Your Grace…” she whimpered as her world tilted crazily on its axis, anchored only by the heat of his mouth on her neck. The feel of his hands toying with her breasts.

Nobody had ever touched her like this before. She had never wanted anyone to. Not like this.

“Hudson,” he corrected her, his lips gliding over her sensitive skin. “I will have you screaming my name so that there will be no doubt as to who is pleasuring you, Lady Scarlett.”

Oh, he was wicked . And she loved every bit of it!

“I am nothing like the man in your fantasies, My Lady,” he growled, nipping her skin. “I will not be gentle. But I can assure you that I will be very, very, very thorough…”

Saints above, she wanted him to be thorough, indeed! In fact, she would like nothing more than to be most thoroughly ravished.

If she was going to be ruined, then she could not have chosen someone better to do the ruining.

“I shall have you bent over my table, my chair, anywhere —your legs spread wide open for me as you beg me for release.” He paused, and she felt her core clenching in anticipation. “My fingers will know your tight, wet heat. My tongue. My cock.”

She bit her lower lip to keep a moan from spilling out as his thumb made another pass over the stiff peak of her breast through the blankets. She could feel his erection pressing insistently against her leg. Hot. Hard. Magnificent.

She should be frightened. She should grab her mama the first chance she got and run and never, ever think of the Duke of Wolverton again.

But…

Her fingers found purchase on the muscles of his broad shoulders as she arched most indecently into him. And to think there were blankets between them. She grew faint at the thought of her bare skin pressing into his. She wanted those infernal blankets off. Now.

“What if…” She licked her lips. “What if I want those things, too?”

And she did. Heaven help her depraved, little heart, but she truly did. She wanted all of him. Whatever he could give her. Whatever he would do to her.

All the debauched, little things that made her weak and wild with desire at the same time.

All of it.

She felt him stiffen above her. And then he growled.

“Why the hell would you?”

And that broke whatever glorious, incandescent spell had been cast over them.