Page 61 of A Virgin for the Ton's Wolf

“Etiquette has never stopped you before.”

Ethan grinned. “True, but Phoebe insists on it.”

So, the new Duchess of Sinclair was a stickler for rules. A rather stark contrast to a certain redheaded friend of hers, who seemed to enjoy flouting convention at every turn.

And here I thought I was doing quite well in refraining from thinking of her!

Hudson downed another drink. Hell, he was going to need an entire bottle to get through the first round of guests.

It did not bode well for the rest of the night.

“I take it she is none too happy with me,” he grumbled.

Ethan nodded. “You should know that they are extremely loyal creatures. If you cross one…” He shuddered visibly. “Then you should prepare to deal with the rest of them.”

It seemed like even the Duke of Sin had been on the receiving end of such collective feminine outrage, very likely from the same group that would be watching Hudson this evening.

Yet another thing to look forward to.

Hudson gave him a mirthless smile. “That, old friend, sounds a lot more like tribalism than loyalty.”

“Maybe so, maybe so.” Ethan clapped a hand on Hudson’s shoulder. A gesture of commiseration. Maybe even pity. “Well, I must get back. I promised Phoebe that I would dance with Scarlett tonight.”

The hell you will.

Every fiber of his being rebelled at the thought ofherin another man’s arms. It was only the thought that Ethan would never look at her that way that kept his fist from crashing into his friend’s face.

“You should be getting ready yourself,” Ethan suggested. “The Dowager Duchess would not be pleased to note your absence.”

“I am used to my mother’s disappointment in these things.”

“It might not be just her disappointment you will be dealing with if you fail to be there.” He laughed. “Your mother is a rather formidable woman.”

She’d had to be, to survive.

Hudson clenched his hand into a fist and poured himself another drink. Just how many glasses would it take to numb himself enough for this thrice-damned ball? He had already poured out half the bottle, and his thoughts were still as clear as day.

Curse tolerance. Where was blessed oblivion when he needed it?

Hudson poured himself another drink.

He entered the ball just as the first guests started to arrive, earning him a glare from his mother.

“Is thatwhiskeyI smell on you?” she hissed, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, Hudson, I told you!”

“I needed it to bolster my fortitude.”

His mother smiled pleasantly at Lord and Lady Wellesley. “You’ve never needed bolstering before.”

“Well, I need itnow.”

The quick look she gave him told him that he would hear more from her after the ball. At his age and even with his towering height, his mother still saw fit to lecture him. It would have been amusing if deep down he didn’t think that she was right.

After the first wave had finished, he quietly excused himself.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.

“More fortification,” he replied.

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