Page 11 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 11

H ugo couldn’t very well tell Kingsley the reason he wished to meet elsewhere was because, after avoiding all contact with Lady Clover, she had done the unthinkable and sent him a personal note. He waited for the other shoe to fall. The two obvious disasters would be for the duke to find out or for the servants to turn in their mistress. Thankfully, that had yet to happen.

Between the note and the gift he’d sent, the unpredictability factor was high. In his defense, he hadn’t signed his name. As for the note, Clover’s signature condemned them both.

He pulled her note from his pocket and read it again.

Mr. Darrington,

I realize the implication of a note and do apologize for any embarrassment I may have caused you, but I am still in want of a special clandestine trip. I have spoken with my friend, and she agreed to accompany me if you might find a way to make it possible.

Regards,

Lady Clover Dunhurst

He imagined her friend to be Evelyn Rochester. If anyone could cause a scandal, it was Rochester’s wife. It was she who started the whole rule-breaking business. He would burn the note when he returned home.

For now, he paid a visit to Rochester himself.

“Billiards?” Dalton Rochester asked, opening the front door with a hardy smile, forgoing a butler. It made perfect sense to Hugo since he, Rochester, and Winn Markham had lived under the same roof for three years. They had been run out of London by Markham’s father, and since Rochester’s father was all but absent and Hugo’s was not to be bothered, they had, like brothers, taken the exile upon themselves. If not for Darrington’s and Rochester’s involvement in the gambling scandal, Markham would have never been thrown out of his home.

“Look at you, all respectable.” Hugo shook Rochester’s hand. As always, Rochester’s dark hair was as unruly as his clothes were fastidious. Somehow, it worked for him. “Don’t you think you’ve been away long enough? How long does this marriage thing last, anyway?” he asked good-naturedly as he followed Rochester to his billiard room.

“Forever, last I heard,” Rochester threw the comment over his shoulder. He slid open the pocket doors to the billiard room, and the fresh smell of lemon polish and rich mahogany paneling filled Hugo’s nostrils. It felt like home.

“Have I told you lately how jealous I am of this room?”

Rochester poured two tumblers of Irish whiskey. “No. But I’m flattered.” Rochester replaced the decanter and handed the drink to Hugo. “To fate.” Rochester lifted his glass.

Hugo eyed his friend over the rim while he accepted the toast. “I make my own fate if you don’t mind.”

Rochester chuckled. “I’m not condemning you, man. It was a congratulatory toast. This business with Belgrave Square is your deal. I never understood how you could weigh the risks and odds and always be right.”

Hugo shrugged and picked out a cue stick. “I’m not always right. Most of it is instinct. Kingsley and I have been talking, and we hoped you’d be ready to join the next meeting.”

“Then you are staying the winter in London?”

“Damn right. This deal is almost closed. Do you suppose your pretty wife can manage without you for an afternoon?” He ribbed Rochester because before he’d married Evelyn Markham, he had been at every meeting.

“It’s been a matter of months. Don’t I deserve a little time with my bride?” Rochester sighted down the cue stick like the barrel of a gun.

“I heard you took her to Strong’s.” Hugo leaned into a shot, flashing Rochester a quick glance.

Rochester stood back from the table, his green eyes flashing with a moment of confusion. “Who told you that?”

“Someone you would know, so I’ll refrain from telling.”

“Evelyn?”

Hugo laughed. “No. When have I ever had a private conversation with your wife? Not even before you were married. She’s been yours forever.”

Rochester stood proud, a grin of satisfaction on his face. “Damn right.”

Hugo admired the carved leaves that framed the table just under the lip. “What was this room before you transformed it? It had to be another drawing room. It’s too large for anything else.”

“It was a formal dining room big enough for a king’s party. Ridiculous, really. I can’t imagine entertaining such a crowd.”

“What about Mrs. Rochester? Does she approve?”

“Are you trying to get under my skin, Darrington?”

“No. I’m honestly curious.”

“Evelyn wouldn’t dream of destroying my passion for this game.” Rochester blew out a breath. “Now, tell me how you know about the club.”

“What are you worried about? I’m no scandal maker selling on-dits to the rags. I’m simply curious to know how you did it.”

Rochester scratched his eyebrow. “Disguised. And the circumstances were complicated. Lord, it was you I went to see fight that night.”

Darrington nodded. “Did I win?”

“Please.” Rochester traded his cue stick for another drink. With his back to Darrington, Rochester continued, “Darrington? When’s the last time you were in Brook’s?”

“A week ago, why?” A foreboding clouded the well-lit room. Darrington felt like he needed an anchor before the storm hit.

“Because there’s an unusual wager in the books, and I was concerned it might reach White’s, too.”

Darrington impatiently waited for Rochester to turn around. “What kind of wager?”

“Evelyn’s friend, Lady Clover.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Did you know?”

He shook his head and wanted to break the cue stick over the table. He wanted to pummel the men who’d dare speak ill of Clover. He wanted to drag the imbeciles to the court of Darrington and kill them. “I thought it was only the foolish words of a drunken man. Believe me, that alone made me want to do bodily harm.”

“Because it’s her?”

“Because she’s Kingsley’s sister,” he nearly shouted. “A scandal now might be the pebble that breaks the dam. We can’t afford it.” Without thought, he laid the cue stick on the burgundy baize.

Rochester almost dropped his drink and swept the stick from the table. Everything about the room was pristine, and the table was a work of art. Level. The baize always ironed.

“I apologize. I’ll put that away properly.” Hugo took the stick from Rochester. “I think it prudent we cut this short.”

“Hugo. Don’t do anything rash. Your temper is formidable. Remember who you are.”

“I know bloody well who I am. And so do they.” He spoke of the men who’d made the wager. If he caught it fast enough, maybe he could stop it. He threw his coat over his arm and barreled out the door. “Brook’s,” he instructed his driver.

Between the note she’d sent and the wagers in the books, Darrington was putting out more fires than he could manage. He was losing. And he never lost. If it all went to hell, there was still Vauxhall. The park had just changed hands, and Hugo could feel the mistakes the owners were making. If things didn’t change there, the place would be lost to debt in a matter of years. They needed an advisor. Like Rochester, he could make that shot with his eyes closed.

The only other strategy he could come up with would take more luck than a four-leaf clover could provide. But he had to try.

Clover sat in her drawing room the following week, waiting for Evelyn to call. She’d sent notice two hours ago, and Clover could hardly stand the wait. Had Evelyn procured the invitation to the boxing club? Would Darrington be there?

“Mrs. Dalton Rochester,” the butler announced with a dull monotone.

Clover rose and smoothed her skirts. “Evelyn, I was getting worried.”

Evelyn hurried to kiss her cheek, then unceremoniously, without invitation, plopped down on the settee.

“You have news?” Clover asked, seating herself in a chair opposite the settee. A silver tray with tea and biscuits sat between them.

“Oh good,” Evelyn said, wiping a loose curl from her brow and pouring the tea. “Do you mind?” she asked as if she’d forgotten herself, her hand arrested on the teapot’s handle.

“Please.”

“You want some?”

“Certainly,” Clover watched, confused. The hairs on her neck stood up. She leaned her head to the side, putting herself in Evelyn’s view as her friend prepared two cups. Nothing Evelyn did ever surprised Clover, but the frenzy of her movements now gave her pause. That and Evelyn didn’t bother putting anything in the tea. Something was wrong. Her stomach turned over when Evelyn handed her the cup. “Is there news? Did Darrington make contact with Rochester? I sent him the note a week ago. I would have thought he’d have acted on it by now.”

“Oh, there’s news, all right. But not what you’re thinking.”

“This isn’t about the club?”

Evelyn gave a hard chuckle. “Depends on which club you refer to.” She held up a hand when Clover opened her mouth to speak. “I won’t waste your time because time is of the essence.” She took a drink like a man slamming a bourbon. “Darrington answered, but not your note. He answered the betting books at Brook’s.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“The wagers.”

“What wagers?” Clover asked, alarmed.

“The ones I assume those dreadful men from the party made. Rochester says the bets are stacking up, and they’re all betting on your downfall.”

Clover froze. Tears burned her nostrils, and her eyes welled. “This is a calamity.”

“And it gets worse.”

Clover returned her attention to Evelyn and set her tea down. “What could be worse unless Kingsley knew.”

“I couldn’t say who knows at this juncture, but I will tell you the most condemning name in the godforsaken book is Hugo Darrington’s.”

The tears which had threatened were sucked back into her soul while something else began to build. “Why would he do that? Because I wrote him a note? Because he wanted to be rid of me for good? He could have told me so himself without humiliating me publicly.”

“What are we going to do?” Evelyn asked, laying her hands in her lap and looking as if she’d take on the world for her friend.

“I trusted him, fool that I am. The wily bastard.”

Evelyn didn’t even flinch at the curse, but she did look behind her, presumably for prying ears.

“I don’t care who hears at this point. That man will rue the day he showed me how to throw a punch.”

Evelyn made a fist and punched the air. “Good for you.”

Clover sighed heavily, a plan breaking through the mist of her misguided trust. Truth be told, she was as angry with herself as she was with Darrington. It had to be that note which pushed him over the edge. She should have never sent it. What worked for Evelyn rarely worked for her. “Evelyn?”

“Anything, just ask.” Evelyn scooted forward with a look of blazing loyalty.

“I need to leave the house without Kingsley sending an army. I must at least get an answer from the jackass’s mouth himself before my brother finds out. Kingsley never questions my visits with you.”

“Yes, yes. I’d be happy to accompany you anywhere.”

“I don’t need that. Just stay put and let me use you as an excuse.”

Evelyn nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want my company?”

“I need to do this alone.”

Evelyn crooked a smile. “That’s the Clover I know.”