Page 13 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 13

H ugo couldn’t believe the predicament he’d fallen into. Headfirst, to the bottom of the pit he had contributed to, and all for the sake of the woman trapped between him and a tree.

“And what do we have here?” Nigel Sanderson, a regular at Brook’s, stumbled along. His words held the slight slur of too much drink. He and two of his friends moved two feet from the path toward Hugo and Clover. He stayed Clover with a stern look and prayed to God she’d keep quiet and still.

“Step away and move on, Sanderson,” Hugo said with enough quiet, reserved confidence to charge the air. He didn’t dare look at Clover, keeping his eye on the men over his shoulder crossing the parkland. Sanderson’s short stride kept the other two in check.

Sanderson did stop but did not retreat. “Now I am intrigued. Do I see a hint of frippery teasing your bootheels, good man? Or are you setting the bets on another filly this evening?”

“Don’t be crude. Just walk away,” Hugo said. And then, with a growl, “I wouldn’t come any closer unless your lady love likes her men with swollen eyes and a tongue bit through.”

“If she’s doing the biting, I say have at it.” The other two gentlemen laughed, keeping their distance. Hugo’s reputation was not one to push.

“Good show. Then I’ll only break your nose, and to hell with the rest of the rules.” He generally kept to the guidelines given by Strong’s boxing club, but he wasn’t opposed to breaking them now. Keeping his hand braced against the tree, he threw a menacing look over his shoulder, ready for a hardy stare down.

“Sanderson,” one of the other gentlemen said. “Let’s not waste the evening.”

Sanderson raised both hands in surrender. “Give your lady friend my sincere apologies. Enjoy your evening.”

The fact he did not include the adage or addendum of luck with his comment told Hugo the men did not see who was wedged between him and the tree. He kept his eye on the path and allowed time for his heartbeat to slow before he sighed and looked down at the woman in front of him. Her chest rose and fell. The warmth of her hands seeped through his clothing and burrowed under his skin, a tickling sensation that sent a jolt of pure lust straight to his loins.

Perhaps it was the charge he always felt after a confrontation that usually ended in fisticuffs.

Those beautiful blue eyes were round and pleading. For what, he wasn’t sure since his own pulse teased him into forgetting where he was. The corner of his mouth ticked up at the sight of her hair disheveled, reminding him of picking twigs from strands of sunshine while they sat in their secret garden.

Their garden?

He mentally rolled his eyes at such flowery sentiment. But then again, he was here, rescuing her once more. Or was he?

“They’re gone,” he said but didn’t relinquish his stance. “We shouldn’t stay here.”

She swallowed and took a breath. “You are not getting out of an explanation that easily. And I’m not leaving this spot until you finish your asinine rationale.”

She didn’t poke him with a finger, but he felt it all the same, and then he lost all reason and rationale when he looked at her mouth. Prim and properly pink, drawn into a line. He wanted to kiss her until she softened against him. Desire shot through him as strong as the adrenaline from a good prize fight. And she was a prize. He couldn’t deny it.

The question of the year was whether he would be cad enough to claim it. Yesterday, he might have said no. Today, she was leaning against a tree and looking at his arm beside her cheek. She swallowed, then turned her fluid blue gaze on him.

“Perhaps this isn’t the place for a discussion.” Her out-of-breath statement sobered him a little.

“Might you have thought of that before you followed me here? It is called the Pleasure Gardens for a reason.”

“You can blame yourself for that because I wouldn’t be here but for you. Why, I wonder, are you here?”

“I’m here for business. It’s certainly not what you’re thinking.” He held to his spot, caging her in and hoping to distract her from further questions and his part in the whole debacle. Even to his own ears, it was beginning to sound more than a little foolish, good intentions or no.

“You’re such a bright man. So, you tell me what I’m thinking.”

As foolish as ever, Hugo didn’t hesitate. “Currently? You’re thinking about the other garden and the kiss.”

Her jaw dropped, and if there was room enough between them, he was sure her hands would be on her hips. “You are mad. A lunatic ready for Bedlam if I ever saw. But I’ll give you credit for the deflecting tactic even if it won’t work.” Her look was an ill-performed attempt at daggers and indignation.

“Lovely. We’ll play your game instead.” He let his hands fall free of the tree, releasing her from the emotional cage. “I made the wager against the outcome. Not a wager to win you, but a wager against their folly.”

“And you thought that a good idea?”

“In retrospect, I can see your point and how it would fuel the challenge to pluck the Lucky Clover. But you must see my side.”

She stood in front of him, close enough to touch. So close he felt the passionate heat radiating from her body. Her hair looked as if he had tumbled her right there.

“You bet against them winning,” she accused. “Which will make them want to try harder.” She poked his chest with her finger, right over his heart. “How much?”

“Pardon?” He removed her finger once again, taking no offense at it. She clearly did it unconsciously so as to make it a living part of her personality.

“The wager. How much did you bet?”

He kept hold of her hand after removing it from his chest. “Enough to give them pause. The books are full of bets for you, I hate to say. But there were none against them winning you. The amount is absurd enough to create doubt because no one in their right mind would wager so much if they thought they would lose. It effectively separated the competition, and now bets are being thrown on the other side. All you must do is keep your virtue, and the books will be closed. For good. Do you understand?”

Her brow furrowed. At least she looked as if she was trying to understand.

“A separate wager. A separate entry in the books. It’s the best I could do to stop the wave against your virtue. I bet on it. You see?”

She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth and studied him for an uncomfortable moment. “Kingsley’s bound to find out. And then what?”

“I imagine he already has.”

“Not likely, else he would have never allowed me out of the house without a hired guard and fitting me for a chastity belt. He thinks I’m visiting Evelyn with my companion. My brother is not prone to spending his time in the clubs, so how would he know? He entertains very few guests.”

Hugo wanted to argue that point with her but thought better of it. Everyone deserved some modicum of privacy, including the Duke of Kingsley.

He absently rubbed her hand, and his mind immediately tripped over the punch he taught her days ago. He looked at her fingers, then pulled off his gloves and seized her hand. He rolled her fingers into a fist. “You want to keep your thumb overlapping here—” he pressed her thumb across her forefinger—“and never here.” He opened her hand and rolled her thumb on the inside against her palm. “With the thumb tucked this way, you risk breaking it.”

She looked at his hand over hers and then back to his face in disbelief.

Why did he ever think her mousy?

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Boxing,” he said as if it explained everything.

“Is that what we’re doing now?”

“No. I’m killing two birds with one stone. Moving the conversation from anger and confusion to solution and consequence.”

She shook her head, her brow creased, and her lips parted. “Who is it I’m hitting? You? Again?”

The solution to her confusion was about to be a consequence. He ran his thumb across her wrinkled brow. The tips of his fingers slid into the wisps of hair at her temple, and he was lost. He dragged his fingers gently through her hair and reveled in the luxurious feel of silk between his fingers. His gaze fell to her lips, and he saw gooseflesh break out on the nape of her neck. He would have fought anyone who tried to pull him away in that moment. The only thing that could stop him now was her. Just the sight of her mouth drugged him.

He pressed her hand to his chest, and with his other hand locked in her tumbled hair, he tilted her head back and touched his lips to hers like a question.

“I want you, Clover Dunhurst.”

She slid her mouth over his, her bonnet fell to the ground, and he gave in to the temptation to know the taste of her, to feel the erotic inability to stop his heart from hammering away. Forget what the rest of his body was doing. He was so absorbed in that one kiss that he paid no mind to anything else. Not until the tiniest moan escaped between them, a sound without identity because his mind was too lost to wonder who made it.

She pulled her hand free, and he kissed her harder for fear the next thing he would feel was a slap. But he was not ready for the feel of her palms flat against his chest, sliding up his shirt front. A smart tug on his cravat brought them closer, and when Lady Clover Dunhurst, the very woman whose virtue needed protecting, cradled his jaw with her hands, he hauled her against him. Wrapping his arm around her small waist, her body, her breasts, her limbs all in contact with him. Each breath absorbed the scent of her into his soul, and she smelled different from the day in the garden. She smelled like a mixture of lavender, trees, earth, and him. It was chemistry made by fate.

Oh, she was a temptation.

He pulled free of her mouth and ran sucking kisses down her neck for the pure joy of hearing passion’s whimper from her lips to his ear. Some primal part of him wanted to mark her. To claim her as his. He felt a sharp nip at his ear.

“You little minx.” He cradled her head against his chest, his nose in her hair. His breath shuddered until it slowed enough to speak, and his conscience begged for mercy. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “I’m so terribly sorry, Clover.” For what? The kiss? The wager? Lord, his heart ached too much to decipher what he’d just done.

The sister of his business partner was not a safe place to chance breaking the rules.

She snuggled a hug into him, her arms about his waist, her cheek rubbing his chest. “I’ve never kissed a man before you. I like kissing you, Hugo Darrington. And that is as confusing as anything I’ve ever contemplated.”

He pulled back to see her face. “Don’t look to me for answers. I don’t have any. I’m perhaps as surprised as you are.”

“Oh, you have answers. I can tell.” Her finger caressed his lips. “I just don’t think you like them.” He took her finger and kissed it, then let her go.

“And you shouldn’t either. This was a mistake, and I take full responsibility for it. You are a pretty thing.”

“And that’s why you kissed me because you think I’m pretty?”

“No. But it doesn’t help my case that you are.”

“So, what now?”

“Now, you go straight home and never tell a soul. I’ll follow far behind until you safely reach your carriage.”

“You cannot follow me. If anyone sees you and me in the same vicinity, they’ll put it together. Especially your friends.”

“My friends? You mean Sanderson? No, love, they are not my friends. And I’m afraid you’re right, but I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Lovely, I guess I don’t get a choice.”

“Not this time.” He smiled wickedly.

“Did I have one before?” She countered with a wicked bend to her brow.

“Always.” Then he held her cheeks between his warm hands and looked at her intently. “Always. Do you understand?” The gesture wasn’t one of tenderness, exactly, but more like a word of encouragement because the days to come were bound to be difficult.

“I understand. But how shall I avoid these men if I don’t know who they are? I didn’t see this Sanderson fellow.”

“Just avoid all men, and you’ll be fine.”

She pulled her mouth to the side and stared at him.

“Me included.” He smiled. “Especially me, apparently. Although, I don’t think that will be a problem since you can’t identify a mountain from two feet out.”

“A mountain? Is that like the forest for the trees?”

He chuckled with his hands on her shoulders and turned her about. “No, it’s like a woman who is too stubborn to admit she needs spectacles.”