Page 14 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 14

O ne thing was certain: Clover now understood what being kissed to distraction meant. After leaving the Pleasure Gardens last night, she’d been so distracted she had almost forgotten Esther. Now, back in the safety of her rooms, eating toast and jam and feeling queasy, she had more time than needed to consider her role in the whole debacle.

The mere thought of that kiss and her cheeks were aflame, her knees quaked. It all sounded insanely familiar, like something from a poem. She had never given much credence to the thought of buckling knees. Who knew that was a real thing?

And the man called Sanderson. She had not been in a position to see his face and wondered if she would recognize his voice. Thankfully, the Season was over. No more miscalculations from across crowded ballrooms and no more calculating men. Perhaps the whole thing would blow over by Christmas. The scandal sheets weren’t so amusing after the gentry left the stuffy city for more open spaces. Most of them would hibernate in the country until next year. Not Stratford, however. Not this year. Her brother would stay in London for his business contacts, and so would Darrington.

And so would she.

Unless she could convince her brother that rusticating in the country was just the thing she needed.

“Oh, good,” Esther said as she popped into the room with her arms full of linens. “I thought you’d never wake.”

“I’m sorry about yesterday. Let me help you with that.” Clover didn’t adhere much to the differences in their positions. Esther was often the only ally she had in the house.

“I do beg you one thing, milady. Do not ever tell me what happened in those gardens because the duke has already asked about Mrs. Rochester and how your visit went.”

“He’s being cordial.” Clover stood on the opposite side of the bed, helping Esther strip the sheets.

“He’s a duke. And I’m your maid. There is nothing cordial about it.”

“What did you say?”

“Very little. I’m not expected to visit with your friends, so being noncommittal was fairly easy. But you, that is another matter. I’d avoid him until he has somethin’ else to fill his head.”

“He needs a wife.”

“I have a feeling he won’t even consider it until you’re wed.”

Clover looked up sharply. “Did he say so?”

“Not to me. But I’m not blind or deaf.” Esther jerked the sheet between them, bending a brow when Clover looked at her.

“I’m not blind.”

“I could remind you of a few stories if you’d like.” Esther spread her hands over the coverlet.

Dressed for home in a simple petal pink muslin with one petticoat, Clover ventured past the duke’s study with hurried steps. As silent as her silk slippers would take her.

“Lady Clover,” the duke called. When they were younger, when their parents were alive, they had always used their first names. Every time he called her Lady Clover it sounded stilted and sad. They had not always been such a conventional family, and she missed it. Some days it hurt more than others. Today was one of them.

She halted midstride and pivoted. “Stratford? Do you know how much I miss just being Clover?”

“Shut the door, and you can be anyone you choose.”

She pressed the double doors closed and took the moment to compose herself. “I’m glad you called me. I’ve been meaning to speak with you about returning to Kingsley Manor.”

“I have to stay as long as the weather permits.”

“But I don’t. Why not send me with Miss Esther and a half dozen outriders? Surely, you can trust I’d get home in one piece.”

“I’ll consider it.” He stood and motioned to a chair in front of the walnut desk.

“I don’t like the formality. What is it?”

He took an exaggerated moment to fix his waistcoat and sit. This worried her. “Nothing formal about it. I’m just curious how your visit with Mrs. Rochester went?”

Clover clutched her hands to keep them from rattling about like someone hiding something. “Pleasant, as usual.”

“She’s a good friend. I’m glad you have her. I believe she and Rochester will live in Mayfair most of the year. So, you’ll have someone close by even after the city empties. I rarely see you keeping company with anyone else. Do you miss your married friends?”

“Adeline and Evelyn, you mean?”

He nodded, his hands steepled against his mouth.

“Of course I do. But they aren’t that far away, and next year, I’m certain Addy will have more to do with the Season. I am not in need of friendship, Stratford, if that’s what your concern is.”

“No, I think you do well on your own. I see you play chess by yourself on occasion.” That was not an agreeable statement but more an accusation.

“I used to watch Papa play. I simply miss him, and the game reminds me that life used to be different.”

“You mean good.”

“You miss them, too. I know you do. Neither one of us was meant to go about this world alone. You should be enjoying your friends. And I am doing just fine with mine.”

Her brother was an imposing figure of a man, much like their father had been, with piercing dark eyes and a sculpted jaw. He towered over most men. But it was his warm-brown hair that softened his facade. Not everyone had the good fortune to see that side of Stratford, but Clover did.

He sat forward, resting his arms on the desk with his hands clasped. A boyish lock of hair curled against his forehead. “I am not your worry. But you are mine.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I am responsible for you.”

“Am I so tedious a sister?”

“Clover, I’m not certain why you’re defensive. I only speak of facts. I don’t pretend to know the first thing about parenting.”

“Because you’re not my bloody parent. You’re my brother. My ally, I hope.”

He smiled faintly. “You know, you’ve been so reserved lately that I’d forgotten you had such a spirit.”

She swiped a speck of dust from the desktop and then hid her hands because she was wearing the lace gloves that Darrington no doubt sent her. She must ask him about them the next time they were alone. Lord, there better not be a next time. She had been far too reckless and daring lately. Perhaps Kingsley was right to remind her that she was Lady Clover. She had been far too cavalier.

“Why don’t you continue your visit with Mrs. Rochester today. Take a walk while the weather is still nice. You look a little piqued.”

She would have argued that, especially showing up at Evelyn’s without a proper invitation, but just now, she wished to be away from her brother’s scrutinizing stare.

An hour later, she took the steps to Evelyn’s front door. She had sent a note ahead and received a swift reply.

“Oh, Clover, I’m glad you came. He knows,” Evelyn met her at the door, hauling her inside.

“Who knows?” Clover stumbled over the threshold, her bonnet bumped askew with the abrupt greeting.

“Kingsley. He knows you weren’t here yesterday.”

“What do you mean?” She whipped off her hat and rued the day they were invented. She was forever having them ripped from her head.

“He asked Rochester how we got along.”

“Rochester?”

“Yes. Rochester went to see him yesterday. Oh, Clover, what are we to do?”

“I never meant to put you in such a predicament. Oh, Lord. Could you be wrong? I just came from his study, and he suggested I have another visit with you today. He’s darn odd this morning, so I took the offer immediately.”

Evelyn nodded. “He didn’t ask where you were yesterday?”

“No. He simply asked how you were.” She sighed heavily. “And I told him it was a nice visit.”

“In other words, you admitted to the lie without him even asking, and he’ll be wondering why. As for Rochester, he’s madder than a hornet at me.”

“It’s not your fault.” Her breathing quickened. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. I shouldn’t have involved you in the first place. I’ve managed to make a bungle of everything, and now you’re in a tight spot with Rochester.”

“I can handle Rochester. Now, tell me everything the duke said.”

One night’s sleep did not cool Hugo’s ardor like he had hoped. Why, Lord, did it have to be her? He wasn’t looking for an attachment. He didn’t know if he’d ever be looking for an attachment. And Lady Clover Dunhurst was the kind of attraction that came with lifelong obligations. Something he did not need or want.

Want?

Oh, he wanted her. Or at least his body did. No better way to flush it than to sink his teeth into his current business propositions. It wouldn’t be easy since his business involved the Duke of Kingsley. But then again, nothing worth doing is ever easy.

His heart tripped a beat as he pulled up to Kingsley’s townhouse. It was more than twice the size of Hugo’s rented place, and he knew Kingsley was looking to move into the new Belgrave Square universe when it was built. Hugo wanted that for himself, and there was no better way than to stay in good graces with the duke. He did his damnedest not to raise his eyes and look at the windows overhead, fearing he might see Clover peeking through a curtain. He had to get her out of his blood if he were to keep his place at the table, as it were.

He handed off his coat, hat, and gloves to the butler and followed him to the billiard room, a more than comfortable setting.

“Ah, Darrington. Care for a game? The light is good,” Kingsley said, motioning with his head toward the open window and the streaming sunlight. He was already sighting a cue stick when Hugo walked through the door.

“I’m always up for a game.” Hugo rubbed his hands together more to force himself into a jovial, easygoing mood. He took a relaxed stride to the stick rack and tried not to think too hard about this impromptu meeting.

“Someone announced their engagement at White’s today,” Kingsley said without much interest. The billiard balls were set to, and Kingsley’s eye was fixed on the game ahead.

Hugo was not a member at White’s, so he had no reference for the conversation. “An overeager beau, I take it?” Hugo lined up a shot.

“I should hope so. To announce such a thing in such a public setting. I hope he’s asked the girl before he made such a blunder.”

Hugo missed his shot.

“You’re a member at Brook’s, yes?”

Hugo nodded without comment.

“Have you ever seen such a thing as a marriage announcement at a men’s club?”

“Most men who frequent the clubs do so to escape their marital affairs.”

“Or start a few,” Kingsley smirked.

Hugo did not see the humor in the conversation. His cravat felt tight. The conversation choked even the light from the room as a cloud passed by. “I don’t make it a point to keep tabs on the nonsense of conjecture. Unless, of course, they might involve a business dealing.” He hoped to turn the subject toward their future venture with Mr. Torrent and Lord Bastion.

“Imagine that. Interesting way to go about it, though, don’t you think? Everyone and their brother are bound to throw bets for or against it.”

Hugo froze half bent over the table, the cue stick resting through one curled finger. He straightened and faced the duke.

“Bets, Mr. Darrington.”

Hugo stood tall, jutting out his chin. “You’ll have to be more precise.”

“The betting books. I have it on good authority that you’re quite familiar with them.”

“Are you referring to my younger days? Because I don’t frequent gambling hells anymore.”

“It seems the same announcement has been made at Brook’s as well.” Kingsley seemed to ignore Hugo’s interjection.

Hugo slid the cue stick back into its placeholder, balancing the butt end against the round indentation in the bottom of the rack while grinding his teeth. With his back to the table and Kingsley, he took a deep breath. “Do go on.”

“I say, I was quite surprised to find the chap had not asked me first.”

Hugo clenched his fists.

“Especially since I considered us friends. But then,” Kingsley said on a brighter note. “I thought congratulations were in order. Very sly the way you did that. Damn memorable, too. Think about your anniversaries.”

Hugo turned slowly. “Not mine.”

“Oh, I’m afraid so. Or should I say congratulations? Such a way with words you have. No wonder my sister fell for you.” The words condemned if not the tone.

“What did she say?” Hugo asked slowly.

“My guess is she said yes. Or haven’t you asked her yet? Must get to it.” Obviously, the duke misunderstood on purpose.

“You are mistaken. Whoever told you about the books is playing a prank.”

“No, Darrington. I saw them at White’s myself. It didn’t take much to find out about the betting books at Brooks’s as well. What the hell did you think would happen?”

“Not this. You don’t understand.”

“I don’t? Perhaps it’s you who doesn’t understand. We’ll forgo the banns. Best to put such nasty rumors to rest quickly.”

“I did not announce anything in any book.” Hugo’s voice rose a notch.

“You placed a bet on my sister’s virtue.” Now Kingsley’s tone turned menacing, and there was a storm in his eyes.

Hugo felt cornered and angry as all hell. “I did not place a wager on Lady Clover. But I did try to dissuade them. You can blame yourself for that.” To hell with their business arrangement. Hugo would let his townhouse go and move back home before he let anyone force him into a wedding.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Darrington. I just want what’s right.”

“Hurt me? You must be joking. Do you know who you’re talking to?” Hugo had a few threats of his own.

“You’re good with pistols then? Not just your fists? Because I don’t plan to let you live if you refuse to do the right thing. Are you a gentleman, or are you not?”

“You aren’t seeing this correctly. Your reasoning is unfounded. The wagering began at the deuced house party you allowed her to attend. I believe you’re familiar with Mrs. LaDow?” Hugo’s mind raced between what the duke knew and what he didn’t know. If he had known about the Pleasure Gardens, he would have said so. Wouldn’t he? If Kingsley didn’t know about yesterday, then there had to be a way out of this lunatic’s snare he’d bumbled into.

“If the wagers aren’t enough to convince you that I am deathly serious, then perhaps the meeting with Lady Clover in the Pleasure Gardens will.”

Hugo’s entire body stiffened. Silence roared in a room already drowning in accusation, and he was sunk up to his neck with a parade of fire ants ready to join in the party.

“Well? I put it to you again, Mr. Darrington. Are you a gentleman?”

The internal combustible discussion with his beaten conscience would have to wait. Hugo gave a single nod, a bow to the judgment of a duke too powerful to fight. He began to wonder if Clover had set him up for this. Yesterday, she had hugged him rather possessively, and he realized how little he knew the true conniving Clover Dunhurst. Lucky, indeed.

Kingsley had the audacity to smile like a royal conqueror, not at all the look of a congratulatory brother-in-law.

Hugo vowed to make him pay for this someday. Of all the senseless dalliances he’d had, why had this one innocent encounter caught him? He wasn’t ready to blame himself. Not yet, while he had plenty of other people close by to heft such a weight upon.

The duke reached into his breast pocket, revealing a tiny velvet bag. He pulled open the drawstring and, between pinched fingers, brought out a ring winking with rubies. “Sooner than later, Darrington.” He placed the ring, along with the blue velvet pouch, on the billiard table like a wager or a dare. If Rochester were present, he would challenge it with a blindfolded shot. But billiards was not Hugo’s forte. He was more suited to fisticuffs. And his knuckles were aching for a piece of Kingsley.

“I don’t need your damn ring,” Hugo said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I am perfectly capable of purchasing my own.”

Before the duke could answer, Lady Clover appeared wearing a periwinkle pelisse and a bonnet. It was obvious she had just returned from somewhere and had not been at home when he arrived.

“Perfect timing,” Kingsley said pleasantly as if the room were not supercharged by a bolt of God-fearing lightning. He greeted his sister with a kiss on her cheek. “I have business to attend. I think you know Mr. Darrington.”

“Stratford, I want a word,” Clover said desperately, grabbing the duke’s sleeve as he turned to leave.

“We’ll speak later.”

“Promise?”

“Of course.” Kingsley patted her hand and then disappeared.

Before she turned back to the room, Hugo snatched up the ring.

“What was that all about? And why did he leave you here?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Haven’t you?” Hugo worked the muscle in his cheek.

“No,” she exclaimed, pulling off her bonnet and fighting with the pins. “I hate hats.”

Unbidden, the vision of her in the secret garden popped into his head, only to be outdone by the vision of her last night in the Pleasure Gardens. It would seem he was fated to see that hair tumbled after all. The circumstances, however, were unimaginably flawed. “I assume you just came from somewhere.”

“Yes. From Evelyn Rochester’s.” She plopped her bonnet on a side table bracketed by two leather club chairs. “I assume you’re here on business with Kingsley. Why did he leave you alone in here?”

“Because his business with me is complicated.” He put some distance between them. Leaning a shoulder against the window casement, he looked outside, wondering if he’d break his neck if he leaped from the second story. “Who do I have to thank for this?” He threw up a hand toward the ceiling. “Not you, I hope, after all I’ve done to help.” He was livid, but with whom he couldn’t be sure. He hoped to God it wasn’t Clover because he truly didn’t want to be angry with her. Although regardless of the culprit, he was about to vent like rising steam from a primed tea kettle.

“Pardon me?” She strolled around the table.

“Don’t play coy. You forget I know you better than most.”

“What are you spouting about? I have no idea what has you in fits, but I’m certain the whole house will hear if you don’t take it down.”

“Fits! Fits? This is not a fit, my dear. This is what happens when you corner a lion.”

“I don’t know any lions. You’ll have to reference something else.”

“You’re looking at one.” He held himself barely in check, still trying to ascertain whether Clover was innocent or guilty of this debacle. And then he was caught, as per usual, by the way she examined him from his mouth down to his shoes, a little wrinkle in her nose. Was it guilt? Against all his will, his mind wandered into dangerous territory, and if Kingsley got his way, all her territory would belong to him. The thought, shamefully, gave him pause. He straightened from his negligent lean against the window casement.

Her gaze followed the same trail back up to his eyes. “It would be nice if you purposed to make sense because currently you are making none. I thought we had worked out a truce. I’m trying not to blame you for the betting books.”

“Well, isn’t that a relief?” He clutched his heart. “At least we can start this marriage amicably.”

“What! What marriage?”

“Thank you for finally joining the party. You are very convincing.”

“And what am I convincing you of, exactly?” She shook her head as if to clear it. “What marriage? Whose?”

He pulled his mouth to the side, digging in his pocket with one hand and taking hold of hers with the other. She tried to pull it back, but he kept a steady grip as he slipped the blasted ruby ring on her finger. “Ours. My beloved. Or didn’t you know?”

He pulled back, forcing a grin that dug into his cheeks with clenching pain. Then it dawned on him the look of horrified surprise sweeping over her face. The twisted indignation about her mouth was genuine.

She looked from him to the ring. “Where did you get this?” After his outburst, he expected more, but she spoke in an almost inaudible whisper. She touched it reverently.

He cursed his conscience back into its stall.

“It’s been an age since I’ve seen it.” She turned eyes brimming with emotion toward him. “Where did you get it?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Stop speaking in riddles and answer a question. At least this one, for my sake.”

He calmed with a sigh. “Your brother, His Grace, the Duke of Kingsley. Is that answer enough?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. Clearly, you have been caught as unaware as I.”

She caressed the ring in a wiggling circle around her finger. “This”—she held up her hand on display—“is my mother’s ring.”