Page 15 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 15

C lover was dumbfounded. In shock. Tripping over details she had feared would come to light. She braced a hand against Kingsley’s billiard table, where she usually felt welcome. Currently, everything felt foreign. Even the ring Hugo had forced on her finger despite it being her mother’s. “What exactly does he know?” she asked Hugo in reference to what her brother knew. Finding a way out of this mess meant building a foundation of solid information.

“He knows about the betting, the wagers, my daft attempt to quell the storm.”

“And yesterday?” she asked, feeling weak in the knees now that she recognized that particular feeling. This time for the pure fear of it.

Hugo licked his lips. “He knows about the Pleasure Gardens. Although, I doubt very seriously that he knows you followed me there without my permission, knowledge, or encouragement.”

“And?” She almost couldn’t ask. Blood bloomed hot in her cheeks. “The kiss?”

“That I don’t know. Thank God, at least he didn’t mention it. But then he didn’t have to, did he, because the betting books were enough. I tried to explain how it started.”

“Oh, no. Not the secret garden.”

“I didn’t go that far. Just filled him in on the necessary details about the jackasses who started it. They should be here, called on the carpet. Not me.”

“Or me. You speak as if this is something I would even consider. And with my mother’s ring.”

“It is the act of a gentleman, Lady Clover.” His tone was as formal as his temper would allow.

But Clover had a temper of her own. “You’re marrying me out of some perverse obligation. Is that it?”

“Stop pointing that damned finger at me. And yes. I am marrying you out of a gentleman’s obligation. What’s perverse is the way Kingsley wished me congratulations because of the announcement at White’s. Which, of course, was figurative because I made no such announcement.”

“You’re not making sense again.”

“And you’re pointing again. He considered the wager a declaration of my undying love.”

The word love felt like a jab to her stomach. She rubbed her midsection like she was about to be sick. “Gentlemen have such a bizarre sense of ethics. They take up with mistresses without blinking an eye. They massage their egos with dalliances and yet manage to stay bachelors. But one tiny, misplaced wager and a contract is signed in blood.”

“You, my dear, are the sister of a duke. There is a difference.”

“I don’t see it that way. I’m still a woman. And you needn’t worry about my reputation. I don’t require a proposal, not that I’ve received one. And you know why? Because nothing happened between us. Nothing is going to happen between us.” The last part, she said with conviction, daring him to understand.

“I’m afraid it isn’t up to you or even me, for that matter.”

“Aren’t you the saint, sacrificing yourself to the virgin gods?” She rolled her eyes. “That didn’t come out right.”

His eyebrows shot up. “And what do I gain from the gods for such a sacrifice?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” She threw herself in a chair. “And here I took you for a smart man.”

“That’s me. I was smart enough to follow you into that damn maze, worried for your virtue because it was a party you should have never attended.”

“Darrington,” she said in a steady voice, her gaze boring into him. “I did not ask for your protection, and I am not asking now. As for your duty to me, you aren’t my caregiver, and I am not your ward. I’ll speak with my brother, and he will have to see reason.”

“Do me a kindness and do not discuss this with him. The matter has been settled, and my business relationship can only suffer for the argument it will bring.”

“I see. I am a bargaining tool. It’s such a relief to know my worth. Money. I’m chattel.” She slapped her hands on the arms of the chair, gripping them like a vice.

“It is not about money. It’s about reputation. One I have spent too much time rebuilding to have it torn down by a girl.”

She blinked twice in disbelief. “My mistake then. I thought myself a woman.” She pulled in her chin, looking at her bosom, and adjusted the neckline. When she looked up, he was staring at her like a hungry lion.

Hugo cleared his throat. “My apologies. You are a woman.”

“Who knows her own mind.”

“As do I,” he said.

Folding her arms tight, she glared at him in silence.

“My mind. I know my mind, not yours. Lord, we will forever be quarreling.”

She blew out a concession. “We can be angry with one another and waste time on misunderstanding, but this is Kingsley’s fault. So, what is our next move, Mr. Darrington?”

“A license.”

An hour after Darrington left, Clover was inclined to believe their next step would be a license, a vicar woken from his sleep, a parish church in the middle of the night, and not-so-wedded bliss saddled to a man who would hate her the rest of her life.

In Stratford’s defense, he was pacing in his study, scrubbing his fingers through his hair until he looked like a madman. As for Clover, she was not having the luck that belonged to her name as a given.

She took a seat on the leather sofa, avoiding the heavily carved desk where business deals were made and lost.

“Clover, there is nothing else to be done.” Stratford leaned a hip against his desk, folding his arms. “The damage is irreparable. It’s not just the wagers—which, by the by, are quite enough. It’s also the clandestine meeting in the Pleasure Gardens.”

“Tell me again, how exactly do you know about that?”

“It’s not your concern how I know. The fact you were not visiting Mrs. Rochester was enough to send me on an errand to find you.”

She decided to refrain from this particular line of questioning since it was believable that Stratford himself saw them in the garden, and she couldn’t bear to think he might have witnessed the kiss. She ignored the where and how and concentrated on the why.

“For one conversation, I am to be given a life sentence?”

“One? No.” He uncrossed his arms, piercing her with a direct stare that brooked no argument. “But many? Yes. Not to mention, I have it on good authority that you were flirting with him from across a ballroom just weeks ago.”

“Flirting? I was not flirting. I was trying to decipher who was waving at me. And who told you that?”

“You’ve forgotten your little circle overlaps with mine. And another thing. Why did you not tell me you needed spectacles, that you cannot see two feet in front of you?”

“That’s an exaggeration. But I do admit I have held off on the issue of my sight because young women in spectacles are not at all the rage.”

“Clover,” he said more gently. “Between the wagers and the gardens, it’s enough to compromise you.”

She swallowed hard. “I suppose you are gentleman enough, then, to marry a woman you compromised? Hm?”

“My peccadilloes are not your concern. But you are mine.”

She felt defeated, as if her life had been taken from her hands when, in truth, it had never really belonged to her at all.

He rubbed his temples. “I thought the match would make you happy. Your friends are married to Darrington’s friends. It will make a nice social group, good company for you when the men have business together.”

“I can see my friends when I please. I don’t need a husband for that.”

“Or you can lie about seeing them.”

She drew her mouth to the side. “A point for you.” She sighed and relaxed against the button-tufted sofa, catching the wink of the ruby ring she wore. “Did you not wonder how this would affect Darrington or my marriage to a man who doesn’t wish it? A man who doesn’t love me?”

Stratford looked at her softly. He came to sit with her and took her hand, something he hadn’t done since they lost their parents. “Tell me you aren’t attracted to him, that you are repulsed by him.” She started to speak, but he stopped her. “Look me in the eye and say it, Clover.”

That was one request she could not fulfill. Her shoulders fell, and she sagged against the cushions. Defeated by attraction, but not love. Not deep-rooted feelings where two people cannot be held apart. “Stratford, Darrington and I are like opposing forces, like magnets set to the wrong side.”

“Then flip the narrative and see what happens.”

“You must have heard us arguing. He already resents me for this. I cannot bear it for a lifetime.”

“Perhaps yours and Darrington’s anger toward me will be the glue that binds your marriage.”

She looked sideways at her brother. There was concern in his eyes but a determined draw to his mouth. “You are my only family, Stratford. I don’t want to be angry with you.”

“Give it time. Sleep on it.”

“Will you change your mind?”

“No.”

She caressed the ring. “This would have been a nice touch if it had come from a man who adored me.” She pulled it off and handed it to her brother.

With no way out and no way around the strictures she lived by—had been raised by—she and Darrington would be married in a matter of days. With a duke’s bidding and influence, they would, in short order, secure a time at St. George’s, Hanover Square.