Page 17 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 17

H ad Hugo been insane, last eve, when he asked his wife to join him for a game of chess on their wedding night?

The obvious answer was yes because as they played until all hours of the night, and she became more comfortable, her dressing gown sash fell free. Her night rail, which could have been sheer for all it exposed by silk alone, had driven him to the most erotic fantasies. What a dilemma, to be angry as a raging bull while simultaneously wanting to bed his own wife—the very woman who’d created the dilemma in the first place.

He hoped she’d slept better than he did. The morning room had never been decked out with so much thought in mind, the tablecloth, a sunny yellow, and a vase with a single pink hothouse rose. Yellow would have been more appropriate for friendship. But his staff had taken to Clover immediately. Servants shared, gossiped, and kept their own tattler’s tales. It did come as a surprise that they should sneak in a pink rose for joy. No doubt they were edging him toward red.

“Mrs. Darrington,” intoned Mr. Langley, Hugo’s butler.

Hugo helped his wife, of one day, to her seat. As he hovered over the back of her straight rail back chair, he took a moment to breathe her in. “You may wish to inform the staff what your preferred address might be.”

“I asked them what would make them most comfortable, and they suggested honoring you. They must like you.” She looked over her shoulder. A beam of sunshine kissed her hair like flecks of crystal.

He didn’t know what to make of that, but an unfamiliar ache spread throughout his chest just hearing her say it. “Nevertheless,” he said as he sat across from her. “It is your choice, and you retain the right to Lady Clover. It does outrank me.”

“What do you prefer? Does it offend you if they wish it?”

“No. But I want you to feel as if you have a voice here.”

“I appreciate your concern, I truly do, but I don’t want you to change your routine or your life for me. This isn’t necessary.” She indicated the pretty table setting. “Unless it’s what you’re accustomed to.”

“We need to talk because I don’t think either of us knows what to expect of this marriage or what’s to come of it.”

She pulled back while a footman served her, locking eyes with Hugo all the while. When the footman left, she leaned forward, her palms on the table. “What on earth do you mean?” she whispered loud enough for him to hear her indignation.

“For one, our sleeping arrangements,” he whispered back the last part with comedic drama. She turned a pretty petal pink like the rose between them. “It’s important you always feel comfortable and safe. Especially in light of the circumstances under which we married. Your room should be that safe place. Like the secret garden. Use it to your liking, decorate it, invite your friends to sit with you there, hold a woman’s knitting circle.” He grimaced at that. She smiled. Dammit, if he wasn’t feeling warm under his cravat. Why did the conversation make him feel like a virgin, awkward and uncomfortable? Because he’d never been married. And then it clicked like a blazing candle in the attic of his dark head. Neither had she.

This was new territory for them both.

“Are you trying to say you’ll never call on me in my room?”

He couldn’t help drinking her in. A vision of pink and sunshine, and he wondered if his staff had something to do with her choice of dress as well. But he was seeing her as he did last night, over a chess board, relaxed enough not to care how charming or alluring she was. The same panging ache reached every organ in his body with a thick pulse.

“Let’s not be hasty,” he answered her question. “There’s always chess, and I don’t think I can resist making that invitation.”

“And you are welcome to do so.”

He thought he heard a different permission, but he laid it aside, along with his growing libido. Fortunately, Kingsley was game for entertaining their equal investment partners while Hugo and Clover spent a honeymoon period without the pomp and well-wishers who, during the Season, would be beating down their door. Thank goodness most of the ton had retreated to their country seats. Hugo’s usual plan was to visit his family estate every other Christmas. This was his year to see them, but he feared business would keep him in London in the same way it did the duke. The fact Kingsley was Clover’s brother was not a boon in this case. He somehow wondered if he had spies peeking through windows for the benefit of her welfare. How else had the duke known about the Pleasure Gardens? The real nail in the matrimonial coffin.

Was it worth that kiss? He looked at his wife across the table and wondered if it had been the stealing of it which had been so exciting or if their chemistry was real.

“I have a question for you, my dear wife. And it’s crucial to my ego.”

She laid her fork beside her plate. “My full attention is yours.”

“Were you aware yesterday who you were marrying?”

“Of course, a bruising pugilistic hero.” She narrowed her eyes, belying it with a smile she couldn’t know was more seductive than sweet.

“No. I mean, did you know at the time?” He made circles around his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, winking through one hole in the universal mimic of spectacles.

She gave him a weak smile. “Honestly, Hugo, I don’t know who I married. I’m not even sure who I am. It was like a dream, without being dreamy.”

“If I didn’t understand, my heart would be broken for such a statement.”

“A part of me wishes it were.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Which part?”

“I’d rather not say. I’ll leave that discussion for the privacy of my boudoir.”

Where he had just made himself unwelcome. Idiot of a man that he was.

Clover could not tell who won the first round of wedding chess this morning over breakfast. She assured Hugo that he need not be present at every meal. Her expectations were low. She almost let a giggle slip when his face turned dour after such a statement. In truth, she had not set out this morning to battle him with innuendo, but he looked so good even after a night with little sleep.

“Madam.” Gerard Gale, Hugo’s valet, approached her in the little rosewood salon at the front of the house. He looked to be in his late forties, perhaps fifty if his thinning hair was any indication. For all that, he was well-groomed, as anyone would expect a valet to be. Who would have guessed the man was interested in science? “You wished to see me?”

“Yes. Please come.” She waved him in as he searched the room warily.

“It’s just us. Please, sit.” She offered him a chair adjacent to the burgundy leather sofa. The house was clearly decorated for a bachelor. “Mr. Darrington speaks highly of you.”

“I am honored, madam.”

“He explained your passion for chemistry.”

Mr. Gale’s eyes lit, and his spine grew an inch. “As it pertains to perfumery, yes.”

“Would you mind lending me a sample of Mr. Darrington’s cologne?”

“If you don’t mind me saying, I’m certain Mr. Darrington would be happy to give you whatever you need.” He looked at her curiously. “What, exactly, do you wish to do with it?”

Folding one hand over the other, she considered holding back and then changed her mind. “I wish to scent my handkerchiefs, my pincushion, some personal items with something he likes.”

“I’m sure he likes you.”

How could she say she didn’t know if he liked her at all? Or that they did not share a bed last night? Although there was little doubt the female servants in the house knew.

Mr. Gale sat forward, his hands gripping the edge of the armrest, his brow drawn and there was such concentration in the way he lifted his nose in the air. It was apparent he was smelling her.

She felt a bit awkward and more than a little self-conscious.

“I apologize. I cannot help myself. There is nothing unpleasant about you if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Mr. Gale,” she began. “I love… how do I say this?” She bit her lip, then hurried ahead. “I love the way my husband smells.”

“Oh.” Mr. Gale sat back, and Clover mirrored his position. Retreat or move ahead was the silent question. “Mrs. Darrington, I would be honored to make something special for you if you’d allow it.”

“Something my husband would like?”

“Yes. One must take into account all sorts of chemistry to create a scent that delights the palate.”

“The palate?”

“Oh, yes. The right scent is delicious on all accounts.”

Delicious. Did the valet realize what he said? “How long would it take?”

“You must come sit with me in the laboratory. We’ll maximize our olfactory. Perhaps Mr. Darrington would like to attend.”

“No. I don’t wish him to know at all.”

“A surprise.” If Mr. Gale were not beaming before, he was now with a contagious excitement that makes one forget every other propriety.

“He isn’t doing his regular business this week. Are you good with schemes and secrets?”

“The best.” A good valet would have all the best secrets.

“I’ll make plans to visit a friend and come back through the alley from the mews. Where is your workshop?”

“A room on the ground floor near the kitchens.”

“I will meet you there at three o’clock sharp.” She held out her hand, leaning unladylike over the tea table. They shared the same joyfully daring grin, and he shook her hand.

The fact that Hugo didn’t mind her leaving the house on their first day of marriage upset her a little, but it served her purpose well that his mind was elsewhere. The servants snuck her in like a thief and helped her find Mr. Gale’s lab. The room was more significant than she expected, a tribute to Hugo’s good-natured heart. She couldn’t name another man, including Stratford, who would give their valet such rein for a hobby, except it was obvious this was no hobby. The walls were washed clean, and there were dozens of bottles shelved along one wall and twine draped across the ceiling with tiny herbal bouquets. A table in the middle of the room held over a half dozen mortar bowls and three times that of pestles.

“Sit, my lady. We must make good use of our time.”

It was clear she was now in his domain. Mad scientist came to mind.

Mr. Gale circled her several times, sniffing the air. “Yes, yes, yes.” His eyes were that of an owl.

And Clover sat still, content, curious, for an hour. By the time she left, she was as excited as the mad scientist.

“This must sit for at least twenty-four hours, and I’ll have it sent to your room in an atomizer, an oil, a cream for your hands, and soap in a few days.”

“Can you manage?”

“Madam, it gives me great lead to follow my nose. The staff and I are grateful you would trust us with something so?—”

“Delicious?”

Mr. Gale snapped his fingers. “Exactly!”

She emerged from the servants’ corridor into a main hallway and found her way to the foyer, where she almost collided with Hugo.

“There you are. How was Mrs. Rochester?”

Oh, Lord. It dawned on her that she had used Evelyn once again but this time without permission. “Very well. I need to send her a thank you right away.”

“Right now?”

“Did you need something?”

“You.”

That statement sent her nerves in a familiar direction like the night he kissed her. “I was helping Cook with the menu.” She waved a nervous hand in the direction she had come.

“I didn’t ask where you came from.” The statement held some suspicion.

“And I didn’t have to offer it, either, she countered.

“Are we arguing? I can never tell.” He shook his head.

She chuckled. “I apologize. I’m at your service.” She gave a mock curtsy.

“We didn’t finish our discussion this morning. I wanted to know if there was anything special you wished to do this week.”

She followed him to the drawing room, where he poured them both a glass of wine.

Clover took a seat on the settee. “I know what I want, but I think you should drink that whole glass before I ask it.”

He handed her the wine and then sat beside her. “You need me foxed for this?”

“Immorally so, yes.”

“I’m intrigued. Do go on. I’ll even drink to it.” He took a hardy sip. “Although it might have been better if you’d suggested brandy.”

“My idea, or wish, is to see a fight.”

The words were barely out before he answered. “No, Clover. You may ask as sweetly as ever, and it will still be no. But I do appreciate your strategy.” He set his glass on the tea table.

“Rochester took Evelyn there.”

“I don’t care what Rochester did. Besides, we’re trying to live down a scandal, not start another one. If that’s what you discussed with your friend today, you wasted your time.”

“We’ll start a trend.” Her heart would not let this go.

“No.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask me again.”

“Is there no incentive I can offer?”

He looked at her mouth, and she bit her lip. He cleared his throat. “No. Perhaps.” That lopsided grin gave her hope. “I believe you mean it.”

“Please.”

“I’ll think about it. Will that do for now?”

She folded her legs under her skirt, bringing herself to her knees. Leaning close, she placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him. Simply. Innocently. Like in the secret garden except with the added innuendo about incentives. As she sat back, she arched a brow. “I dare you to forget about it now.”