Page 19 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 19

C lover could not be more shocked if she had jumped onto her husband’s lap and smothered him with kisses.

But then, of course, she’d just done such a thing. It was equal to pinching herself.

When they pulled to an alley entrance to Strong’s, Hugo slipped her hood over her head and hid her face behind the shadow of her cloak. She did not get a look at the room at large but was taken up a flight of stairs and down a narrow corridor where a door was opened for her.

When Hugo stepped into the room, he shut the door. “You can take that off now.”

Her heart pounded with the scandal of it all. It felt forbidden and made her feel reckless. The room was tastefully decorated but overly furnished. It wasn’t gaudy like she’d imagined. It did not look like a brothel or a place where ladies of the night would come. It looked like a room in a proper home. A settee. A table with four chairs and a platter of fruit and biscuits. A bar with several decanters and tumblers beside them. There were shelves of boxes that she assumed held tokens and cards for private games. Hugo had explained how all the rooms were a little different. Some even large enough for a billiard table. All were private, and a half dozen had a balcony overlooking the floor below.

The balcony rooms were on one side so the occupants could keep their privacy, and no one could see inside them. The bottom floor was shadow and light, with several boxing rings and one specific to the center. One could enjoy watching a bout from the balcony, but it was still too far to see faces saved to memory or to identify with any absolute certainty who might be watching from above or fighting below. You would have to know the person well enough to recognize them from a distance. It was all very well-done.

“What do you think?”

“I think it’s wonderful. I never dreamed it was this civilized.”

“Mr. Strong is a man of good taste.”

“You know him personally?”

“I’ve met him and spoken with him enough to secure your visit. That’s all I can say.”

“I don’t need to know anything else because I am in awe and so excited I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

“Well, you came to watch a bout. Did you not?”

She nodded with fervor. “And we’ll watch from here?” She pointed to the balcony ledge.

“You, my little garden sprite, will watch from here, hidden safely away. But I will be on the floor.”

She frowned, disappointed at his suggestion. “You aren’t going to stay with me?”

He gave her a cocksure smile. “I, my pet, will be in the ring.”

Her hands covered her mouth. “You’re fighting tonight?”

“I’m fighting in twenty minutes. So, I need to get down there to prepare.” He kissed her forehead. “The gentleman who showed us to the room is in charge of keeping this room safely closed off. There is a women’s waiting room down the hall if you should need it, and there shouldn’t be anyone there because women are rarely allowed at the club. Mr. Wattley will provide you with anything you need. You can pull the bell but do not open that door for anyone else. Do you understand?”

She nodded vigorously. All she really heard was that he was to be in the ring tonight.

“It’s only a two-round match. Short by fighting standards. And then, after the fight, it will take me a little while before I return here. I like to clean up first. Can I trust you to wait here?”

“Of course. Don’t be silly.”

“I can have refreshments ordered up. Otherwise, there are plenty of finger treats and a pitcher of water and lemonade. I wouldn’t touch the decanters if I were you.”

“I understand. Now, go.” She shewed him toward the door. “You have a match. Don’t worry about me. And win if you can.”

“If I can? You don’t know my reputation, do you?”

“I’ve heard. But you will have to prove it to me.” She dared him, raising her brow and curling her lips with a hint of sass.

“Wish me luck, then.” He pointed to his cheek for a kiss.

She took his cheeks and kissed his mouth instead. “Good luck.” With a quick kiss returned, he smiled roguishly and left her there.

Clover grabbed an apple, then rested her elbows on the balcony ledge, watching men stroll intermittently in and out of view. The boxing rings were empty of opponents. She had expected to see men exercising, but then she noticed the men weren’t meandering but setting up chairs. It would be a viewed match and probably one that took bets. Hugo did bring in some monies from fighting. He had said it wasn’t much, but he loved the gamble of the sport, and he was purported to be good at it.

Very good at it.

When the room below began to fill, her pulse picked up a beat. She had never been so thrilled in her life, and there was an odd urge to yell like a betting spectator. She only wished she had Evelyn and Addy there to share it with. Evelyn Rochester had told her about the rooms there, but the description did not do the experience any justice.

The air was not as stifling as she imagined, either. There was the smell of a gymnasium about it, but there must have been windows placed in the right places to encourage a draft because she could smell fresh air, too.

When Hugo stepped into the light, she swallowed, stared, froze, and watched in awe as he disrobed. As a married woman, this should not have been an unfamiliar view of her husband’s bare torso. But it was. Too bad he was not close enough for her to take real advantage of the voyeuristic position, like she had done the day he and her brother exchanged punches in the back garden. It was, however, clear that he had the well-built physique of one who exercised a good deal. There were men at the corners of the ring who helped them bandage their hands. She’d heard about the practice being done more often. It helped to keep damage to a minimum and made the game even more of a sport.

Hugo ducked the first punch but did not throw one. He seemed to size up the other man, perhaps saving energy for a more effective strategy. Each hit to Hugo made her cringe. She heard the grunts from the fighters directly before she heard the cheers from the crowd. Her earlier feelings to yell and cheer fell away with worry as she watched her husband take what looked like a beating.

But then, in the second round, Hugo seemed to come to life. His jabs were planted well. His energy obviously more remarkable than his opponent. Hugo had fewer punches to deflect and more openings to do damage. She couldn’t imagine how the man was still standing by the time a bell rang from somewhere below. Whether it was in favor of Hugo or not, she thought he emerged the winner, and so seemed the crowd. When he took a bow, she figured he’d won.

He furtively glanced toward her balcony, and she resisted waving. She also realized how much she had been missing without the spectacles. She pushed them back up the bridge of her nose and leaned an elbow on the balcony. Hugo had mentioned it would be awhile before he returned, so she watched another match. This one was between two men who looked a bit smaller. It would make sense that the men fighting should match in size and build for a fair outcome.

It wasn’t twenty minutes before she heard the click of the doorknob turning and the latch give way. Nerves preceded her, but for what? Because she’d just seen her husband bare chested? Or because she’d watched him strike another man? Or because she was in a place where women were not allowed?

No, the answer to her nerves stepped through the door with towel-dried hair, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and a devastatingly handsome grin about his very kissable mouth. Her heels were backed against the ledge as if to retreat.

“Watch yourself,” he said as the door fell into place.

She pressed a palm to her chest. “That was amazing.” No matter how hard she tried to sound calm, her voice wavered. “Truly impressive. You don’t even look bruised, as if you didn’t take a punch. Except I saw that you did.”

“I took plenty, believe me.” He joined her at the balcony rail, gazing out over the edge into the gymnasium.

She leaned closer, breathing him in. “You smell delicious. I mean wonderful.”

He gave her a side-glance. “I’ll take delicious over wonderful if you’re offering a choice.”

“I’m surprised is all.” She tried to turn away but couldn’t force her feet to move. She was drawn to him. Had she flipped the magnet?

“You were expecting sweat?”

“At least that much. Which is not to say it would be unpleasant, mind you.”

He chuckled good-naturedly. “It’s unpleasant. Take my word. Strong’s is a well-equipped gymnasium. Besides the pugilist rules being enforced for the safety of the athletes, it provides a place to wash up.” He turned toward her, resting his arm against the ledge. He glowed with a smile such as she’d never seen. “There’s even a contraption where water showers over one’s head from a reservoir above.” He made a whooshing sound while wiggling his fingers like sprinkles overhead. “It’s made for a standing bath. It saves filling a large tub or a hip bath. And it takes less water, so there’s less effort and less time for heating it.”

“Are there employees who service it and keep it filled?”

He nodded. “Most men go home and clean up. But I like to leave as I came in.”

It dawned on her that he arrived with a kiss. She wondered if he thought the same thing. Her gaze swept over him. “This is not how you came in.” The words stuttered nervously from her.

“No?” The roguish smile spreading across his chiseled jaw told her she wasn’t fooling him.

“Your sleeves.” She pointed to his bare forearm. “Your hair.”

His smile broadened.

“Even this.” She dared to touch his mouth, then quickly tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t allow it. “I didn’t mean to point.”

He kissed the tips of her fingers with tickling gentleness. “And how is my mouth different,” he said against her fingers, gazing at her from under his lashes like a rake.

“You’re smiling.” She pulled her hand back. “Truly smiling. There’s more behind it than I usually see. At least since the wedding.”

“I’m sorry about the wedding. It made me a little broody. Neither of us was to blame for that.”

“Oh? Perhaps just a little?” she asked, peeking through a tiny gap between her forefinger and thumb like tweezers. “Me, not you. I should have refused to attend that house party. That’s where it started. It’s only that Kingsley has kept such an eye on me since our parents passed that sometimes I want to run, to do anything else. Something different.” She looked over the edge of the balcony rail. “Like this.” She waved a hand toward the fight below. “Do you know what he says now?”

Hugo shook his head, pinning her with such a look in those amazing turquoise eyes.

“Kingsley says I am your problem now.” She raised a brow. “In jest, of course.”

“I don’t know about that. You dragged me here.”

“I did?” she teased with a laugh.

“You are persistent, if nothing else, Clover Darrington.”

Her cheeks flushed hot at the reminder of her married name. “I am not sure what I am anymore. But I do believe I am an impressive chess player.” She dared him to deny it. Although they both knew he was superior, by an infinitesimal degree.

Hugo had hurried through his grooming and forwent his waistcoat and jacket because he wanted to see Clover’s face as soon as the fight had finished. He had expected her to fawn over him, but instead, she took his breath away when she touched her fingertips to his mouth. He smiled down at her, then moved away to pour them both a drink.

His hand hovered over the sherry and then the brandy, then settled on Strong’s famous Irish whiskey, not just for him, but for them both. He poured a dram in one and a double in the other. He glanced at her back, her arms leaning against the balcony rail and her bottom pointed in his direction. Fancy that. Her demeanor, her stance, her everything told him she was smiling as she collected the sounds from the first floor. There was a definite enthusiasm about the way she stretched to see. And those damn spectacles. He was taken with them.

This thrill they shared here in this room, the common interest, had been missing since their farce of an engagement. No one likes a forced idea or someone else’s ideal. He couldn’t blame her for that, and he didn’t want those feelings here, in the one place that had always been a haven for him. This was his own secret garden, and she was the amusingly mischievous wood sprite. The decision to bring her here had sprouted from a desperation to see her smile. Apparently, it was a good choice for them both.

He strode toward her, taking a sip from his tumbler. The scent and spice relaxed him, and the smooth, familiar end tones of the draw made him want to close his eyes and sigh. Instead, he stood directly behind her, bracketing her between his arms, sliding the glass along the edge of the balcony right under her breasts.

She shot him a nervous glance over her shoulder. “What is this?”

“I thought this little adventure called for something more than sherry. If you haven’t tasted whiskey, you are in for a treat.”

“What makes you think I haven’t stolen a sample?” Her fingers shook when she took the glass in hand, belying her question, or perhaps his proximity alone made her quake. Despite her lack of calm reserve, she tapped the rim of her tumbler with his, then took a stout drink. A gasping cough seized her for a breath, and her hand went to her throat. “Oh, my. You like this?”

“Try it again, but don’t hold your breath this time. Breathe it in as you swallow. Your nose provides the first taste. Let it do its job of preparing your palette.”

She blew out a breath and then raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip, breathing it in with a tiny slurping sound that produced in him an erotic jolt straight to his groin. He watched her profile as her body relaxed, her eyes half closed, and her lips turned up with an unhindered smile.

“What a difference,” she said with a wisp. “I think I like it. You and Mr. Gale have a similar approach.”

“Do we?” He nuzzled his nose in her hair right behind her ear and felt satisfaction when she shivered. “If Mr. Gale approached you like this, he’ll be the next man I pummel.”

Her breath stuttered. “Not like this. But in the way you use the sense of smell to enjoy something special.”

Hugo was charged after two rounds in the ring. But it was nothing compared to the electricity he felt with her. Each experience was new to him. He’d obviously become cynical where women were concerned. Clover, he had to admit, was a breath of fresh air, and he was not leaving this room until he filled his lungs with her, tasted her, touched her. His skin burned with the need for contact. Intimate contact.

Though her glass still held whiskey, he couldn’t imagine she would wish for another. “Would you like me to take that?”

She moved to hand it to him, then must have thought better of it. She took a quick sip and shuddered. “Oh, that one burned right through my sinuses.” She handed him the glass while rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Did you breathe this time?”

“I’m afraid I can’t breathe with you standing there, which isn’t to say I wish you to leave.” Her innocent honesty touched him.

He slipped a thumb and finger into the whiskey-wet mouth of the tumblers like tongs, bent his head, and kissed her behind the ear.

“Do that again, and I’ll lose my spectacles over the edge.”

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he said, brushing her ear with his lips. He then followed the scent of jasmine and citrus down her nape, sliding his nose along her satiny skin. He breathed her in like the whiskey and tasted, sucking gently, drawing a shivering sigh from her. Her body molded into his. Her backside an exquisite pain against his groin. She felt like a warm memory, one they should have made a long time ago.

Below, an operator of the fancy called out the next fight, and Hugo set the glasses on the edge of the balcony, then pulled her back into the room, out of view. The sounds invigorated him, and her soft whimpering sighs and tiny gasps made the whole scene more erotic than he would have imagined. She moved to turn in his arms, but he wasn’t ready to face her. Instead, he hauled her up against him, a tight fit with one arm, and with the other, he pulled her head to the side for a better, more aggressive taste of her neck. He drew the taste of her into his mouth, and she took his breath away when she reached back over her shoulder, her warm fingers tangled in the bottom of his hair, and then brought him into pressing contact, refusing to let him go, encouraging the growl that rose from deep in his chest.

His mind left. His body took the lead. And with any luck, she would follow. His palms itched for her flesh as he wrapped his hand around one breast, hooking his thumb in the bodice of her gown, stroking between fabric and heated skin until he was surrounded by the soft hollow between her breasts. The place so protected from the world, from fabric, from touch that it felt like new silk, and his mind went to places he had not earned the right to take.

Marriage may be a contracted invitation to take as one pleased. It permitted a husband all rights to every detail, but the best part of joining two bodies was the agreement, the pleasure of a shared experience. Thus far, she had no idea what she did to him nor what he wanted to do with her.

Theirs was not a marriage of love but convenience. Forced would be the better word. But there was no denying the desire that burned between them, like the fiery destruction of a ship at shore where there would be no turning back, driving the explorers to make a new way. A new home.

Attraction between them was not the issue. Marriages had been built on less.

The pulse in her neck thumped vigorously against his sucking mouth, and it made him want to taste her, to feel the wave of pleasure on the tip of his tongue, to drive into her with a wanton greed.

It was too much, too fast for a virginal bride. He strove to alter the direction of his libido, his brain, his hands. Lord, not his hands.

He smoothed his thumb over the soft swells until he felt the exquisite pleasure of one tantalizingly puckered nipple. Such a tiny distraction to drive a man mad. She gasped. Her knees buckled while he held her tight, taking little nips along her shoulder, pulling her harder, torturing the length of him. He wanted to pull up her skirts and sink his fingers into her, hear her climax.

But he didn’t want to frighten her, not after he’d given her the choice of when. He wished they weren’t married. He wished they were in their secret garden where every move was a blessing, a gift between them. The last thing he wanted was an obligation to their vows.

He wanted her.

She wanted him.

Why did it have to be anything more? Would they have come to a marriage naturally? These questions would never be answered.

As if she knew his thoughts, she turned in his arms, slid her hands around his neck, and pulled him down for a devouring kiss. Her mouth opened under his. She lustfully stroked his tongue and bit his lip. She was his for the taking. He pulled at her bodice. He rubbed her nipples. The sensation against his thumbs made him throb with wanting.

And then she pulled back, broke contact with his mouth, and looked down at his hands touching her. When he kneaded the hard buds, she gazed up at him, bewildered with desire.

Her breathing came fast. “Take me home, Hugo.”

“Anything you want is yours.”

At his remark, she lifted a smile, arranged her bodice, and took one step back. “If I asked you to take me home and play chess, would you do it?”

He wanted to bite his tongue. “Yes.” The word sounded hollow, even to his ears.

She licked her lips. “I want to play chess.” He saw her throat bob on a swallow. Her eyes were a mixture of fascination and fear.

He was a gentleman if anything. Hadn’t he, in the most cold-water-dosing way, proven that when he married her? Presently, he didn’t think there was enough ice in the Arctic to cool his ardor now.

He called for the coach.