Page 2 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)
CHAPTER 2
H ugo Darrington could not account for the foolish decision to join a house party at the end of the Season, except he was working an angle with the largest silent investors to the upcoming Belgravia renovations. He had been biding his time for such an opportunity. It was bound to cost him more than he had to liquidate, but despite his reckless rakehell days, he’d managed to repair most of his reputation with the financial community. There was little reason for the banks to consider him a risk. His father was alive and tending to Darrington’s three sisters. Or so the institutions would believe. Darrington rented his townhouse in order to give himself more breathing room if the time should call for him to move home and save himself the cost of London. He had no family of his own. No wife. No children. And most importantly, no prospects.
He kept an eye on Mr. Silas Torrent, one of the leading investors in the Belgravia project. The man scanned the crowd, then disappeared into the billiard room. Darrington couldn’t be happier. He had enjoyed more than one game of billiards with Mr. Torrent at the home of the Duke of Kingsley. In fact, Darrington had spoken with Kingsley just before leaving London so they would both be of the same mind.
He shifted his weight, more than ready to leave the confines of the ballroom where their hostess, Mrs. Anna LaDow, stood in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by her guests, holding the posture of one who was about to make an announcement. He gave a short bow of his head to a passing woman when the glare of a blinking sunbeam, coursing through a wall of windows, nailed him in the eye, momentarily blinding him. He winked to clear the dark halo imprinted with a flash of light from behind his eyelids, and just before he took a step in the direction of the gaming room, he saw her.
What the hell was the duke’s sister, Lady Clover Dunhurst, doing at a summer house party? Especially this one, when he knew her usual circle of friends was not in attendance. What was Kingsley thinking to allow it? Mrs. LaDow, a young widow with an inheritance that left her plenty of room to play, did not throw the kind of parties that nice, innocent young women would attend without a horde of chaperones. He looked about to see if any old biddies were hovering over her. Certainly, she wouldn’t be there without a chaperone in tow.
It had been almost two years since he’d paid any attention to Lady Clover. He’d been invited to tag along to a Christmas party hosted by her brother two Christmastides ago. It was there that Lady Clover, Evelyn Markham, and Adeline Priestley had invented a game to break the rules of the beau monde. No harm had come from it. Nothing really happened, except his friend Winn Markham ended up married to Adeline Priestley months later. And then, of course, Dalton Rochester had fallen next for Evelyn Markham, Winn’s sister. It was as complicated as it sounded. Thankfully, Lady Clover had not required much from him at that party except a dance or two. It was a pleasant time, and it was also the place where he had met Kingsley, Lady Clover’s brother. He and the duke were now friends and on the cusp of being business partners.
He smiled, remembering her, which was why he wondered about her presence here. Now, she stood across the polished marble floor as the guests gathered close. She looked older, more sophisticated than when he’d last seen her. She had been a pretty thing then. She was beautiful now. Her shimmering gold hair looked longer, twisted about her head with a satin, pale-blue ribbon that matched her day dress. He had never been attracted to fainting-prone debutantes, but at three-and-twenty, Lady Clover was no longer a young thing. Innocent, perhaps, but old enough to be interesting.
And completely off-limits.
He allowed himself a slow perusal of her body to wash any inappropriate thoughts from his head, to remind him that quiet and mousy girls had never been his type. With her arms tightly crossed and a slight scowl, she held off any admirers who dared to look. Unfortunately, drinking her in did not flush or simplify his previous opinion. The way her arms cradled her breasts gave him pause. This was not a girl. Lady Clover Dunhurst had grown up.
Quiet and mousy suddenly became interesting. If not a little shallow, he did appreciate a sinfully beautiful woman.
The gaming room had nothing on this view as Mrs. LaDow began the rules of a new game.
“I hope you all brought your finest hunting talents and your appetite,” Mrs. LaDow said, properly dressed in soft cream silk with a lavender overskirt, belying the angelic facade with a daring grin.
Darrington hardly listened.
“Today, we play a game of cat and mouse. And it shall be—” She eyed the room side to side without moving one mahogany curl. “Hunt the Squirrel!”
The small crowd gathered in the ballroom roared. The echo so complete that it drew the men from the game room, some still holding a cue stick.
“If you have not played since childhood, let me refresh your memories. We will pick one guest from a hat who will be the prey. He or she”—Mrs. LaDow stopped to look meaningfully around the circle—“will hide, and the rest of us lucky hunters will seek them out. When and if you find them, you will join in the hiding place until all the players have discovered the debauched prey.” She laughed. “Did I say debauched? I meant the chosen prey. Let’s not be too quick in the finding, hmm? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a hat with tokens unless, of course, someone would like to volunteer?” She stalled, pressed a finger to her lips, then continued, “On second thought, to keep the game somewhat appropriate, we will only draw from the men’s tokens. We wouldn’t wish a lone lady to be waiting for a pack of men to find her, now, would we?”
Hugo rubbed his lean jaw, watching Lady Clover’s reaction. She really shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t thought to take part in the guest amusements beyond the game room. Cards and billiards provided the perfect backdrop for cultivating business relationships. Lady Clover cinched her arms tighter and looked at the man beside her, from his scuffed boots to his beady little eyes. The fool was staring back at her, his growing smile pushing up the greased edges of his mustache.
Hugo’s fists literally itched to pummel the man. His fingers curled, and he felt his lip twitch in a sneer. There was a need in him to protect her for the sake of his friendship with Kingsley. Not to mention, he was acquainted with her and didn’t wish for any woman to fall prey to an uninvited pursuit.
Her focus shifted across the room at that moment, and their eyes met. She simply stared, and Hugo felt the overwhelming urge to wave for some bloody reason, like an imbecile. As if his mind was not connected to his limbs, he lifted his arm and gave a small shake of his hand. From her came no wave, no nod, no flip of a fan, and as far as he could tell, no blink to acknowledge him. Damn curious. She knew him. Why would she cut him that way? He watched her turn to leave as a name was announced.
“Mr. Albert Franklin,” Mrs. LaDow’s voice rose above the crowd. “You may take twenty minutes to change, freshen up, have a bite to eat, and find a hiding place.” The woman raised the token in hand. “My dears,” she called. “Let the games begin. And be polite if you must.”
Laughter and a cacophony of jabber erupted at once. Lady Clover stopped with her back to the room, then pivoted quickly around when Mr. Franklin’s name was called. Jerking her head about, her eyes grazed the occupants as if she were looking for someone. It was either excitement or panic. He couldn’t decide.
“Excuse me,” he said to a gentleman to his left as he bumped his elbow, deciding to follow Lady Clover from the room. There were simply too many people between him and the double doors. When he couldn’t see her in the hall, he listened for her sweet, soft voice. Innocent. Untried. So proper she couldn’t bear to break a rule, which had been the game at the last party he attended with her.
To the guests, he smiled absently, craning for a peek of her blonde hair, then decided she must have gone to her room. He did the same. Having chosen against bringing his valet, he double-checked the shave he’d given himself this morning. Thankfully, he had stowed away a tin of Gerard’s special boot polish. Hugo didn’t care to guess at the concoction. He only knew that it worked. Gerard had even seen fit to infuse it with the oil from Hugo’s specially made cologne. His perfumer had designed the scent with bay rum and a hint of cinnamon.
Hugo smiled to himself as he retied his cravat because his perfumer was also Gerard. The valet was rather talented at chemistry.
A splash of fresh water cleared his head, and he realized he needed to find Lady Clover before the fool, who had been close enough to look down the bodice of her dress, found her.
He measured the crowd, splitting them into groups of those looking for a liaison, clearly not seeking the prey, those who wished to win the favor of Mrs. LaDow, and lastly, those who wished to vanish for an afternoon. He put Clover in the latter. Most of those in attendance did not look like her type of company. At least, he hoped not.
He dipped his head to Mrs. LaDow as he passed her along the backcourt garden path.
“Mr. Darrington, is there someone you’re specifically seeking today?”
“Not in the slightest, Mrs. LaDow. Unless, of course, you consider yourself.”
She smiled openly, without a hint of blush to her cheeks for his comment. “You would do me a service to be true.”
“The pleasure would be all mine, I assure you.” He stopped to kiss her hand. It was all talk and nonsense, as they both well knew. Wanton flirtation was expected at these affairs and rarely taken seriously.
He vaguely enjoyed the scent of roses and the visual delight of sculpted shrubbery. There was even a beautiful, tiered fountain in the middle where the path took off in four directions. He didn’t pause to choose but took the path leading to the hedge maze. If anyone were to get lost, it would be in there. Although, he highly expected to find a few interludes before the day ended.
The flagstone gave way to finely ground gravel. Marble benches guarded the entrance to the hedgerow labyrinth, which stood tall enough to conceal a grown man. He edged his way through, keeping his arm close to the dividing wall of greenery on his right to spare himself from repeating the same path. It worked to a point until the clever creator of this particular maze saw fit to break the mundane and add more complicated designs that broke from the continuous wall and led toward the center.
The middle of the maze opened into an inviting courtyard with flora, miniature trees, and another burbling fountain. At the middle, a large urn flowed into the reservoir at the fountain’s base, where a marble statue of a half-dressed woman stood. One sculpted arm provocatively covered a breast, her face with a vague expression of pleasure. Water trickled in little waves at her feet, and he followed the circular reservoir to the other side, where another statue, this one of a naked man, stood erect.
To his astonishment, standing directly in front of the statue with a look of awe about her was none other than Lady Clover. Hugo smiled and cleared his throat, wringing a look of priceless surprise from her face. Her pouting lips parted. Her eyes flew open, and she nervously blinked between gawking at the Greek-like god in front of her and then back to Hugo, who stood at her left.
“Mr. Darrington. I didn’t see you.” She licked her lips, which only added to the wantonly liberal way she studied the sculpted man. Something he wasn’t likely to forget.
“It wasn’t my intent to intrude.”
“I was just admiring the workmanship.” She smiled uneasily.
With his hands clasped behind him, he strolled around the fountain’s edge until he also stood facing the sculpture. Four inches separated his shoulder from hers as they examined it as a museum piece in preparation for sharing a critical opinion. Her head tilted, and he realized that amid the fountain of free-flowing water surrounding the two works of art, a single trickle was bleeding out of the statue somewhere above the waist. The water hugged the marble in a stream that ran down every groove following the line of the figure’s hip and out onto the underwhelming, under-sculpted cock of the stone man.
The only thing that would have made it more impressive is if the spray were coming directly out of the head of his underrated manhood.
Lady Clover folded her arms. “Is it me? Or does he look to be pissing?”
He almost spat out a chuckle but stayed true to the unusual moment, crossing his arms and trying very hard not to laugh out loud. With a moody studying stance, he rested an elbow on one arm and covered his mouth with his hand. “I’d say you may have something there, Lady Clover. A good eye for art. The artist’s portrayal is quite sincere. I believe it’s become quite the rage to piss haphazardly wherever the need arises.” He heard a hiccup of a giggle from her and then an outright laugh. His chest rumbled, and he couldn’t help himself. “I apologize. Not the language for a lady to hear.”
“It is when the lady says it first.” She dared to look him in the eye when he turned his gaze on her.
He heard a titter and the crunch of bootheels on the finely pebbled path. Quickly, he grabbed Lady Clover’s elbow and ushered her behind a shrub, pulling her down to a crouch just before a couple emerged from one of two walkways leading to the central fountain. He put a finger to his lips in the universal gesture of shushing and she answered with a nod.
For the next five minutes, the couple played a bit of mutually permissible cat and mouse while sitting on one of the marble benches. The woman turned her face away from a kiss but belied the action by placing a daring hand on the man’s thigh, which he did not remove. By leaning closer, he successfully drew the woman’s dangerously close grip to his crotch. The woman turned back, and Hugo knew a kiss was in the air and probably more than that if the position of the woman’s hand was any indication. Hugo could not stop the visceral reaction the scene caused just by thinking about it.
He was trapped by the couple and couldn’t move his legs enough to relieve the discomfort of his cock bent in a disagreeable direction. He held on to a grunt, biting his tongue and thinking about puppies and kittens and tiny sailboats to clear his coiled mind. All the while, the woman next to him smelled delicious, like sweet vanilla and lavender, which did no favors to his current position.
He held his breath for fear of sighing too loudly and risking the lovers finding them. From the corner of his eye, Lady Clover moved an inch closer, drawing her brows together while she peered through the brush. He wondered if her body was as conflicted as his.