Page 20 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 20

C lover wanted to die. Her body was hot all over. Her cheeks were aflame, and her heart was beating so quickly she wasn’t sure it was healthy. She had never been so close to wanting a man.

Lord, she’d never been this close to a man at all.

When she looked down to see his thumbs rubbing her nipples, the exquisite torture was multiplied tenfold. In that instance, the moment became reality, and she wanted more. Embarrassment had brought on her question of whether he would honor his statement to play chess. Of course, for the love of God, she did not want to play chess tonight. She wanted him to play with her more. To show her, guide her through the steps of a dance she’d never tried before. There was supposed to be great pleasure in it if she believed her friends. So far, the pleasure he’d given her with a simple touch had caused a rushing ache between her thighs.

It was dark out when they emerged from Strong’s. As soon as Hugo helped her into the coach, she pulled her hood from her head. The cloak felt confining after the experience she’d almost had.

Hugo cleared his throat as the coachman pulled the bays into the street. Clover put her hand on the seat for balance. “There’s something special at the theater tonight, so the roads may be a little slow getting home. I hope you can wait to trounce me in chess.”

“Me?” she pointed a finger to her chest. “I cannot beat you in chess on a good day, and certainly not tonight.”

He nodded, absently looking at the window with a sigh.

Her pulse raced as her mind groped for the right words without sounding like a wanton woman.

“I’m sorry about tonight. I hope you at least enjoyed the match,” he said without looking at her.

“The… the match? Hugo, I enjoyed it all.”

“The whiskey?” He turned to gaze at her, a bit of confused hope in his warm eyes.

She nodded.

He stared at her, waiting for what?

“Since when does a husband apologize for… for… kissing?”

“I thought you wanted to play chess?” He sounded completely serious.

“Hugo, you are an idiot. You know that? A fool if you think I want to go home and play chess with you.”

His brow cocked. “I’m a fool?”

She nodded, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, then her breasts, then the rest of her.

“Take off that cloak.”

“Why?” she asked as she unfastened the frog and pulled it from her shoulders.

“Because I want to touch my wife, and I don’t think I can wait in this sea of carriages to get home.” He reached for her wrist and pulled her into his lap, the very place she’d flung herself into when he told her about the club.

He reached up and took off her eyeglasses. “You don’t need these. There won’t be an inch between us for the rest of the evening.” He set them aside, then cupped her cheeks and brought her mouth to his. The moment his lips touched her, the world went away. The sound of hooves, the roar of a crowd, could not permeate the sounds he made or the ones she heard coming from her own throat. She prayed the streets stayed clogged.

Hugo stretched and shut the curtains on both sides. He then pulled her bodice down, trapping her arms, exposing her breasts to a blast of cold, which made his hands feel searing hot against her skin. She struggled against the gown.

“You’re going to have to undo my dress.”

He growled in her mouth, then twisted one button and then another, and then she heard the fabric rent. Heard the sound of a dozen cloth-covered buttons sprinkled on the floor like rain on the roof. And she didn’t care, just pulled her arms from the shackling sleeves and wrapped them around his neck, stretching up so he might kiss her throat. But he surprised her by pulling her higher against him, so his mouth came over her nipple. His tongue swirled around the bud, making her feel tight all over. He sucked and nipped. He teased her until she moaned with pleasure.

When he pulled away, she didn’t know what to make of it.

“Sit,” he said breathlessly. “Right here.” He moved aside and smoothed a hand over the seat.

She obeyed, thinking he wished to take a break. If he felt as hot as she did, she could not imagine how he could want to stop. Then, without a second thought to his fine clothes, he knelt on the dusty floor of the carriage and pulled her skirts high. Her breasts still exposed to his gaze, to the cold, and she put her hands over them.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Like the statue in the maze.”

Her heart hammered. The female statue’s hand had been on her breast and a pleasurable smile on her stone face—and then she knew what he was saying. She shook her head, taking her hands away, but he patiently put them back, rubbing her thumbs over her nipples, watching her with fascination.

“Tell me you don’t like that, and I’ll stop now.” His warm hand was on her bare thigh, and she could feel her own body instinctually preparing for him. But not what he did next. He licked her bare thigh. She rubbed her nipples.

He spread her legs.

She rubbed her nipples harder.

He kissed her where she never thought to touch, and her head lolled back against the seat with a loud groan.

He did with his mouth what she had expected him to do with his body. Such erotic pleasure came from it all. From her hands. From his delicious mouth. And his fingers, sliding in her, made her push against him. She plunged her fingers into his thick hair while she writhed against his tongue. With both hands, he gripped her hips, and she could feel his wet fingers against her skin as her need tightened, and then her body pulsed and jolted with unashamed satisfaction.

She shook with little pants, relaxing back as she felt her skirts thrown back over her knees. Her eyes were closed, and she felt the dip in the cushion next to her and heard Hugo sigh. She glanced sideways at him to see a smile on his face, his head in the same relaxed position as hers, and she pulled her broken dress back over her chest, closing her eyes again.

“Are we still playing chess when we get home?” she asked with as much cheek as she could manage between gulps of air. He pulled her hand from her dress and placed it on his hard, thick desire.

When she peeked at him, he was smiling. “We are not playing chess when we get home.”

She gathered her courage, gave a little gripping slide to his groin, and laughed. “You said you’d do anything for me?”

“Please, I beg you, do not ask me this, Clover.”

She ran her hand down his thigh. “Are you in pain? You look as if you’re in pain.”

He chuckled. “You do not play fair, my wicked little sprite.”

When they arrived home, Hugo helped her throw her cloak back on, fasten the frog, and bunch the edges closed with her fist. She tried to pick up the scattered buttons.

“Leave them,” Hugo said, almost commanded, as he helped her down the steps.

“But they’ll know.”

“Everyone will know by tomorrow.”

“Everyone?” she asked, a little distressed.

He stopped and turned to her, put one arm beneath her knees, and hauled her up, cradling her against his chest. He carried her the rest of the way, ignoring the butler as he opened the door. Ignoring Mr. Gale as he passed him in the hall. Ignoring every servant who stopped and then quickly busied themselves with some inane task.

She smiled, her face buried in his shoulder, relishing the feeling that, for a moment, her husband loved her. She giggled, that perverse nervous titter she could not squelch when Hugo kicked open the door to his bedchamber and shut it in the same way as a backward-kicking mule.

“I’ve missed that sound, you know?”

“Which one?”

“That silly little laugh you have whenever you’re anxious.” He unceremoniously plopped her onto the bed, then began untying his cravat with remarkable speed. “The cloak,” he said, waving a finger at her. “And the shoes.”

“You’re pointing at me, Mr. Darrington.” There was a playfulness about him tonight. She gladly removed her cloak and shoes.

“Leave the stockings,” he said as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“You are very demanding this evening. What is my incentive to obey?”

He chuckled and unbuttoned his breeches.

“I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Oh, it works.” His misunderstanding was plainly clear.

“Your boots,” she pointed to his feet.

“Oh, dammit,” he cursed, almost falling onto the bed while he rid himself of his boots. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

She watched him, fascinated by the proximity of his finely chiseled body. She’d seen him without his shirt from a distance, but she’d not had the opportunity to see how his muscles moved under his skin. He was a superb specimen. All that exercise in the ring had done him well. She traced his shoulder blade. The sinew beneath rippled under her finger. His skin was soft and tight like silk on marble. Like the statue in the garden, except he was carved from hard work, exercise, a decided rhythm in his life which he obviously pursued with purpose. That she had not been a part of his plans was something she was happy to put aside for a night.

He reached over his shoulder and took her hand from touching him. He cocked his head and kissed her fingers. “Touch all you like.”

She needed no other invitation. Letting her dress fall from her shoulders, she slowly moved her hands around his waist, kneeling as she did, pressing her chest against his back. Every part of him was hard, even his stomach. With her cheek lying on his shoulder, he stopped all movement and sighed. His broad shoulders gave way a little, and she breathed in the scent of him as if living required it.

His hand covered hers. “You are a surprise, Clover. A beautiful surprise.” His boots stood next to the bed as if his legs were still in them, and with his breeches still partially unbuttoned, he turned. “I apologize about your dress.”

“None needed. Your impatience was palpable.”

“It still is, quite literally, I’m afraid.” He cocked a brow, and she knew what he meant. The thought scared her a little. “You give over that tattered dress while I blow out the candles.”

What he did was a kindness, and hopefully, someday, it would be unnecessary. She drew her dress over her head and quickly undid the knots in her short stays where the cording had been stretched to its maximum when he had pulled every layer she wore from her shoulders. The chemise came next, and she noticed with a smile a small rent in the fabric. His impatience excited her. She felt wanted. Needed. Desired. Perhaps loved, even if it were foolish to think so.

She saw his silhouette standing by the bedside table where he left one candle burning. His breeches were now missing. The view was breathtaking in a virginal gasping sort of way. Her friends never complained about bed sport. Somehow, it must all work out for good.

Her gaze met his. His smile was a mixture of apology and passion. What little light was available was more than enough, and he worshiped her with one long grazing look.

“One last chance to play chess.” The statement held a measure of truth. He at least cared enough to give her the choice. Clearly, he was aroused. To make such an offer must have taken a good deal of self-control.

“Hugo, I never wanted to play chess tonight, but I love that you would do so if I asked.” She smiled shyly.

He walked toward her and crawled up on the bed over her. “I just want to kiss you, Clover.” Then he smiled wickedly. She suspected he couldn’t help himself. “All over.”

She covered her mouth, reining in a giggle.

“Nervous, or did I do something funny?”

She nodded. “Both. You rhymed my name.”

His gaze moved to the corner of the room in contemplation. “All over Clover,” he said almost to himself. Then he turned his smiling gaze back to hers. “It’s true, though. You know?” A serious wave of dark passion flooded his pupils. “I’ve wanted to kiss you like I did in the coach for an age.”

Her smile fell away. If he didn’t love her, he certainly desired her, and longer than she knew. She swallowed hard. “How long?”

“Since you dressed like sleeping beauty with those ruby red lips.” He bent his head and kissed her.

What started as sweet nips quickly turned into unquenchable fire. She was surprised her body responded to him after being so thoroughly sated, but his tongue was like magic, and this time, when her pleasure came, it was with a wild, delightful anticipation. No wonder it was called sweet death. As the waves subsided, he kissed his way back to her breasts, her shoulders, her throat. He took her mouth with a frightening but exciting hunger. His hips moved against hers, and she could feel his erection, hard as stone, like the rest of his body. It all felt so good. But she wasn’t ignorant of what came next.

A tickling sensation caught her by surprise as he teased the threshold with the tip of his cock. An enjoyable sensitivity. Then, he slowly invaded and withdrew. She tried to relax against the pressure until she knew he could go no farther, safely, painlessly. She would not be delivered from virginity by hope alone, but she was delivered by the sweetest words she’d ever heard.

“I can’t hurt you, Clover. I can’t.” He pressed his forehead to hers, and his honesty gave her courage.

“Even if I want you to?” She brought his mouth to hers and kissed him with everything she had to give. She tasted him, following his moans into a whirlwind of excited exhalations. She was panting by the time she noticed his movements had brought him deeper into her. He was lost to them now, and he pulled her hips with fierce abandon to his. She heard herself cry out and forced herself to wrap her legs around his middle and relished the sounds of him finding pleasure.

He collapsed against her, holding himself on his elbows. Her neck hot with his slowing breaths. He raised up and gazed down at her, then closed his eyes like he was ashamed.

“It’s all right, Hugo. I’m all right.”

His eyes met hers, and he wiped an errant tear from her cheek. “I made you cry. That’s unforgivable.”

“No. It’s unavoidable. And you were kind. Not to mention, you brought me to such a place twice in one night, and you only just arrived. I think I had the better deal.” She wobbled a smile and held back crying outright, not because of any pain but because he cared more than she had hoped. “Is it not a good sign that you’re still lying here, and it doesn’t hurt?”

He began to chuckle. “Clover, only you would ask such a thing.”

“I have no one else to ask. Unless you’d like me to put my questions to my friends.”

“No,” he said quickly. “A man isn’t hard all the time, you know? But even so, next time, it will be different. Better. Very much better.”

“I can hardly wait.”

“Stop. You’re making me blush,” he said against her mouth, kissing her with a smile.

“What comes next? And don’t say chess.”

He removed himself with care. “Next? It gets a little messy, I’m afraid. Something no one likes to talk about.” He gathered the sheets in a bunch. Put part of it between her legs and threw the rest over her. “I’ll be back.” He retreated across the room and behind the privacy screen.

She heard a slosh of water and then an expletive, she guessed, over the temperature. He emerged holding a washcloth and wearing a ruby silk banyan for purposes she could not fathom since it was hanging open. No longer aroused, he looked less frightening. Perhaps she should have started with the less intimidating version.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’ll be standing proud again for certain.”

She felt a blooming blush spread over every exposed inch of her body. With a kiss on her cheek, he handed her the washcloth. She looked at it and then at him.

“I’ll be a minute.”

She was afraid to look at the sheets. To look at her nether parts for fear of seeing something gory. But this, too, was less startling than she imagined. She made quick work of the washcloth and wondered how anyone slept comfortably in such a state. The answers to all this might have come from her mother. Then again, they may not have. Married women didn’t generally converse about such details with unmarried women. Everything she knew, she’d learned from Evelyn and Adeline as well as her maid. She could be thankful for that.

Hugo returned with one of his shirts. “This is big enough for a nightshirt.” He handed it to her. He tossed the damp washcloth on the bed and began pulling the sheets into a pile.

Crawling to the side, she flung her feet over the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor as he finished. “I had no idea this entailed so much work.”

“It’s an enjoyable act, but no one wants to sleep in the middle of the aftermath.”

The shirt she wore hung well below her knees, and she was embarrassed to see a smear of blood on her stockinged toe. With her other foot, she overlapped the smudge. “Would you like some help making up the bed?”

“No, my dear. We’re sleeping in the other room. Yours, to be precise. Unless you’d rather me stay here. Which I would honor, of course.”

She wished he would stop treating her like an honored guest and more like an honored wife. She had little doubt he thought he was doing just that, but it only reminded her of their arrangement. “You’re waiting for an invitation?”

“I told you I’d never invade your privacy.”

“I believe you’re serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he looked dashing, his hair mussed and his legs like pillars.

“I cannot think of a less private thing than all this.” She spread her hand to encompass the room, which looked as if a storm had blown through.

“Daylight. That would be less private. We’ll tackle that later.” He smiled with good nature and directed her to the adjoining door leading to her room.

She didn’t think sleep would come, but it did. And quickly. Thoroughly. Restfully. Happily. And right beside a man she was hopelessly falling for.