Page 22 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 22

C lover had not expected Hugo to answer her call to action immediately. She only thought to prepare him and herself for an evening in the same bed. She knew that married couples were often separated by rooms and events, even people, but she hadn’t thought it would occur so quickly. She enjoyed sleeping with him after he’d made love to her. And she honestly wanted to know if it would be different next time because everything that came before the actual consummation had been extremely pleasurable.

“Now?” she asked when he suggested fulfilling his husbandly promise in the middle of the day. The proposal stunned her and left her standing in the middle of his study, her feet frozen in place, her mind frozen in time. “That’s not necessary, really.”

“Why not?” He looked conspiratorially around. “You’re here. I’m here. No one else is here.” He spread his hands wide, encompassing the room. “ Here seems to be the perfect place.”

“But this is your study. It’s a public place.”

“Not entirely,” he said as he passed her on his way to the open door. He did not hesitate before he shut it ominously into place.

“The servants,” she whispered, even though they were completely alone now.

He walked up behind her. “The servants,”—he whispered near her ear—“know everything that goes on in this house.”

She pulled her head away from his warm breath and his nose tickling her neck. “They do not.”

“If it makes you feel better to think it, then you are entitled to do so.”

“You’re teasing me.” She turned fully around, facing him now.

“I have not begun to tease you, my sweet.” He slid his palms down her forearms until their fingers were laced together. He pulled her arms around his body. Cinnamon and bay rum dizzily permeated her senses. She wasn’t sure if she should leave her hands where he put them.

He cradled her cheeks and kissed her mouth, small little pecks until she answered with an involuntary whimper. He pulled back, but before she could feel disappointed, he directed her to the window overlooking the back property, where an herb garden was planted in the distance and a gate led to the mews. Flowerpots bloomed with seasonal flora and lined a little patio off the study. One would have to reach it from another room, but it was pretty. She saw her reflection and his as he lowered his mouth to her shoulder.

“We are alone, and the view is lovely.”

She swallowed hard. “Why do I feel as if you’re speaking of more than the back garden?”

“Because your perception is exceptional.” His arms enveloped her, and his hand cupped her breast.

She clung to his arm, feeling the muscle and tendon underneath work as his fingers pulled the edge of her bodice down. She could have pulled his hand away with a little tug, but she preferred the little tug he gave her nipple. The view of the garden was nothing to the reflection of him biting her shoulder. To see her flesh in his hands. Her chest rose with a panting rhythm. “The window,” she whispered on a shudder.

“This view is private, I assure you. And I like it.”

“Hugo.”

“I thought you were my little wood nymph,” he said, all the while caressing her into oblivion. “A sprite who prefers making love outdoors, in her own little secret garden.”

She straightened, having melted back into him, and turned in his arms, her breast still half exposed. “People don’t do that outside, do they?”

“Coaches? Need I remind you?”

How had she forgotten about that? She buried her burning cheeks in his shirtfront. “Not exactly outside,” she muttered, gripping the fabric of his lapel. Before she could think or speak reality into the moment, she pulled his jacket wide and over his shoulders. He shrugged out of it quickly and then, with one hand, unknotted his cravat and, with his free arm, pulled her in for a devouring kiss. Before she knew what was what, she was helping him pull his shirt from his breeches. As he lifted it over his head, she ran her hands up his bare torso, stopping for a moment in wonder at the hard plane of his stomach.

“How does a man get so hard?”

He chuckled, throwing his shirt aside. “Just looking at you makes me hard, darling.”

“What?” Her gaze popped up to his, and his wicked mouth bent in unison with his wicked eyebrow. And her wicked thoughts came flooding in. “You’re not… I was speaking of your stomach and waist and chest.” Her gaze roved over every inch.

“I know what you were saying, sprite.” He lifted her chin and kissed her until she forgot about the open window, the unlocked door, the sounds of an echoing hall, and gave in to the fantasy she didn’t know she’d initiated.

Without a thought, she ran her hand around the band of his breeches and hooked her fingers over the edge. His shuddering reaction gave her courage, and she sunk her fingers deeper under the fabric like he’d done to her bodice minutes before. The tips of her fingers contacted the head of his smooth, rigid member. Hugo moaned against her mouth, and she felt his hand warm on her wrist, pushing hers down until she felt the length of him in her palm. She smiled against his mouth, and he stopped kissing her long enough to look into her eyes with such a storm in his black pupils, surrounded with vivid turquoise.

“You do that to me, you know.”

For a nice change, she cocked a devilish smile at him with a coy tilt of her head. “So much power in a touch. Who would have thought?”

“Who indeed,” he said as he took her hand and led her to the settee. “But I did promise you something, and if you keep up with this, I’ll be spent right here.”

“Is that true?” She giggled as he pushed her back into the cushions.

“Oh, yes. Too much so.” He undid the fall of his breeches, then took her glasses from her face. Leaning a knee between her legs, he pulled up her gown. His fingers slid between her legs as he nipped at her breast, pulling her dress down an inch with his teeth.

Two nights ago, it had been all but dark, but today she saw every inch of him, hard, ready, cocksure. And she didn’t have time to be scared, not while his fingers were inside her, not while his tongue teased her nipples. He moved his hips between her thighs, and she tensed.

He kissed her mouth softly, slowing the hunger she felt beneath the surface while he dug his hands into her hair. “Trust me, sweet. Relax those beautiful thighs.”

She breathed out a sigh and let her knees fall open. He rubbed the head of his cock over the part of her that felt like heaven until he was wet with her need, and she wanted to die. He moved to the entrance, and she was far too gone to think much further until he pushed himself inside her, and she felt a delicious wave of tingling pleasure which started from her core and spread in a fury through her body from the inside. She heard and felt the groan from her own throat, and her legs relaxed even more while her hips began to thrust against him. Each time her body met his, she felt a surge of pleasure until her movements were as frenzied as his.

She wrapped a foot around his calf and was surprised to feel his boots were still on. Oddly, that gave her a rush, and she burst into a sea of thumping, climactic pleasure almost at the same time as he made a fierce growl and held himself in place. She felt him, too. The experience was like nothing she had ever imagined in her wildest dreams. Coming together to such fulfillment made her feel deeply connected to him.

With her arms wrapped around his neck, she pulled his head onto her shoulder and held him there, and she knew she’d fallen in love with him. And she hoped he might someday feel the same.

“Did I make good on that promise?” he breathed the question against her neck.

“Oh, yes.” She felt a giggle well up inside.

He pulled back. “I know you want to laugh. Go ahead.”

“I can’t help it. Nerves have always done this to me.”

“If I didn’t already know that, my manhood would be none too eager to come near you again.”

“Don’t say that. I truly cannot help it.”

He kissed her mouth. “Yes, my sweet, I’ve known for a long time.”

“Most men hate it.”

“Tell me which ones, and I’ll blacken their eyes.”

“No need.” She placed her hands on his cheeks and brought him down for one last kiss. “As long as I don’t drive you insane.”

“Too late,” he said, brushing a thumb across her eyebrow like he was memorizing her face.

It turned out she and Hugo were quite compatible in the bedroom, but Clover had been initiating it all. He had taken his vow to make the time her decision to such a level that she was frustrated. No woman wants to feel as if she is so undesirable that her husband doesn’t need her in a biblical way. Which bore the question of whether she needed him or just wanted him. Did he only want her, or did he need her? One thing was certain: his schedule remained a mystery most days.

They’d been married for two weeks. Had made love four times and still barely talked about anything important. She missed her friends and had so many questions about Hugo’s family that she didn’t know where to begin. Apparently, he didn’t know either. He rarely spoke of them except to mention his father’s eccentricity and that he made music boxes. It all sounded rather lovely to her.

For three nights, she waited up for him. For three nights, she fell asleep before he returned. Apparently, he enjoyed his boxing club more than home. Or perhaps it was her. The question of need and want, of love and libido, were answered by his absence alone. Her feelings for him no longer bordered on excited infatuation, and her only comparison for married couples was that of her friends, who seemed to enjoy a certain shared anticipation with their husbands. Rochester and Markham spent time with their wives. Clearly, this was what love looked like. What Clover and Darrington had was lust. She believed that more now than ever.

Pleasant enough. True. But fulfilling? No. And this was to be her life. If she were to survive with any happiness, then she needed a family larger than her and Hugo alone. She needed her brother. She needed her friends. And she needed to know Hugo’s family. Once children came, she figured her need for love would be fulfilled. Until then, she wanted to know more about him. It could be far worse; this she knew. There were plenty of women who neither loved nor liked their husbands, and after having an heir, they seemed relieved not to share a bed. Hugo was an excellent lover. Perhaps that would be enough.

On the fourth straight night of eating alone in a dining room large enough for a small army, she wandered into his study. His desk was polished and devoid of work as if he’d never been there. The window where she’d watched him seduce her was covered with heavy curtains. The books all aligned as if no one ever read them. It was hollow, much like her chest felt.

“Do you need anything before I retire?” Mr. Gale asked from the open doorway to the study.

Clover pivoted on her heel, feeling awkward, as if she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “No. I was just thinking of reading before bed. Thank you, Mr. Gale.”

Even Mr. Gale, with whom she had enjoyed a measure of freedom, seemed distant. It dawned on her that if Mr. Gale were retiring, then Hugo would not be home anytime soon.

“On second thought,” she said before Hugo’s valet was out of earshot. “Are you aware of Mr. Darrington’s schedule on any given night?” She had no more time or patience. It wasn’t normal to involve the staff with such familial discord, but currently Clover didn’t give a fig what anyone thought anymore. She was just this side of angry to be forced into querying Hugo’s servants.

Hugo’s servants. Not hers. Esther had been the only servant she’d brought with her, and she wondered if her maid also felt on the outside.

Mr. Gale looked visibly uncomfortable. The tendons in his neck flexed with his slight grimace. “I’m aware most evenings, yes.”

“And tonight?” She thought she already knew but forced an answer anyway.

“I’ve prepared his room as he wishes when he isn’t expected to return early.”

“And tonight?” she asked again, more forcefully. “You see, Mr. Gale, no one has taken it upon themselves to divulge my husband’s schedule to me.”

“I apologize. I assumed his lordship would provide it, but I’ll inquire tomorrow how he’d like me to proceed if you’d like.”

“I don’t wish for you to ask for me, Mr. Gale. I’m capable of that. What I want to know is when he’ll return tonight. Or if he will return tonight.”

“I cannot say.” Mr. Gale looked flustered and then amended, “Not because I am forbidden, my lady. It’s only that I don’t know.”

She took some pity on poor Mr. Gale. It was possible he felt as awkward at finding a wife in Hugo’s home as she felt being a wife in Hugo’s home. When would it feel like her home? “I suppose that makes two of us, Mr. Gale.” She smiled weakly. “Thank you for your time.”

“As always, Mrs. Darrington.”

Mrs. Darrington, indeed.

Tonight, she purposed to wait up for her absent husband if it took until sunup. Not once did she believe he was out kicking up mischief. But she did imagine he was avoiding her.

She waited until she was sure Mr. Gale had retired and then proceeded to Hugo’s room on her way to her own. She saw his empty valet stand, the bed turned down, and the chess table with each piece in its place. So much of it depressed her. Even the chessboard, which had become something familiar to share with her husband, stood ready for a new game. No piece had been moved for days, attesting to their lack of communication. That would stop tonight. She went into her room and penned a note, then left it on the chessboard, assuming Hugo would find it when he returned.

Clover figured she had two choices. Either she requested to return to Kingsley Manor until Hugo’s business with the Belgravia project was finished, or she requested a visit with his family. She didn’t expect him to join her. In fact, she didn’t want him to. She needed to figure some things out for herself if happiness was to be part of her future. Still, her heart ached for what might have been between them had they enjoyed a normal courtship. Then again, Hugo had never suggested he wished to court her. Now, she’d never know.

Clover didn’t mean to fall asleep and had refused to change into a night rail because she thought staying dressed might help her stay awake. As if her body and mind waited for Hugo’s late return, she heard the tiniest click of the adjoining door.

“Clover?” Hugo whispered loudly.

“I’m awake.”

“In your clothes?”

She rolled into a sitting position with her feet over the side of the bed. She grabbed her eyeglasses on the bedside table and forced them through her hair, sliding the scissor arms over her ears.

“I see you made a queen’s pawn opening.” He pointed a thumb toward his room.

“I didn’t mean to leave it for you. I’m quite used to playing the game alone. But my heart was not in it tonight.”

He stepped fully into the room, concern etched across his brow. “Are you not feeling well?”

“How I feel and how I feel are two different matters, I assure you. My health is of no consequence, but my emotions are teetering on the edge.”

“You wanted me home earlier?” He moved farther into the room. His confusion clearly stated by his tone alone.

“No.”

“If you don’t tell me, I cannot fix it.”

“Hugo, I realize you’ve never been married before, but surely you’ve lived with others long enough to know what good manners are.”

He shut his eyes and shook his head like a marble came loose. His hands went to his hips in a commanding position. “My manners are in question? I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before.”

“Not even the night you and Rochester got drunk and lost a fortune?”

A pained expression fled across his features, but anger ruled. “How long must I be punished for that? And may I remind you that it had nothing to do with you. Ever.”

“Are you angry, Husband?”

“You can see I am.”

“Perfect, now the playing ground is even.”

“What on earth do you have to be angry about?”

“When your valet knows more about your schedule and you than I do, then something is amiss. I had to ask Mr. Gale if you planned to return home early tonight. His look might have been comical had I been in a good humor.”

His hands dropped with a relieved sigh, his posture no longer stiff. “You’re right.”

“Am I?” She didn’t want to dismiss her irritation with one of his good-natured lessons.

“It’s simply something else I need to correct. I’ll be sure to leave you my schedule as soon as I make plans.”

“Without me,” she said, finishing his sentence with her own concerns at the forefront. “You make plans without me every day.”

“What do you want from me?” The question was on the verge of sounding angry again, but Clover could see he was fighting with himself and maybe a little tired, too.

“I want you to initiate a conversation with me. I want you to think about me not as a guest but as a…” She licked her lips. “A friend.”

“A friend?” He chuckled the words. “I’m not interested in a friend.”

“No? How did I get that wrong? You never come to my room without an invitation. Even friends are less considerate than that.”

He stood back, crossing his arms, and he dared to slant a smile at her. “You want me, Clover? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“No. I don’t want you if you must know. What I’d like is for you to want me.”

Now, he began to stalk her from across the room. “You don’t think I want you?”

She shook her head, edging farther back on the bed. “I’m not asking here and now. I simply want you to be more considerate.”

“I’m only responding to your suggestion that I not wait for an invitation. Or I can go to bed and lie there, hoping you’ll open the door.”

“You don’t do that.”

“No?”

She shook her head again.

He stood before her. Her feet now tucked under her skirts as she looked up at him, daunted by his height and seductive smile.

“Don’t feel the need to patronize me now.”

“Patronize?” His voice had turned playful. He crawled onto the bed, bracketing her in, leaning over her with his knees at her hips.

She lay back, spreading her hands over his chest. “Not now.”

He looked at her mouth. “First, you infiltrate my study in the middle of the day.” He touched her lips with a smiling kiss. “Then you haunt my dreams when I’m alone.” He nuzzled her neck. “And then you leave a message seeking my company in the middle of the night.” He bit her ear. “And you expect me not to patronize you? I’m not sure you know the meaning of the word because I want you, Clover. Never doubt that.”

Want, yes. This she knew. But desire or love, these things were missing from their marriage.

She pushed against his chest without any real force. “It’s bedtime.”

“I’m in bed.”

“My bed.” She gave him an arched look. “Hugo, I wanted to talk with you.”

He narrowed his eyes. There may have been disappointment there, but for what? He moved away, climbing up to the pillows where he rested his head against his bent arm, his knee drawn up in gentlemanly leisure.

“Get your boots off my bed, please.”

“You’ll have to take them off. Besides, you didn’t seem to mind me wearing them in my study when you accosted me.”

She started to comply with his suggestion and yanked at one bootheel. “I did not notice your boots until we were quite involved.” He sat up and pulled off his other boot. “By the time I noticed, it was too late to take them off. As I recall, I was wearing my slippers, too.”

“And your dress.”

“And you, your breeches.”

“It was fun, though. Don’t you think?”

She didn’t want to admit it. He looked too sure of himself just yet. “It was pleasant.” She looked away, brushing dried dirt from the beautiful teal spread.

“Have I lost all my charm so soon in our marriage?”

“You have it in spades. It’s conversation I want.”

He sobered, and she could see him giving her his full attention. He lay down again, still a man of leisure but listening.

“I want to visit your family,” she said, turning her back to him.

He let out a loud sigh, and she could only imagine the look of disappointment on his face. “We talked about this.”

“No,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “You said our wedding had been planned too quickly for them to make the trip. You never suggested we shouldn’t visit them.”

“And what part of I cannot leave the city now did you not understand?”

She pulled her mouth into a line, rolling her eyes shut. “You’re being rude, and I don’t know why since rudeness is not your general reaction. But every time I bring up your family, you turn surly. Do you not get along? Am I missing something?”

He lay back against the pillows, staring at the canopy. “We get along well. They are genuinely kind people.”

“Then why, Hugo?” She pulled herself into a sitting position next to him.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

He gazed at her. “Then you tell me.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “You’re a child. Do you know that?”

He cocked a half grin. “Absolutely. Is it charming?”

Her gaze fell to his mouth. “Sometimes.” His smile grew wider. “But not now.”

He let out a groan from his throat. “There are many emotions attached to going home, to seeing my sisters whom I feel responsible for, to seeing my mother who deserves a holiday but won’t take one, to my father who deserves patience and understanding because he is so damaged he cannot speak of it.”

“And?”

“And because I acted carelessly, and I’m still trying to make up for it.”

“What sign have they given that they don’t wish to see you?”

“None,” he grumbled. His arm went about her waist, and he pulled her down beside him. Both of them watching each other from their own pillows.

“Then why not allow me to see them? Perhaps I can bridge some of that gap.”

“No, Clover. You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t because I lost my parents, and I’d do anything to see them again.”

He smoothed a hair from her cheek. “When I’m ready, I’ll take you there. I promise.”

He looked sincere, but she didn’t trust him to know himself so well that he’d keep his promise. However, she couldn’t resist the weariness she saw in his eyes, either. She put an arm around his hips and laid her head on his chest. “Just promise me you won’t table this conversation. That’s all I ask.”