Page 26 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 26

S he’d been gone for almost a week, and Hugo was losing his mind. How could a woman affect him so keenly? They had been married less than a month, and he felt like a besotted fool. He hadn’t planned on missing her so much. True, he had been afraid to send her away without him. Travel alone held risks, not to mention Clover’s loss of her parents in a carriage accident. Had his reluctance been for that or something else? If Evelyn Rochester had not suggested traveling with Clover, he would have never let her go.

Now, he wondered what she was doing to stay busy. He wondered if his sisters were overwhelming her. And he wondered most of all if she’d met his father. The margin of error he’d calculated for her introduction to his family, her opinion of his father’s idiosyncrasies, and the fact he’d sent notice of their wedding too late for his family to attend was grand. The bloody odds had been against them from the first day.

He didn’t mind risk if his gut insisted. But his instincts had not been kind where their involuntary marriage was concerned. He also knew one generally got what they expected, and he didn’t want his marriage to fail. Failure was not an option. Not anymore. Not after he’d worked so hard to recover from a gambling loss that almost cost him everything.

The deal with Bastion and Torrent was all but settled. Their good-faith agreement was an inch away from being signed. Never before had he been nervous about such a sure thing, but his alternative plan was no longer an option. Not since Clover.

He placed the inkwell at the corner of his blotter and adjusted the quill in its brass perch. The ink stains were a testament to how hard he’d worked on this project. His success was paramount because his next venture would change the entire landscape of the world. Steam power and rails. He refused to believe it all hinged on something he had no control over. A family. He already looked after his sisters and the estate, but his obligations would shift as soon as he and Clover had children. His children’s future, inheritance, and success were on his shoulders, and it felt like the world.

He checked his palms and rubbed his ink-stained fingers. He looked like a working man. The titled gentry hardly worked at all. They looked down on such drivel, but Hugo thrived on it. The fact he held no title helped. A half dozen men would need to die before he ever inherited the earldom in his family tree. He was not considered the height of aristocracy. Not like Rochester. Rochester saw the difference in how people treated him because his viscountcy was certain. Winn Markham stood to inherit a fortune from his father, the man who saved them all from their foolish, outrageous gambling debts. But Kingsley was a duke. His reputation among his peers would suffer the most. The fact that his sister married Hugo, a man considered beneath her class, was bound to further affect Kingsley’s reputation. And to complicate matters even more with the beau monde, Clover preferred his name in place of her ranking address as Lady.

Admittedly, these were not the worst problems a man could have. But Hugo did not care for cogs being thrown into his smoothly running wheel. His timing had been off since he and Clover met in that secret garden.

He donned a jacket, threw a cloak over his shoulders, and stuffed his portfolio with his final findings on Belgravia. The cost, the risk, the hidden treasures the average investor would miss. Kingsley, Rochester, and Hugo were bound to make a mint.

He headed for Kingsley’s.

When Mr. Jennings showed him into the billiard room instead of Kingsley’s office, Hugo was pleasantly surprised.

“You read my mind, Kingsley. I’ve been at this for weeks, and now that it’s finished, at least my part, I’m ready for a day of relaxation.”

“Drink?” Kingsley asked, holding the crystal stopper to a diamond-cut decanter.

“Please,” Hugo said. “When’s the last time you played a game with Rochester?”

Kingsley gave a quick look while pouring two glasses of spirits. “Yesterday, actually. He’s too damn good. A man who can shoot with his eyes shut is not safe to challenge or even fun to play a game with.” Kingsley chuckled, a clear indication his words were said in jest.

“Everyone should be a master at something, I suppose. What’s your specialty?” Hugo asked, nodding his drink over to a table while he sighted down a cue stick.

“It isn’t women. I can tell you that much.”

Hugo cocked a brow but didn’t look at him. “What problem could you possibly have with the petticoat set? Your title alone lends itself to all manner of success.”

“And that’s exactly why I don’t frequent the ballrooms during the Season. Do you know how many invitations I toss out daily for tea and musicales and rides through the park? It’s nauseating the way mothers throw their daughters at suitors like tokens. It’s a little like throwing bets on a table. How does anyone find a companion that way?”

Hugo shrugged and moved the billiard balls into place. The conversation was too ironic for his input, and he doubted he could add anything of value. He took a shot and missed. “Doesn’t look as if I’m going to give you a run today.”

Kingsley stepped up to the table, and Hugo took the time to pull back a dram. He leaned a shoulder against the dark paneled wall, glass in hand, and cue stick balanced against a chair. The flippant way the duke addressed companionship —what a godawful word—threw his humor into a gray area. His own reflections into that territory were not something he wished to visit upon his new brother-in-law, who happened to be a highly important business ally. His feelings could not be described with any accuracy today. He pondered that thought for a moment, examining his stained fingers through the distortion of amber spirits in his glass, then emptied the rest in one swallow and allowed the warmth to penetrate his taut nerves.

“What about your marriage, Darrington? How is that going?” Kingsley asked as he bent to take a shot.

Hugo was glad he’d emptied his glass before the question was asked because he was just loose enough to tell the truth. “None of your damn business, Kingsley.” The words flowed as smoothly as the whiskey went down.

Kingsley eyed him while he flicked a noncommittal expression at Hugo.

Was it a warning? He couldn’t afford to lose a business ally. Not now.

The duke sank a red ball and straightened. He took a step, sizing up the table and possibly the room like a panther. “Business. An interesting choice of words. You speak of business to me? Was she more than a business arrangement when you agreed to marry her?”

“Fine time to ask. And still, none of your damn business.”

“My sister’s happiness is every bit my business. Did you know she asked to borrow my coach? What happened to the one I gifted her, I wonder? Or was she planning a clandestine trip to run off?”

Hugo felt the overwhelming, bloodthirsty urge to hit something. “She took our coach, you fool.” Hugo racked his stick into its proper place. The game was over. “And she did not run off. She went to visit my family.”

Kingsley’s nostrils flared as he pierced Hugo with a look. “Why then did she ask for my help?” He pointed to his chest.

“You seem to have all the answers, so you tell me. You wanted me to do my duty as a gentleman, and I’ve done it. What the hell else do you want from me? If you think I intend to allow you to eavesdrop on my marriage by prying into it with questions you do not deserve to ask, think again.”

“You think you wouldn’t have been married if I hadn’t pressed it?”

Hugo stared at him in disbelief. What was the man about? “I see, you concocted the whole hairbrained, scheming idea. And for what? Business? Perhaps you’re the one without scruples, planning a hostile takeover using your own flesh and blood.” He’d said too much. Pushed too hard. And was mad as a hornet.

“You’re a lunatic and completely out of line, Darrington.”

Lunatic. That was the wrong word for Hugo’s pickling pride. He ground his teeth and rounded the table, and before he could think of a better reaction, he pulled back and cuffed Kingsley in the eye. Fist on bone, the sound that usually spurred him on, just sickened him now.

Knocked off-balance, the duke stuttered backward but managed to stay on his feet. He reached toward Hugo, an arm’s length away, and grasped a choking handful of his neckcloth and jacket lapel. He could see the intended hit before Kingsley had a chance to throw it.

Hugo pulled his chin in and looked down contemptuously at the fist gripping his shirtfront. “You think that’s all it takes to leverage a shot at me? You forget yourself, Kingsley.” Hugo’s tone was dark and pointed. His stance, menacing in a way that generally dissuaded foolish moves from his opponents.

The duke held back, eyes flashing, but the tight grip remained.

Hugo laughed outright, hurling an intimidating challenge. “You’ve picked an adversary you can’t beat, Your Grace. If you wanted to win, you might have chosen someone without a backbone, like Albert Franklin.”

“No. I chose right, Darrington.”

Hugo easily blocked the oncoming punch. “Your stupidity goes before you. If you plan to throw a right, then don’t use the bloody word in the sentence that precedes it.”

“You made the crude bet, Darrington,” Kingsley spoke his deepest truth, and it cut Hugo.

“I tried to salvage what I could of her reputation, and what do I get in return? Married.”

“What I did was no different, except my interference was more effective.” Kingsley put three fingers to his cheekbone directly under his eye and moved his mouth around, testing it for a bruise. “You get one punch, Darrington, and that’s all I’m willing to give. My patience is short-lived.”

“I’m not frightened of you.”

“No? Just scared enough to marry my sister on the first request.”

“You”—Darrington pointed his finger at the duke—“have defamed my wife’s good name.”

“Which happens to be my name as well,” Kingsley said smugly.

What did the duke hope to accomplish? “She no longer carries your name. She’s given up Lady Clover for Mrs. Darrington. Insists on it, actually. If I hear one more word from you about my marriage, I will see you in the ring. And I swear to God you won’t get a cuff in.” Darrington was deadly serious.

“I’ll take that coward’s bet,” Kingsley said. “You’re good at them, aren’t you?”

That was all Hugo planned to take. “I’ll meet you there, you blackguard.” Not for a moment did he think the duke wouldn’t follow. To hell with their business agreement. He’d rather move home than listen to this.

Strong’s Club was filled. With the Season’s amusements over, those left to the city had few places for entertainment and none better than Strong’s. Even as crowded as it was, Hugo’s good-standing name in the pugilists’ community gave him precedence, and he had a time set even before Kingsley arrived.

Neither of them said a word. Each disrobed. The duke had changed into breeches before he left the house. Darrington still wore his dress trousers, but he didn’t care. He was confident in his own abilities to outperform any man. Especially this one. Tonight.

They took a moment to size each other up, and before the duke could throw a punch, a crowd had formed around the central ring. Hugo thought he heard roars from the balconies of the private rooms two stories up. He had a couple of choices. Beat the living shite out of a well-respected duke in front of his peers. Or back down and allow the man to clobber him.

The latter was not an option. No. This he did for Clover. Her name was worth that and more.

Kingsley threw punch after punch, and Hugo either deflected them or completely dodged them. His punches connected with the duke’s gut, his ribs, his jaw. He’d already blackened his eye. He avoided his nose for the sake of the rules. He granted him his teeth by missing them on purpose. He’d been a saint, for God’s sake.

After two rounds, Hugo was getting winded. Although the duke managed to connect with Hugo’s midsection several times, and once to his jaw, it was clear the man wouldn’t last another round.

“Is that enough?” Hugo spat.

“You ask that after you scandalize a duke’s sister? You made her a pawn in your scheming attempt at the betting books. Did you not think I’d see them?”

As soon as the bell rang, Hugo clocked Kingsley without hesitation, sending him sprawling to the mat.

Trying to catch his breath, he looked up at Hugo, holding out a hand to stop.

“I think the world of my wife. She is not anyone’s pawn. She won me over years ago. You ever say a thing like that to me again, and I will ignore the rules and beat you until you’re unrecognizable. Are we clear?” Hugo fumed, his breath coming in heaving pants, not because of the fight but for the adrenaline over Clover’s own brother saying such things—after he’d accomplished everything he wished by giving Hugo no other choice but to marry her.

Then it dawned on him. “You sly bastard.”

Kingsley smiled and then grunted, touching his lip. “You’ve ruined my chances with the ladies.”

“You did this on purpose,” Hugo accused, the edge of his anger dissipating.

Kingsley chuckled and then grunted again. “Believe me, my sacrifice was greater.” Hugo helped him stand, and the crowd cheered and roared when the duke slapped Hugo on the back.

Hugo didn’t know what to think. Should he be angry? Or thankful? In one evening, Kingsley had proven in public that Hugo had chosen Clover. That it had not been a marriage of convenience born from scandal but one born of something else. Like love.

The thought buckled him as thoroughly as his last crippling punch to Kingsley.