Page 5 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 5

L ord have mercy, Clover could feel the heat radiating from him. His gaze consumed her. Mr. Darrington wanted to do something, anything, maybe even kiss her. And shamefully, she wished he would. She wanted to know what the kiss of a scoundrel was like.

She and Darrington stared at one another. He was far too close and too handsome for comfort. She couldn’t look away with his booted foot placed next to her on the bench, his arms folded over his knee, and his strong jaw set with a smile. He’d called her Clover, and she liked it too much. And she dared to call him Hugo, a name she rarely heard his friends use.

“Did you know I was going to be here?” she asked, too breathless for her own good.

“No. Did you know I was going to be here?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t think so.” He stood on both feet and put his hands behind him. A safer posture, to be sure. “When I saw you across the ballroom, it seemed you didn’t recognize me.”

She turned her head, wildly contemplating whether he referenced the ball where she mistook Mr. Franklin for Darrington. But how could he? Only Evelyn knew that. Her mind was muddled with infatuation and a flirtatious game she didn’t understand. “You mean here?”

“Where else?”

“I… Did I see you?”

“You looked straight at me, and I waved.”

She vaguely recalled a blurry vision from across the ballroom, making a movement with what looked like a limb, a hand, an arm? She bit her lip. She grimaced. “I didn’t acknowledge you, did I?”

“No. My ego was crushed, I assure you.”

She laughed. “It was not. Your confidence precedes you.”

He scratched the side of his head and then swiped his hand down his neck. The few inches stretched above his white cravat were sun-kissed. “Do you mind?” He pointed to the seat beside her.

She shook her head and scooted over a few inches. “My thoughts must have been elsewhere.”

“As in thinking ahead to where you might run when the Hunt for the Squirrel began?”

“Something like that.”

“Your brother is acquainted with Mrs. LaDow,” he said more to himself, and Clover wondered how much she should say.

“She is a widow.” As if that were an explanation.

His head rolled to the left, and he raised a brow. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

“I’ve said nothing wrong. I simply stated the facts. After her husband passed on, Stratford invited her for dinner several times. He said she needed company, and we both understood the loneliness of losing a special person. She and my brother formed a friendship, and I imagine a trust, too.”

“Does she come to dinner anymore?”

Clover smiled and tipped her head. “That’s an unkind question and one I’m not quite ignorant enough to answer.”

“I meant nothing by it.”

“You surely did.”

“You’re wiser than your years, Lady Clover.”

“Thank you.” Not wise enough, however, to leave the garden and Hugo Darrington behind. “You know, you are not the person I remember at that Christmas party, either.”

“How so? Not charming enough for you?”

“Not nearly.”

He chuckled, turning sideways. He unbuttoned his jacket and rested an arm on the back of the bench. “How shall I make it up?”

“Evelyn Rochester suggested we break the rules that week. I suggested we didn’t break enough. My only faux pas was recklessly allowing you three dances in one evening.”

“If you would recall the entire rules of the game, you women were breaking the rules, and we men were to be doubly on our best behavior. You broke the rules that govern dancing thrice with one man. But I tell you, I was not the one who asked for them because I was on my best gentlemanly behavior, as the men in the group had decided.” His demeanor was matter-of-fact and all the more challenging.

“ I asked you to dance?”

“You did.”

“Three times?” Her memory must be failing. Now, she turned in her seat and mirrored his position, her elbow resting on the back of the bench.

“You brought me your dance card, already signed thrice by you, with my name at the top.”

She put a hand to her mouth to try to stave off the rattling nervous chirp that followed. “A small infraction. Hardly scandalous.” She shrugged.

He was watching her mouth again. “Too bad we’re not at that party. What scandalous rule would you break here? More than dancing too often with the same man, I hope.”

She leaned in a touch and licked her lips. “We—and when I say we, I mean my friends and I—decided at that time to kiss and tell. I had nothing to tell. I suspect Adeline did, and even Evelyn kissed Rochester on the cheek. But I was as well-behaved as a church mouse.”

His gaze caressed her face, and her throat went dry. “Lady Clover, do you want to kiss me?”

“I’d just as soon you kiss me since I don’t know how to do it.”

He leaned forward until their noses practically touched. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Right here.” She put a finger between their mouths and tapped her lips. “I dare you, Mr. Darrington.”

“If you’d called me Hugo, I might have obliged.”

“Hugo,” she said without pause. She hardly had time to breathe before he put a finger to her chin and touched his lips, very briefly, to hers.

He watched her closely. “Satisfied?”

“I’m not sure. Was I to feel something stir inside me? I’m confused.” She wasn’t, of course. Even that innocent kiss stirred something inside her, like a dawning realization that there was something more to this game besides lips that meet. Her mouth watered, and suddenly she felt thirsty.

He sat back and sighed. “That kiss was not meant to be effective.”

“If you were not affected by it, then do you think you won the wager made in the garden?” She referenced the conversation between the drunk men in the maze.

That broke the spell. He rolled his eyes and sat straight again. “If you ever speak of those men again to anyone, and I do mean your friends as well, you’re liable to find your feet in the fire of the scandal sheets.”

“What about our kiss?”

He dipped his head sideways to see her. “Don’t start.”

“You act as if I’m trouble.”

“Because you are, my sweet. And this party is the wrong place to break any rules at all. Including that one.” He looked between them, indicating the kiss.

She blinked with nonchalance and looked at his mouth.

He shook his head.

She changed the subject. “All right, Mr. Darrington. How long do you suggest we wait before leaving this fairy-tale garden?”

“First of all, I do prefer Hugo. And secondly, I believe there’s a picnic on the west lawns in about an hour.”

Hugo. He wanted her to call him Hugo when she knew for a fact he didn’t like his name. Perhaps Addy and Evelyn were wrong. “How do we safely get from here to the picnic without being seen? I don’t think it prudent to use the maze again.”

“I don’t either. We can use that gate.” He pointed to something blurry in the distance, and Clover thought it best just to nod. He looked at the sun. “Shall we stay for another forty minutes?”

“A solid plan,” she agreed.

A solid plan like hell, Hugo thought. Forty more minutes. Why on earth had he suggested that? He should have insisted they leave immediately, even before he sat down.

Especially before he sat down.

That ridiculous whisper of a kiss may not have affected her in the slightest, but it had him imagining deeper kisses, more kisses, joining kisses. He was profoundly in trouble.

“Would you care to hear a secret while we wait?”

He massaged his forehead. “I’m certain I should not. You are a little frightening today.” He smiled pleasantly. “I jest. Please, continue.” He rolled his hand.

“I once saw you and Kingsley involved in fisticuffs.”

Nothing could have startled him more if she’d sprouted fairy wings. His eyes went wide, and he reminded himself to shut his mouth. “A match? Where?”

“I doubt it was a match. You were in the back garden at our London address, and I was in the library that overlooks the yard, peering through a sheer curtain.”

His brow wrinkled, and he pulled back an inch. Scratching his chin, he asked, “How did I do?” It was purely for fun, but in truth, he was curious. He remembered that fight. It had started with harmless ribbing and ended with too much brandy-laced port.

“I couldn’t be sure. By the end, you both looked winded. Do pugilists keep score, or is it all about knocking the other fighter down?”

He might have laughed, but she looked so serious, her pupils dilated with curiosity, her brow crinkled with thought, and the idea of talking with her about a subject he loved pleased him. “There are rules and points. The loser isn’t always laid out flat.”

“I’ve heard my brother mention that you box for more than the sport of it. That you fight in tournaments for money.”

“I do.”

“And you win.” She put a finger to her plump bottom lip. “Or so I’m told. Kingsley refuses to let me see a bout.”

“That’s probably wise.”

“Instead of the dance card, I should have made you promise to sneak me into the arena to watch.”

“I promise you were more likely to get a dance than a seat at the ring.”

“You wouldn’t invite me to watch, even now?”

“Especially now.”

“Then tell me why you like to watch.”

He couldn’t dwell on the erotic notion that she clearly didn’t mean. “For the passion of the sport.”

“I would just like a chance to know a little of the passion that seems relegated to men only.”

“Not only.” Not in his camp, anyway. However, he was thinking of something far more daring and intimate, like disrobing her inch by inch. “There are a few women who are pugilists.”

“Really?”

“Their bouts are illegal, and I’ve never seen one, but I have little doubt they will be permitted someday.”

She shook a fist in the air. “Another win for women everywhere,” she said with force.

He liked this side of her. If she’d been this outspoken at the holiday party, he’d have signed his own dance card for her and more. Unfortunately, he now had more important things to keep him occupied, like staying in good graces with the Duke of Kingsley and their other business partners, including Rochester. He had already invested a fortune in the Belgravia project. He hoped to live there someday. As for now, he enjoyed renting a townhouse in London. If all went to hell, it would be easy to let it go and move back to his family estate near Bedfordshire. His future was riding on this project. Not that he didn’t have more investments. There just weren’t any like the development of Belgravia.

The time came to leave this little happy secret behind. For the rest of the party, he would purpose to stay far away from Clover Dunhurst.