Page 7 of For the Love of Clover (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #4)

CHAPTER 7

H ugo almost gave her the game when she purposely displayed her charms for his feasting view. Now he was thrilled for his patience because her last move was definitely a checkmate in the game of life. It was also a warning to take care. She was a vixen. Who would have guessed that mousy little Clover would be such a prize?

The blush of her cheeks alone had him wondering what her flesh looked like, rosy with passion. And then he remembered the crude remarks of the bumble heads in the maze. He needed their names because, after this trivial party, he planned to investigate their little wager and the reasons why they thought to make it. Perhaps Hugo was the last to know of the fire beneath Clover’s innocent facade.

However, something inside him screamed it wasn’t a facade. That the Clover he met in that garden was as much a secret as the garden itself had been. Why would she trust him? He was no saint. She had to know that. Being here without her friends could have made her vulnerable enough to form a false bond with him because he was the only friendly acquaintance she had besides Mrs. LaDow.

On further reflection, he realized if she’d ever shown this part of herself anywhere else, even at home, Kingsley would not have allowed her to attend this affair. She couldn’t know the danger of creating such lust in a man. They weren’t all honorable gentlemen.

Two weeks back in London, and thankfully, Hugo’s ardor had significantly cooled.

With Markham and Rochester now married, Hugo spent his time making business acquaintances, which meant he attended the waning parties scattered over the summer, where he couldn’t help but look for Lady Clover.

He scanned the crowd at one such event as if thinking of her could conjure the scent of lavender.

“Excuse me,” a soft, familiar voice whispered from behind, and then there was the telltale poke of a finger on his shoulder. It couldn’t be anyone but her.

He held back the urge to whip around and leisurely spun on his heels. “Lady Clover.” He didn’t have time to say more before she was talking again. The words spilled out of her quickly, and he had difficulty keeping up.

“Before the room fills, I want to apologize for my behavior at the house party. It’s not like me to…” She stopped to gather her thoughts, opening and closing her fan against her palm. “To speak so freely and use unscrupulous tactics to win a losing game of chess.”

“You think you lost?” Her gaze met his, and he couldn’t bear the worry he saw there.

“I was not on my best behavior. I know that.”

“If that wasn’t your best, my heart is afraid to see what is.” He smiled warmly, hoping to ease her distress.

“I just wouldn’t wish you to think what those men said?—”

“That was not your fault.”

“I didn’t encourage it. I vow, I did not.”

“Did you hear me?” Before she could answer, more guests arrived, and their private talk was squelched by a gaggle of women approaching. Hugo put on his best face and watched Lady Clover shrink a little as if she hoped no one would see her. The women collectively gave her one look, then disregarded her completely, flirting with Hugo almost openly. There was nothing he could do but distract them with witty remarks about where he’d been hiding himself during the Season. And oh, how he must have missed this one or that one at the theater. The same usual drivel.

He tried to peek at Lady Clover between innocuous replies without calling attention to himself. He even considered introducing her to the conversation so the other ladies might release him from their poorly baited hooks. But he didn’t want Lady Clover a part of it. Hell, he didn’t want to be part of it.

For the next two hours, he saw very little of Lady Clover. Once again, he tried to get her attention with a wave, and once again, she did not return it. So, the little nymph was telling the truth when she said she needed spectacles. He watched her as he crossed the room to see if or when she noticed him. When she smiled, he stopped, judged the distance, and then continued, grabbing two glasses of champagne on his way.

She looked like an innocent goddess dressed in cream silk, creating a tantalizing outline of her limbs every time she took a step. The beautifully understated design skimmed her shoulders as if the sleeves would slip at any moment.

He waited until they were a foot away from one another before he bowed and handed her a drink. “Excuse me, miss, but I’m afraid I can’t place you.”

“Can you not?” She played along.

“No, in fact, I believe I’ll need a closer look to satisfy my curiosity as to who you are. You see, I am gravely blinded, perhaps by your beauty alone. Or perhaps I just need spectacles and am in grievous denial of the prospect of looking like a bluestocking.”

That whimsical giggling sound which he had come to know her by escaped, and she pressed the back of one gloved hand to her mouth, misjudging the swing of her fan dangling from her wrist. The folded spokes struck her glass like a gong splashing wine down the front of her gown.

“Oh, fiddlesticks. This is bound to stain.”

He took her drink and offered her a handkerchief. “We’ll hide the blunder with a dance. What do you say?” He set the half-empty glasses on a table and offered his arm.

“As long as it’s just one, I may accommodate you. From what I understand, you make a custom of dancing with unsuspecting ladies who are not good with math.” She placed her gloved hand on his arm.

“I’m afraid it’s a waltz, and I don’t see your brother here to ask permission.” He stalled for a fraction of a second, giving her an out, but she only tugged at his sleeve, and he followed her lead.

“Kingsley wouldn’t mind. He knows you well enough, and I know you a little. Besides, why should a waltz scare you?” she teased him. “Everything worth doing is scary, Mr. Darrington.” She tossed him a bashful glance.

“A little?” He pulled her into position, the first rotation an invitation to the floor as they swirled around the other butterflies. Glistening gold chandeliers glittered with the lamplight of a thousand candles.

“It was barely a kiss,” she said, keeping her gaze on a distant point he was confident she could not see.

“I wasn’t speaking of that. I simply don’t recall in my good many years hearing a woman use the precise language you did in the maze.”

“As I told you, I am not usually so indecently free with my demeanor or words. I must insist you forget that weekend.”

He could no more forget it than he could forget the scent of wild lavender in her hair. “I assume you have not found another occasion to use the word piss.”

“I think not.” She glanced at her feet, and he felt her bobble.

“Now would be the time for harsh language after missing a step. It’s completely understandable. And while I’m thinking about it, how many times have you misjudged the distance in a ballroom? Perhaps that’s why you’re unmarried. You may have missed this Season’s best catch.”

“I doubt it. The embarrassing truth is I have accepted a dance with the wrong person one too many times because of a miscommunication with my fan that involved my failing eyes.”

“Failing eyes, hmm. How old are you again?”

“Poo. If we were alone, I’d cuff you.”

A chuckle welled up, catching him off guard. “I would love to see you try.” Before the music stopped, he gracefully withdrew from the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Providing an opportunity.” Unlike the cozy house party, this ball was crowded to the gills, and they were not liable to be missed or noticed when they took the air. The gardens were alight and peppered with couples speaking in low tones and having only eyes for one another. He ditched the central path and pulled her toward a darker corner, knowing from experience they weren’t likely to be found there. Without the help of a moon, the lantern cast a shadow across her lovely face, causing her eyes to look determined and less dreamy. It helped him wrangle in his lustful attraction. No woman had ever offered to punch him, and he felt more than intrigued. He felt exhilarated and alive.

“Why am I following you?”

He looked behind him as he settled on a spot where a bench and a conveniently placed shrub reposed. “Because you’re a curious little mouse looking for cheese.”

“I’m not a mouse. But I do love cheese.”

He swept her behind the bush. “All right, my dear. Take your best shot.”

“My what? You can’t be serious.”

“I disparaged your age, and you won’t do me the honor?” He placed his feet and stretched his arms. “I’m giving you permission. In fact, I’m begging you, Lady Clover. And I rarely beg a woman for anything.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She swept a searching gaze over the length of his body, sucking on her bottom lip. Through the flickering light, her eyes lit with pleasure. “Just Clover, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever you say, just please do your best.” He waved his hands toward his midsection.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he said, a clear invitation in the beat of his voice. His pulse began to race.

“I wouldn’t know how.” The tone of her voice was high with curiosity.

“Ball up your fist.” He emphasized with a demonstration. “And plow through.” He slowly whipped his fist through the air. “Your turn.”

“I’m liable to break a nail on the buttons of your waistcoat.”

Without another thought, he shouldered out of his jacket, pulled off his waistcoat, and unceremoniously tossed them on the bench. “Now,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves. “Quickly, before someone comes. I’m already half undressed.”

She looked behind her, then held his gaze, and he knew.

Clover had never been so tempted in her life. This was one step closer to seeing a boxing match. And zero steps closer to doing the boxing herself—not that she’d want to actually box. But Darrington was a prize. She couldn’t believe he’d disrobed for this. And he was right; they could be discovered. With him in such a state, there would be no question of scandal.

She balled up her fist, bit her lip, and plowed on. Her determination was as hard as his rock-hard body, and he absorbed the impact. He didn’t even flinch. Just gave a quick sigh when her knuckles connected with his midsection. Nothing more. Any harder, and she was liable to hurt herself.

“That wasn’t very good, was it?”

“It was a wonderful, brave try. Now, this time, don’t hesitate. Follow through with your hips.”

“My hips?” That sounded very wicked. Men did not say such words to women.

“Hips, hips,” he emphasized. “My goodness, woman. You said piss just a couple of weeks ago.”

She licked her lips. “How on earth do you follow through with your hips?” The last word came out low.

He sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second. “Loosen up and don’t stand so stiffly. Like this.” He rushed behind her. His excited movements and his commanding voice were intoxicating.

He gripped her arm just under the elbow, wrapped his other arm around her, and folded her hand in a fist. Bay rum and spice assaulted her pulse, and her neck tingled when he breathed close to her ear. But he didn’t seem to notice the way he held her. His hard chest pressed up against her back. She had the urge to back into him, to cocoon herself right there.

Her voice shook a little. “Then what?”

“Straight through. An uppercut.” He pressed her arm forward in a little cutting arc. “Moving your hips in the same direction.” To her grave surprise, his hip pushed her in time to the motion. His leg was just behind her knee. She nearly buckled.

Instead, she giggled, dropping her hand, and to her detriment, he tightened his arm around her waist, doubtless to keep her from falling over.

“And now your opponent has been taken completely off guard because you find him to be no danger to your person.”

“Oh, he’s dangerous, I grant,” the words came out in a chuckle from her throat.

“Hmm.” His lips brushed her ear. “Perhaps a little.” Then, as quickly, he let her go.

She watched in dismay as he rolled his sleeves down, ignoring the cuffs, dressing quickly. “Darrington?”

He looked up at her question while buttoning his garments.

“I want to see a bout.”

“Not possible.”

“Even if you’re the one fighting?”

“Very much not possible,” he said between buttons.

“You disappoint me.” She sighed heavily. “I’m absolutely ruined for dancing now.”

“If we don’t get back in there, we’ll both be ruined.” He finished dressing in a rush, then quickly leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for one of the most invigorating and entertaining evenings I’ve had in a long time. But heed what I say. Do not under any circumstance say a word to your friends and especially the duke.”

She rubbed her hands together and gave a little clap. “What wonderful blackmail fodder.”

He stopped cold, gave her a sideways glance, and cocked a challenging brow. “Oh, my dear Lady Clover. Do not start a fire you are unable to tend.”

She watched his mouth say the words and then stretch into a wicked grin. At the angle he stood, with what little light available from the lampstands, she saw the silver outline of a scar just below his bottom lip. How had she missed that? A good reminder that he was dangerous but not a deterrent. She wanted to see him fight in the ring.