How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(73)

“To Ruthven’s next, wife?” he asked as he tucked her arm into his and smiled down at her.

They’d agreed to Daughtry’s request that they stop by the office and allow him and the clerks to offer them well wishes and celebrate their nuptials in some small way.

After handing her up into a hansom cab and helping to wrestle the many layers of her gown and petticoats into the carriage, Gabe climbed up beside her and immediately began unfastening the buttons of her gloves as the vehicle rolled toward Ruthven’s. Once he had her arms free, he lifted one hand and then the other for kisses.

“A new scent,” he said as he applied his tongue to where her pulse hummed in her wrist.

“Orange blossom for weddings.”

“So you do attend to etiquette after all.”

“Just this once,” she said on a gasp when he leaned close to kiss her neck. Clary braced her hand against his thigh and felt the hard length of him through his trousers. She moved her hand closer, running her fingers over his heat.

He groaned against her neck as she explored. “Perhaps we should skip Ruthven’s and go home.”

Clary lifted her hand and turned to kiss him. “We can’t. We promised Daughtry.” Another kiss, and she took care where she placed her hands. “Besides, it’s a short ride.”

Gabe drew in a sharp breath as he straightened. “Feels like forever to me.”

Yet a moment later, the cab pulled to a stop in front of Ruthven’s, and Daughtry stepped onto the pavement as if he’d been watching for their arrival.

“Oh, happy day,” he shouted, clapping his hands.

Gabe stepped down first and helped Clary—and her enormous gown—out of the carriage. After allowing Daughtry a quick embrace, they entered the workroom to the whoops and cheers of the clerks inside. Someone had engineered a bucket of confetti to be strung from the ceiling and the whole fluttered around them as they stepped deeper into the room.

Clary laughed and tried to catch a few squares of the light paper as it floated down. Gabe watched her with a smile, though when she turned to him, he feigned a glower. “Someone will have to clean up all of this, you know.”

One of the clerks laughed, and Gabe pointed at him. The boy he’d bested in the ring a couple of weeks earlier had been hired on as their newest clerk. “I elect you for cleanup duty, Simkins.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said with a mock salute.

Another leaned in and chimed, “Does that mean you’re boss of Ruthven’s again, sir?”

Clary took Gabe’s hand in hers. “He certainly is.” She ignored Gabe’s arched-brow gaze. The matter was one they’d yet to fully resolve. He freely admitted how much he missed Ruthven’s, but then guilt would rise up, and he’d insist on finding employment on his own. Though she hadn’t worked out all the details with Kit, Gabe had at least agreed to resume his role for the time being.

Clary had ideas about what might come next.

“The tea shop has spoiled us today,” Daughtry said behind them as he gestured toward the spot near the workroom where they’d brought a table out, covered the length in a pretty lace-edged cloth, and decorated every inch with platters and teacups and plates. In the center sat a large silver urn, steaming at the top, and Clary could smell the tea shop’s signature Earl Grey brew from across the room.

“Shall we tuck in?” she asked the gathered clerks, and they headed off to fill plates in reply.

Gabe never took his hands off her as they chatted, partook of tea and sandwiches, and accepted well wishes from each and every man. Clary was grateful for his breach in etiquette, relishing the way he rested a hand on her lower back or linked his fingers with hers.

When the last employee filed out and they’d locked the doors behind them, Gabe led her into his office. The door had been shut, and when they pushed inside, the scent of books and leather and a faint whisper of his cologne made Clary smile.

“All is just as I left it,” he said wonderingly.

“I made sure of that.” She squeezed his hand. “As far as I’m concerned, this is your space and no one else’s.”

“In that case, I’m welcome to do whatever I like in here?”

“Of course.” Though if Clary had her wish, the row of Ruthven Rules books would be the first to go.

Judging by the structure of the workroom, they could probably expand the walls of the office to make the space bigger. Which fit quite nicely with her idea. “Actually—”

“Come here, wife,” he said from where he’d planted himself against the closed door. He’d shed his suit coat, waistcoat, and tie, folding them neatly on the visitor chair, and he’d unfastened the top buttons of his shirt.

The patch of skin between his parted white collar made her mouth water. She went to him, lifted onto her toes, and kissed the spot, dipping her tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat to taste his skin. He made quick work of her coiffure, gently easing out pins and collecting them in his palm. He laid them on top of his folded clothes before running his fingers through her tresses. When his hand slid down the length of her hair, he didn’t stop. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her against him.

“Here? In the office?”

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth before soothing the nip with kisses. “Here. Now.”