Page 11 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

Good Lord, embroidery was ridiculous. Adelaide would much rather have stockings to mend or a dress to cut down and reshape. These constant stitches for no purpose other than to look pretty might keep her hands busy, but her eyes and mind were left to wander to the two men in front of her.

There might be a way to wake the duke. It wasn’t ideal; she couldn’t do it on her own, and if it worked, she would have company when the duke woke. Lord only knew what kind of quickstepping she’d have to do in that situation. But sitting here, doing nothing useful, chafed. It gave her far too much time to study the honeyed curl of Rhett’s hair, the way his long fingers drummed against the arm of the chair he lazed in, the cut of his trousers tight along his muscled thighs.

Adelaide squirmed. She’d seen more of the world than most people. She’d watched men in Italy, Prussia, even the Middle East. There were handsome specimens everywhere—tall, lean, and hard, with chiseled jaws and smoldering eyes. There were shifts in appearance across the continent, and she had appreciated the beauty in every change, but no man had stirred her the way Rhett did. Heat hadn’t flashed over her skin, her insides hadn’t clenched, there’d been no warmth pooling between her legs.

She certainly hadn’t been moved to drop her guard, even if it was only for a moment.

Good God. She needed to do something productive, or she needed to leave. Staring at him was leading to madness.

“I have an idea.”

“You have a what now?” Rhett looked up, his hazel eyes smoldering.

Ignore it, Adelaide. Pay no mind to the stupid, distracting flip-flop of your belly. “To wake your brother. I have an idea. It’s a long shot, but it might work.”

His brow creased, and he leaned forward. “I’m listening.”

“He needs to move. His body is as stagnant as his brain is. Perhaps if we get the first moving, the latter will too.” It made sense, according to her admittedly rudimentary understanding of the circulatory system. The more one moved, the faster one’s heart beat, the more oxygen traveled to the brain. It was why she’d gotten so lightheaded running with the bulls in Pamplona.

Rhett cocked his head. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“We get him out of bed. Walk him around the room.” A walk outside would be better, but she had no desire to maneuver an unconscious body down and up three flights of stairs.

Rhett snorted. “Walk him? Like a dog?”

In her mind, it was more like a horse with colic, but sure, a dog. Whatever. “Walk him, drag him, get his blood flowing in some manner.”

He looked at her as though she’d suddenly sprouted six heads, leaning back in his chair as if one of those heads would bite. “That sounds like lunacy.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

He snorted again. “No, and I’m quite taken with this one, to be honest. Peter would hate it.”

Most people would hate being manhandled, but when there were no other options, one had to be practical. “Well, then. Let’s give it a go. It can’t hurt.” She stood and tugged sharply at the duke’s blankets.

Oh.

Her ears burned immediately. That same embarrassed heat crept across her chest. Someone had changed the duke since yesterday. Under the blankets, he was wearing only a thin nightshirt, untied, his graying chest hair on display, and his legs were naked below mid-thigh. The fabric was so thin and so soft that it settled across his waist and crotch like a whisper, obscuring nothing . Adelaide caught a fairly good impression of the duke’s, ahem, member before she turned away, her gaze colliding directly with Rhett’s smirk.

“First time seeing your fiancé’s assets? Do they live up to your expectations?”

She swallowed, trying desperately to seem unaffected. Still, she couldn’t help her gaze traveling south, toward Rhett’s waistband and below. Were both the Montgomery brothers so well-endowed?

“The duke’s assets are perfectly fine,” she said, once she trusted her voice not to break. “I’m sure he can put them to good use.”

Rhett’s eyes narrowed.

Why the devil did you say that? Great work making an already awkward situation worse, Adelaide.

He was annoyed. If she didn’t know better, she would venture as far as jealous . “My brother has been a veritable monk for years. I’m not sure his assets continue to work.”

She snorted. “Well, I dare say that of the two of you, his are less likely to be worn-out.”

Fuck, Adelaide. You do not need to voice every thought that comes to mind. What was it about this man that loosened her tongue?

Loosened your tongue for all sorts of purposes. Her already-burning cheeks ignited, and she fanned herself. Double fuck, Adelaide. Control your thoughts.

If Rhett noticed her increased embarrassment, he didn’t show it. “ Nothing is worn-out, thank you very much.” There was ire in his tone.

“If you say so,” she said primly, trying to ignore the desire to say prove it . “Here, help me lift him.” Adelaide circled the bed until she was standing opposite the only conscious lord in the room. She leaned over the duke, one arm lifting his shoulder, the other shoving behind his back. Rhett sighed and did the same. Against the duke’s nightshirt, their fingers touched. She would have sprung away from him if she could, if the deadweight of an unconscious man didn’t have her practically pinned.

“On the count of three,” she said, gritting her teeth against the discomfort of Rhett’s touch. “One, two, three.” They heaved until the duke was sitting upright, but the momentum was too much. First his head tipped forward, and then his torso, until the duke’s own head was squished in his lap.

“Huh,” Adelaide said. “He’s remarkably flexible.”

Rhett snickered. “I wonder if he could, you know, to himself.”

She furrowed her brow. What the devil was he talking about? Before she was forced to admit her confusion, he crudely popped a tongue into the side of his cheek.

“Oh. Oh. ” She shook her head. It was a gesture Adelaide knew well. One didn’t spend as much time in taverns as she had without learning the different cultural references for fellatio.

She laughed before catching herself and switching back into her Cordelia mask. “That was a grossly inappropriate thing to say in front of a lady. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Apologies, my lady,” he replied. Funnily enough, it didn’t sound at all like an apology.

Adelaide circled the bed. “Let’s try to do this without the lewd commentary, shall we?” But what Rhett had said couldn’t be unsaid, and she wondered if it was, in fact, possible for a man to, you know, to himself. Wouldn’t that be convenient? Women were limited to their own fingers, and while they could get the job done, they certainly didn’t compare to a skilled tongue.

Rhett crouched next to the bed and laid one of the duke’s arms across his shoulders. Adelaide leaned over and took hold of the other.

“ Sur le compte de trois ,” Rhett said, waggling his eyebrows. “Vous parlez francais, n’est-ce pas? La plupart des dames le font.”

Once more, Adelaide got the feeling that she was being tested. “Yes, I speak French. It’s a mandatory subject in all finishing schools.”

Rhett hmph ed. “Just curious.”

It wasn’t just curiosity, though. He didn’t trust her. Nor should he. That first afternoon when they’d met had revealed the truth—she was not a lady of the ton , however she might have been dressed, and she was going to have to work hard to change his mind now.

She smiled prettily as they hoisted the duke into a standing position. “Mochtest du auch mein Deutsch testen? An mea Latinus?”

Rhett raised an eyebrow. “German and Latin? That must have been one exceptional finishing school.”

Damn it, Adelaide. Too far. “I’ve always had an interest in languages,” she said, trying to cover her misstep.

“Odd. Most young women are more interested in less cerebral hobbies.”

She raised her own eyebrow. “Are you calling women stupid?”

Rhett flushed. If he could have hidden behind his brother, Adelaide rather thought he would have. “No. Of course not. I have three sisters, two of whom could run intellectual rings around me. I’m simply saying that in my experience, young ladies are more interested in gossip and ladder climbing than they are in languages.”

She shifted under the weight of the duke’s arm. “I have no interest in ladder climbing.” She didn’t need a husband. All she needed was enough money to lease her tiny home, a place where she could stay forever if she wished. If she could convince the duke not to press charges against Cordelia, she would have that. A husband would only complicate things. The romance would end as they inevitably do, yet she would still be stuck with that person for the rest of her days.

Rhett reached across to prop his brother’s head upright. It fell backward, the duke’s mouth hanging open like a Japanese koi fish searching for food. “All young ladies are preoccupied with the ton ’s hierarchy,” Rhett said, frowning and tugging on a lock of the duke’s hair.

“And I am at the top of it,” she replied sounding as much like Cordelia as she could. “I am a duke’s daughter. There are no more rungs left for me to climb. Now, shall we continue? Enas. Dyo. Tría.”

Rhett held up a hand. “What are we doing on the count?”

“We walk,” Adelaide said with some effort, gripping onto the arm that hung over her shoulder. The duke was heavier than he looked, a deadweight threatening to make her fall. And she wasn’t even bearing all the duke’s weight. Rhett was grimacing under the strain of his half.

“Righto.”

As they stepped forward, the duke’s legs remained where they were. After a few more steps, they reached the point where the duke’s toes dragged on the ground behind them and his head hung forward. What little support he’d had for his own weight was gone, and Adelaide’s knees almost buckled. Still, with a grunt, they continued until they were at the wall.

“Now we turn,” she said. But how the devil will we do that?

“This is ridiculous. If only Peter were awake to feel the weight of his humiliation.”

“If your brother was awake, that would solve so many issues.” And create new ones, like Adelaide’s need to plead for mercy on Cordelia’s behalf. “How do we turn him?”

Rhett closed the gap between himself and the wall, leaning his back against it, shifting so that his brother effectively leaned on him. The duke’s face was buried in Rhett’s neck; Rhett’s arms wrapped around his waist to keep him upright.

“Aw. Sweet, brotherly affection,” Adelaide said, leaning forward with her hands on her thighs, panting, grateful for the brief respite from the load.

“Hilarious. What do we do now?”

“He’s heavier than I expected. I could get your sisters.”

“No. They would not help. They’d stand there and taunt me.”

Adelaide stood, arms akimbo. “Why would they do that?”

Rhett scowled. “You are an only child. You would not understand. Could we simply drop him here? Perhaps the loss of dignity will jolt him into consciousness. He couldn’t bear to become a pile of nightshirt and bare limbs.”

“We can’t leave him on the floor.” She needed the duke to feel kindly toward her when she asked for his forgiveness.

“Then let’s take him back to the bed.”

Sending him back to bed would achieve nothing. The duke would still be unconscious, and she would be stuck here, waiting for him, distracted by his impossibly good-looking brother. If the duke didn’t wake up, Cordelia risked going to gaol for murder, and Adelaide would never have the home she wanted. She shook her head resolutely. “We’ve barely given this time to work,”

“It will not work.” Rhett was becoming exasperated. “The concept is sound, but he isn’t doing the moving; we are. The only blood rushing is ours.”

Adelaide rubbed her temples, trying to ease the tension forming there. “You’re right. We need his limbs to be functioning.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” He shifted against the wall, and the duke shifted with him. He tightened his arms to prevent his brother from toppling over. The teasing expression he’d worn earlier hardened.

Adelaide scanned the room for a solution. The embroidery Cordelia had given her was still by the bed, but that couldn’t help. The only other items in the room were a few chairs, a dressing table, a wardrobe, and a lamp.

“Hang on a second,” she said. She threw the wardrobe door open. There, neatly folded, was a stack of scarves. She grabbed as many as she could.

“Ditching me for a stroll outside in this weather? Craven woman.”

“Ha ha.” Adelaide dropped to her haunches and looped one scarf around Rhett’s ankle.

“What are you doing?”

She tightened the scarf around the duke’s ankle, binding the two brothers together.

“Whoa. What are you doing?”

She looped a second scarf around their knees, making sure the knot was tight. “When you move, he moves. You will be as one.”

Rhett rolled his eyes. “You realize I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to get distance from the duke?”

“And yet here you are at his bedside. Look how far all that running has gotten you.” Her cheeks flushed as she reached between Rhett’s thighs. His cream-colored trousers were tight and left little to the imagination.

“I wasn’t running. I wanted to find myself.”

She tugged the knot tight. “Did you find yourself, my lord, amongst the saloons of Europe? Did the wine and the women guide your way?”

Rhett looked at her askance. Of course he would. Young ladies might hear such gossip; they might even whisper of it to their friends, but they would never confront a man about it directly. Damn it, Adelaide.

“No. Not yet.” He gave her a wry smile. “That is why I must get back the moment my brother is well. My raison d’être lies somewhere across the seas.”

“If years of traveling hasn’t led you to discover your purpose, perhaps the path is not on the continent. Perhaps it’s right here.”

Rhett snorted. “Unlikely. Now, are you finished?”

There were only enough scarves to tie the two men’s legs together. The duke was currently slumped over Rhett’s shoulder, head against the wall.

“When we move, his arms and torso are going to go flailing. They always do,” Rhett said. “I won’t be able to keep him upright on my own.”

Adelaide smiled. “Do you have a lot of practice moving unconscious bodies?” She, herself, had only ever moved a couple and even then, they were passed-out drunks spread-eagled with a person holding each limb. This was an entirely different endeavor, and she would take whatever insight Rhett had.

“I have some experience. There was one night in Moscow…”

“Dead body or unconscious?”

Rhett grimaced. “Unconscious, but you’re probably best off not knowing the details.”

Adelaide tsk ed. “You won’t tell me your deepest secrets?”

“Will you tell me yours?”

She shook her head. She didn’t even share the shallowest of them if she could help it. Already, he’d drawn too much from her. She’d never discussed her father with anyone.

“Well, since I won’t be solving the mystery that is Lady Cordelia Highwater, let’s get back to work.” The words were said jovially, but she could sense his disappointment.

Rhett hooked an arm under each of his brother’s shoulders in a giant bear hug and took a step away from the wall. The duke immediately sagged at the waist, his almost-bare arse sinking toward the floor. His cock flopped forward, clearly visible from behind, and Adelaide tried not to look. Rhett stumbled, and she raced to prop the two of them up with her hands firmly on the duke’s shoulders.

“You’ll have to do more than that. Hold him around the middle.”

Adelaide wrinkled her nose. She could hardly refuse. This had been her idea. Trying her damnedest not to blush, she placed both hands on the duke’s arse cheeks and pushed upward until he was flush with his brother.

Rhett grimaced, clearly as uncomfortable as she was.

She wrapped her arms around both of their waists, interlocking her fingers against the band of Rhett’s trousers. A hot spark grazed her fingers where the warmth of his body met hers. When she looked past the duke’s shoulders, she saw a flush creep up Rhett’s neck. He was staring at her the way a lion watched his prey, like he wanted to devour her. Like he’d stared at her the day they met. He’d been a gentleman. He’d adverted his gaze whenever he could, but he’d not been able to hide the smoldering in his eyes. It had made her feel beautiful and powerful and shaky with lust.

“It is hot in here, isn’t it? It’s not just me?”

Rhett swallowed and nodded. “Let’s just move.”

“All right. One. Two. Three.” They both stepped forward into each other, the duke squeezed in the middle, before they both stepped back and almost tumbled. “We’ll go left first,” Adelaide said once she’d regained her balance. “One. Two. Three.”

Once again, they both moved in opposite directions and almost fell as the duke’s body weight exaggerated the mismatch in balance.

“ Merde ,” Adelaide swore before she could stop herself.

Rhett raised an eyebrow. “Your finishing school must’ve had a curious curriculum.”

“Our French teacher had a colorful vocabulary when she was upset. Now, will you just follow my instructions?”

“You said left,” Rhett said indignantly.

“Why would you assume I meant your left instead of mine?”

Rhett frowned. “I… uh.”

“Because everyone always defers to the son of a duke.”

He scowled. “You speak as though you’re not the daughter of a duke.”

Damn it, Adelaide. You need to be more careful. He will trip you up. “It was a comment about your sex, not your breeding.”

“Of course.” But once again, he didn’t believe her. His tone was placating, not accepting.

“Let’s just get moving.” The sooner this exercise succeeded or failed, the sooner she could get out of there. “ My left, on three.”

This time, they moved in synchronicity, taking small steps toward the window. Each time Rhett lifted his foot, he did so exaggeratedly—a kind of high-step march that looked ridiculous and made it bloody difficult to balance the deadweight between them, but it was sensible, given the point of the exercise was to get as much of the duke’s blood pumping as possible.

After reaching the window, the bed, and the window again, Rhett huffed. “How long do we need to do this for?”

“Ten minutes should be sufficient. If your brother hasn’t woken by then, then the exercise is clearly not working.”

“Ten minutes.” Rhett rolled his shoulders and shifted so the duke was leaning across his other shoulder. “Then you are going to have to entertain me, Lady Cordelia. Distract me from the fact that in all my years of life, I’ve never been this close to a man in his bedclothes.”

“But you’ve been this close to a man out of his bedclothes?”

“Well, there was this one time in Munich,” he said, starting his high-step march toward the bed once again. “Actually, at least thrice in Munich… Every September, it hosts this enormous celebration.”

Adelaide snorted as memories of previous Oktoberfests played through her mind. “Last year, they put one of the carnival tents near a brewery tent,” she said. “Did you know elephants were so fond of beer?”

“You saw that?” Rhett stopped with no warning. Adelaide’s grip on the duke faltered as she kept going. “Damnation,” he said. “All I saw was the aftermath. Entire caravans trampled, monkeys loose, clowns trying to put the tent back together despite being too drunk to stand.”

Oh, the clowns. If it weren’t for the furious screaming of the ringmaster in the middle of the street, Adelaide would have thought it was a skit, the way they continually fell, pulling the tent down on top of themselves. She was about to say just that when she caught herself. Lady Cordelia had never left England, let alone attended Oktoberfest.

“I didn’t see it. Though I would have loved to. I read about it in a travelogue.”

“Oh, of course. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Rhett’s expression fell, as though he’d been looking forward to reminiscing.

“I, for one, would like to have seen the expression of the farmer who rolled home from the event to find an elephant stripping his cherry tree. How would we even attempt to catch such a creature?”

“You would attempt to catch it? Truthfully?”

“You would not?”

“ I would try to catch it, if only to have a good story to tell. But I would not expect a young woman to do so.”

Adelaide continued to shuffle backward, trying not to fall. “Well, perhaps not all young ladies are so straitlaced. Some of us are more than capable of catching elephants, metaphorically. Perhaps next Oktoberfest, if I’m out that way.”

His brows furrowed, and she realized she’d slipped. “That is assuming my third cousin, the crown prince, extends an invitation.”

Rhett narrowed his eyes. “You are a singular woman, Della. Your contradictions intrigue me.”

Was that an accusation or a compliment? Either way, this lie that Cordelia had dropped her in kept expanding, and as it did, it was no longer just Cordelia’s lie. Every time Adelaide embellished it, it belonged more fully to her. Her mind flew back to her father, to their midnight departures whenever his lies caught up to them. She had never wanted to be like him, yet here she was, lying to someone she genuinely liked. Her lies were not little and white. They would have consequences. They would cause hurt when the truth came out. Perhaps there was a way to resolve the situation that would still save Cordelia’s reputation without further compromising who Adelaide was.

“Are any of us honestly what we present ourselves as?” she whispered.

Rhett remained silent, waiting.

“The truth of the matter is—”

A loud gasp cut through the air. “What are you doing?” Margaret, Jacqueline, and Edwina stood in the doorway, their eyes wide, hands to their mouths.

It wasn’t a total overreaction. The scene must look somewhat odd. Adelaide and Rhett were practically embracing, her fingers locked at his waistband, him staring at her intently. Between them was the duke in naught but his bedclothes, hung against his brother like a sack of potatoes.

“It was her idea,” Rhett said, levering the duke’s body onto hers and stepping back. He’d forgotten about the scarves, though. First, he fell to the floor, then his momentum brought his brother crashing down on top of him. Adelaide tried to slow the duke’s body, to minimize its impact. All that did was bring her down onto them both.

“Oof. Ow. Bloody hell.” At the bottom of the pile of limbs and torsos, Rhett groaned.

With the help of his sisters, Adelaide scrambled off the two men. In the process, the duke’s nightshirt shifted, leaving his bare arse exposed to the room.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” Edwina said. “We do not need to see this.”

Margaret bobbed down to tug on her brother’s clothes, giving him a modicum of privacy. “Everett Montgomery, our brother is sick . He needs rest and care, not to be part of one of your irresponsible pranks. How could you? At a time like this?”

“It was not a…” He tried to shuffle his way out from under his brother, but between the duke’s weight and the bindings at their legs, he was well trapped.

“It was not a prank, and Lord Everett is right, it was my idea,” Adelaide said, quickly working on the knotted scarves.

The sisters stood, arms akimbo, skeptical looks on their faces.

“We were trying to boost his circulatory system. The blood flows around the body and to the brain, so we thought that if we could get him moving, blood might flow more freely.” She released the last of the knots and stood.

Jacqueline gave her a long, assessing stare. “That sounds like it makes sense. What an interesting idea. How did you learn so much about the human body?”

The real Cordelia knew nothing of the human body other than what she could see, and judge, on the outside. She took no interest in anything other than gossip and the acceptable pastimes of a young woman. Adelaide had never seen her with a novel, let alone a newspaper or a work of nonfiction. There was no good reason for her to understand the circulatory system.

“It was just a guess,” Adelaide said weakly.

Rhett grunted again, still spread-eagled on the floor, unable to move. “If you lot are quite finished?”

“Sorry, brother.” Between the four of them, the girls rolled the duke to the side, only barely maintaining his modesty. Rhett dragged in several deep breaths.

Edwina shook her head. “Peter is going to kill you when he wakes. You know that, don’t you?”