Page 17 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

Once a footman had hesitantly braved the chaos to say luncheon was ready, Rhett’s sisters had each given Peter a kiss on the forehead before filing out of the room. Adelaide hung back, looking as though she had something to tell him, before she sighed, gave a small smile, and followed the girls out.

Rhett needed a moment before he could join them. He needed to process the feelings that had engulfed him as he watched Della sing with his family. It was somewhere around “eight maids a-milking,” when Della was twisting Winnie’s hair into a fierce Viking braid, that he realized he wanted that moment again, and again, and again. Every so often, she’d caught his gaze, and blushed, and bitten her lip, and there’d been a funny little effervescent feeling in his chest that he hoped would never go away.

Della was beautiful. She was kind. Regardless of how bawdy a story he told, she found it hilarious, not distasteful. She was practical in a way he was not used to. And, to be honest, she was practical in a way that he himself was not.

He liked the thought of being with someone who was proficient where he wasn’t, who could teach him to be better. Perhaps he could do the same for her. Just as she’d shown him he was, in fact, capable, he wondered if he could show her it was, in fact, safe for her to let another person into the lighthouse she’d built around herself.

The song had ended, and Della had leaned forward to whisper something in Winnie’s ear. His sister had giggled and whispered something back. That was the merest hint of the vulnerability she could be capable of, if she stayed around long enough.

But with him .

He wanted her to belong with the family as his wife, not his brother’s.

Rhett was slumped in his chair, his feet crossed at the ankles, toes resting on the baseboard of the bed. He looked at Peter, lying there still. Even dressed in nothing but robes, his pallor pale, his expression empty, Peter still looked regal. He had a gravitas Rhett could never, would never, have. His presence commanded attention. It seemed to take up more of the room than his body did.

“I have never wanted your life,” Rhett said to him. “I have wanted the respect people give you without question. I’ve wanted my life to have meaning, as yours does, not that you would know it given my behavior. But I’ve never wanted the things that you have. I don’t want the title, or the estates, or the money. I don’t want this.” He waved at the richly appointed room, at its grandfather clock and dressing bench covered in snuff boxes and cuff links and pins. “It is too large to carry from city to city. I don’t want to inherit it. So, if you could do me a favor and wake, I’d very much appreciate it.”

As expected, Peter didn’t move. He showed no sign of hearing anything Rhett had to say, which, if Rhett was being honest, wasn’t too different from usual. Many times, Rhett had tried to talk with his brother, only to be shut down.

But that was unfair. Rhett had shared nothing even remotely personal with Peter. He’d never mentioned his fear of dying forgotten, as inconsequential in death as he had been in life. There was no way of knowing if Peter would have had a sympathetic ear.

Rhett tried to picture sitting down with his brother in a neutral setting, one stripped of pomp and power, perhaps the local tavern, and telling all the twisted, messy truths that he’d bottled up over a lifetime.

Peter would most likely have reminded Rhett that meaning could be found in the church or in the military. Respect could be found in both too. Both would suffocate him. Surely there was another path yet to be discovered—one that wasn’t the army, or the church, or academia. That also wasn’t floating around the globe with no purpose. Surely there was a way to float and still feel as though he was achieving something important.

“Maybe Della is that something. Showing her the world could be my purpose.”

Peter’s nose twitched, and Rhett jumped.

“Brother, are you waking?” He knelt by the bed and took Peter’s hand, rubbing it within his own to chase the chill from the duke’s skin. “Brother, can you hear me?”

Peter was as still and as silent as stone.

Damn it. He was imagining things. He’d thought about Della and hallucinated Peter’s response because Rhett knew Peter wouldn’t approve of such thoughts. One rarely approved of having their fiancée stolen.

But honestly, who stole from whom?

“I saw her first, you know. I met her the day she ran from Hornsmouth. She was kitted out with enough jewels to put any princess to shame, and she was standing on a wharf, swearing like a fisherwoman. I knew in that moment she was something different.” He’d never met a woman like her. She was real, unaffected, without the airs of their class. She was as close to a kindred spirit as he’d found.

“I saved her life. Did she tell you that? Did she mention that she almost drowned? Of course, she had saved my life just seconds beforehand. This might sound sappy and illogical, but I think she is still saving it. She sees me in a way no one else does. She assumes I am capable and that I am good, as though the possibility of my being a useless, irresponsible wastrel hasn’t crossed her mind. When I’m with her, I feel as though I’m everything she thinks I am.”

He held his breath. He’d just declared his feelings for Della to the man who planned to marry her. Peter was used to getting what he wanted. Surely, if anything would wake him, it would be the opportunity to whup Rhett’s arse for Rhett’s temerity.

Still, there was no response.

The maelstrom of fear and guilt and grief in his stomach swirled, its edges creeping like bile up his throat. He gripped his brother’s hand. “If you choose not to wake, I promise to take care of her. I promise to take care of them all. I may not know what I’m doing, and I can’t promise not to bollocks it up entirely at first, but I have Andrew to help me, and Meg, and Della. I will learn, and I will make you proud.”

Rhett swallowed back the lump in his throat. “And if you choose to wake—which, gods, I hope you do—please let me have her. You could have any woman in England. Women would murder their husbands for the chance to be your duchess.”

It was true. Women had lied and schemed just for the opportunity to meet Peter.

“I know Della was conveniently placed, and that you didn’t have to do anything to find her. I know that’s ideal for you. But I have been looking for her for years, without even realizing it. I have scoured the globe for her. In every room I enter, I have looked for her. Please, please wake. And when you do, please, brother, let her choose me.”