Page 2 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

England smelled different. Everett Montgomery—Monty to his friends, Rhett to his family, that rogue Montgomery boy to the grand dames of the ton , and plain old sir to the people he’d met during his five years on the continent—noticed the scent immediately. There was a sourness to London docks other cities didn’t have. On the continent, a wharf was synonymous with the sharp smell of saltwater, a brisk breeze, and a sense of hope.

The Thames carried with it the scent of the refuse that floated scum-like on the surface of the river. There was no breeze; the air hung heavy, and Rhett had little sense of hope. He’d been summoned home by his brother, the Duke of Strafford, ostensibly to spend Christmas with the family, but Rhett knew better. He’d been summoned to account for his behavior.

To ensure that Rhett actually returned, the duke had cut off his finances. So here Rhett was, back in jolly, freezing old England.

“Bloody ’ell, Montgomery. Get out of the bleedin’ way.” The ship’s bosun stood with two of the crew, a ripped sail furled and balanced on their shoulders.

“If you’d won the last hand of piquet, I would help you with that.” Getting under the skin of Pat, the crew’s third in command, had been Rhett’s primary source of entertainment as they’d sailed across the North Sea.

The bosun frowned. “I thought the duke was waitin’ for you. Shouldn’t you get goin’?”

“The duke can wait.” Not for that long, though.

Rhett was willing to prod at his brother’s limits, but he was too reliant on his quarterly allowance to poke too hard. If he angered his brother, he might very well be forced into work. He shuddered. He was not cut out for the dull, dutiful existence of a clergyman, but a life in the military—its structure and rules and hierarchy—was not a life for him either.

No, he had to meet his brother displaying an appropriate amount of chagrin and with a good argument for why his adventures on the continent should continue. Maybe he could say he was writing a book or getting a hands-on foundation of geopolitical issues for a future, not-ever-really-going-to-happen-for-a-man-like-him career in politics.

“His lordship might wait,” Pat said, “but we won’t. Get movin’!”

Rhett looked over his shoulder. Behind him the entire crew was waiting, arms full of cargo, for him to get off the bloody ship. Every man but the bosun was rolling his eyes or sniggering at his reluctance to set foot on English soil.

“It was a pleasure, gentlemen.” Rhett saluted the men he’d eaten, gossiped, and gambled with for the past week. Then, when Pat’s frown deepened further, he grabbed the bosun’s face and planted a firm kiss on his cheek before skipping out of reach.

The crew cheered, and Pat’s cheeks turned bright red, but with a sail on his shoulder, he had no way of clipping Rhett behind the ears, an admonishment that had played out a dozen times in the past few days.

Rhett laughed, hoisted his pack on his shoulder, and walked the gangplank with a swagger that belied his nerves. However lighthearted he might try to appear, the upcoming confrontation with Peter weighed heavy. If he didn’t play it just right, his fun on the continent would be over.

Rhett scanned the dock for the ship’s captain so he could say his goodbyes and give his thanks. The grizzled older man was just at the edge of the gangplank, arguing with the most stunning woman in existence . Damn.

Rhett was an expert in the fairer sex. He’d wooed women in France and Spain, Germany and Italy, even as far away as Russia. But never had he set eyes on a woman as beautiful as the one who was currently waving a finger in the ship captain’s face. Her strawberry blonde hair, locks of which had escaped her boring chignon, could be Scottish or Irish. Her delicate features could be French. Her bold stance and wild gestures reminded him of Mediterranean women.

He’d escaped England to see all the beauties Europe offered. How ironic that the most beautiful of them all had been waiting for him back home, looking completely out of place—a perfect bloom amid the mud and trash and dead fish for sale.

Instead of continuing down the jetty toward the wharf, he veered toward her instead, placing himself at the captain’s shoulder. Up close, she was even more magnificent. Her blue eyes flashed like the excess of jewels sewn into her dress, which caught the morning sun and refracted rainbows onto the dark and dirty docks. She had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks—an unusual sight in a highborn woman, but one that made his fingers itch to trace them. Long, deep red lashes framed her eyes.

“We can finance our passage at twice your usual fare,” she said. “We need only a few hours to have the blunt ready.”

The captain crossed his arms in the same bullish stance he used when Rhett, or any of his actual subordinates, got caught messing about. “I dunnae care for the blunt. I willnae have unmarried women aboard my ship.”

The vision was unmarried. Huh. Surprisingly, that made his day better. Married women, especially those who were shackled to old men, were more fun. Their affections were more free than those of young women on the marriage mart. But he was illogically pleased that no one had claimed this beauty as their own.

“Only unmarried women are forbidden?” The chit appeared to swell with anger, though when Rhett looked down, he could see she’d simply risen onto the balls of her feet and leaned forward. “You superstitious jackass. You cannot truly believe my sister and I would be bad luck.”

“Bad luck, bad juju, ill fortune. Whatever way ye wish to describe it, yer nae coming aboard. I willnae anger the seas.”

The woman huffed; a lock of hair got caught in her breath, flying upward. “But if we were men, you would allow us onboard?”

“Aye. If ye were men. Or if ye had husbands to accompany ye and ward off any tempting thoughts my men might have.”

She stood still for a moment, inhaling deeply as though she was preparing to breathe fire. “Damn you, you gullible prick.”

The captain turned white. Even Rhett was taken aback by such language coming from a young, well-bred woman. Taken aback, but bizarrely aroused.

She shifted, as though done with this conversation and ready to leave. Before she could, Rhett grasped her elbow, ignoring the frisson of energy that shot through his fingertips. “Can I be of service, my lady?” Any kind of service? There were a hundred ways he could think of to serve her.

The young woman pursed her lips. Her gaze arrested him entirely. “Do you have the authority to force Captain Jenkins to let me on his ship?”

Rhett looked back over his shoulder to where Jenkins was glowering. “I do not have that power, no.”

“Do you have a boat of your own that can take my sister and me to France?”

“I, uh… No I don’t, my lady. However…”

She raised a hand to cut him off. “Then you cannot be of service.”

Her dismissal should not have cut the way it did. People had been dismissing Rhett his entire life. He was the second son of whom no one expected anything, and that had created a thick skin.

But her words pierced through it, drawing blood, as did the way she turned back to the captain as though Rhett wasn’t worth thinking about. “Are there any captains who don’t share your ridiculous superstitions?”

Jenkins brought a hand to his eyes and peered at the long line of ships that were tied to the wharf. “None that are sailing today.”

Rhett nudged the captain with an elbow. “My lady,” he murmured and then threw the woman his most charismatic smile, the one that never failed to make a woman snap open her fan, the one that was sure to win her over.

She didn’t flutter her lashes or go pink at the cheeks. Instead, she rolled her eyes, blew the loose strand of hair from her face, and looked to the heavens. “Lord save me from—” Her eyes widened, and she stepped forward, grabbing him by his lapels.

Well, all right. Unexpected, but I’ll take it. He reciprocated her embrace, catching her by her waist. As he did, there was a yell from above, and she threw all of her weight into spinning them away from the gangplank.

He was vaguely aware of the giant barrel that whooshed past his head and the splintering of wood exactly where he had been standing. He tried to right himself, but the turn was unexpected, and the press of her body against his had his balance off-kilter.

Together, they stumbled. He held onto her when he should have let go. He could see what was about to happen but had no way of preventing it.

They tumbled into the filth that was the Thames.

He should’ve closed his mouth. He should’ve worn a coat that was less heavy. He definitely should have expected her ear-piercing shriek.

“Why, you miserable cur.” She gagged and then spat. He prepared himself for a further, well deserved, tongue-lashing, but the outrage on her face turned to panic. Her head bobbed lower in the icy water. She moved her arms frantically, but it took a moment before he realized she could not free her legs from her voluminous skirts. She was kicking and kicking, but she was going down anyway.

It took four strokes to reach her. She latched onto him, trying to push herself up using his shoulders, but all that did was push him under. It took but a second for them both to go down.

He couldn’t see through the muck, but his hand collided with what was definitely a well-formed breast, and he wrapped an arm around her chest. His lungs and eyes burned. He used all his power to kick him, her, and her ridiculously heavy gown to the surface.

When they surfaced, she was spluttering and gagging. The men on the deck had thrown out a rope, and Rhett pushed her toward it.

She grabbed hold with desperate hands, and the men on the jetty towed her to shore. Once they’d hoisted her from the water, they stood back, offering handkerchiefs and wine from a distance, the latter of which she uncorked and drank directly from the bottle.

There was no rope thrown for Rhett. His legs were tiring from the additional weight of his sodden clothes and shoes. “I’ll just make it back on my own, then, shall I?”

Adelaide heaved in breath after breath, choking and spluttering each time. She could kiss whoever thought to give her a bottle of cheap red wine, the bitter taste of tannins and strong oak going some distance toward masking the sour filth of river water that was at the back of her throat and up her nose. She could even feel it in her ears.

She accepted a handkerchief from a sailor, who remained as far from her as he could. Adelaide didn’t blame him. She’d never smelled worse in her life.

As she blew her nose to clear out all the muck, a body crashed to the ground beside her. Him. She balled her fists by instinct. The bastard had almost killed her. If he had simply released her before he fell, then her lungs wouldn’t now be on fire. She wouldn’t be freezing. She wouldn’t have pulled a muscle in her shoulder trying to fight Cordelia’s skirts. She wouldn’t smell like the lavatory of a dockside inn.

She turned to him, ready to unleash her fury, but stopped when she saw him roll over onto his side, his coughs still ejecting splatters of water, his eyes closed, and his muscles limp as though they’d exerted all the energy they were capable of and had given up.

Merde, Adelaide. You can’t yell at a man in this state. Even if he did almost kill you. Besides, technically, he had also saved her. One might not completely erase the other, but it counted for something. She wiped a sodden lock of hair out of his eyes. “Sir? Are you okay?”

His coughing had stopped. His entire countenance was now limp. His lips were the palest shade of purple, and panic shot through her.

“Sir…?”

The ship’s captain cleared his throat. “Montgomery,” he said. “Everett Montgomery.”

Adelaide leaned over him, cupping his head in her hand. “Mr. Montgomery, can you hear me? Are you alive?” She leaned closer to feel for breath. That was when he opened his eyes, when her lips were two inches from his and her gaze could go nowhere but to him.

“No,” he rasped. “I am certainly dead. For what other explanation can there be for the sight in front of me but that she is an angel?”

“Oh, good God.” Adelaide pushed away from him. “He’s perfectly fine.”

The ship’s captain was shaking his head. The crowd of sailors sniggered.

“I wouldn’t say perfectly fine,” Everett said as he sat upright. “My boots are ruined, and all the effort I put into styling my hair this morning was completely wasted.”

“Well, that is what you deserve for dragging me into the river.” There was an uncomfortable flip-flop in her chest—not the good flip-flop she usually felt in the presence of handsome men like him. It was a wet and slimy flip-flop. Oh no. Oh, please no. There was something in her dress.

Mr. Montgomery clearly hadn’t noticed her panic—despite the fact that she was gagging—given he continued to argue with her. “ You were the catalyst for that dunking,” he said, “given you were the one who pushed me off-balance.”

Damn the man. Damn both creatures, the one squirming between her breasts and the one in front of her. “To save your life,” she said as she reached a hand down her bodice. Ack. It was cold and squishy. With a churning stomach, she grasped it and yanked it away from her, tossing it at Mr. Montgomery’s feet. “You would have been killed by that barrel had I not acted.”

He shifted backward, nudging the wormlike creature with his toe. “Which might have been preferable, to be honest. At least if I’d been flattened like a human meat patty, I would not be covered in filth.” His teeth chattered and Adelaide handed him the half-empty bottle of wine.

The ship’s captain cleared his throat. “You both seem well. Miss, I apologize for not being able to assist you with your trip. Montgomery, good riddance.” He drew a circle in the air, gesturing for his crew to keep moving.

“Well, isn’t that gentlemanly?” Adelaide muttered. There were two other handkerchiefs that had been tossed toward her. She handed one to Mr. Montgomery and used the other to wipe her face and hands. The rest of her would have to remain sopping wet until she returned to the inn she and Cordelia had taken a room at.

“Oh, God damn.” Cordelia. She is going to combust the moment she sees the state of this gown.

“Do you always take the Lord’s name in vain in such a public manner? Most of us just do it in our heads, you know.”

She rubbed her temples, hoping to ease some of the tension that had sprung up. “Most of us aren’t about to face the reckoning of a lifetime.”

Everett snorted. “Don’t be too sure of that. A reckoning is the sole reason I’m home.” He pushed himself up to standing and turned to her, giving her his hand and a rueful smile—a peace offering of sorts.

She took it. It was surprisingly warm, given the river was freezing. His fingers were lightly calloused, and his grip was strong. The fumes from the muck that covered her had clearly gone to her head because as she squeezed his hand in return, she felt a dizziness, and her chest constricted. As he pulled her upward, she was forced to rest a hand on his shoulder to keep her knees from buckling, and he caught her around the waist.

His brows furrowed in concern, and his fingers tightened at her hip. “All joking aside, are you well? Should you be standing? Can I fetch you some fresh water?”

She swallowed. Her entire body flushed hot, and it leaned toward him, completely unbidden. “I’m fine. Just a little lightheaded. I need to get out of these clothes and away from the stench before I vomit.”

The corner of his lips quirked. “Stomach bile can only improve things, don’t you think?”

She shouldn’t giggle. Not when she was covered head to toe in refuse. Not when she was about to experience another Cordelia scolding. Not when she was facing unemployment and an uncertain future—but she couldn’t help the little snort of amusement that escaped. Near-death experiences tended to undermine the gravity of almost every other catastrophe.

“Please, allow me to escort you home,” Everett said, with a steadying hand still on her hip. “It is the least I can do given I pulled you into the river with me.”

She hesitated.

“I don’t bite, I promise. At least, not without permission.” He winked, drawing another smile from her. “And I will leave you safely at your front gate.”

She sighed. “It’s not that. There is no home for you to escort me to, hence the attempt to gain passage to France.” And that plan is kaput. What the hell are you going to do now, Adelaide?

“Your home is in France? What part?”

She shook her head. “There’s no home there either.” She’d never had a home, as such. As a child, she’d moved from town to town with her father, going wherever the work was. They’d take rooms above a tavern, and he would do any odd job that came his way while she took on mending work. As she grew older, she’d spend the evenings at a table telling stories while he drank himself under it with the few coins men tossed in her direction. They never stayed in one place long enough to call it home. Inevitably, her father got caught trying to swindle someone, and they’d have to hotfoot it out of there immediately. Life had never been still or steady.

Everett cocked his head, the furrow between his brow deepening. “You are a very peculiar person, and I still don’t know your name.”

He didn’t need to. The less she shared, the better. Sharing led to connection; connection led to disappointment. No one got to keep the people they cared for. Not forever. That’s why one invested in bricks and mortar.

“You can call me Della.”

Yet still she said, What the hell, Adelaide? She gave false names wherever she could, yet the nickname that no one had called her in years was what had slipped out. He had gotten a foot under her defenses without her even noticing. The last thing she needed right now was to entangle herself with another human, even if said human was devilishly attractive despite the muck covering him. He was also the kind of amusing that never failed to disarm her. Men who could make her laugh were very, very attractive.

“If I’m not escorting you home, may I at least escort you off the wharf?” He held out an elbow, and she placed a hand on it, trying not to gag at the slime that covered his sleeve.

“Thank you. I appreciate your help. Let’s go— whoa .” Her legs immediately tangled in the layers of wet petticoats and underskirts that had almost drowned her earlier, and she went down hard . Only Everett, yanking on the arm she’d given him, stopped her from whacking her chin on the brine-soaked wood. “Damnation.” She shook her head as she scrambled to a sitting position. Her ears flamed hot with embarrassment.

Everett squatted so he was eye to eye with her. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she mumbled. This was the first time she’d worn such an elaborate dress. It had taken her a minute to navigate the skirts when she’d first put it on. The soaking was an added complication she hadn’t considered. “I didn’t think…”

Everett smiled. “That your dress has murderous intentions? No. Most people don’t assume that. Can you stand?”

“I can stand,” she said, accepting his hand as he levered her up. “I’m just not sure I can walk.” She leaned over and tried to bundle the skirts, but she couldn’t even reach the inner layer that had entwined itself around her legs, plastering them together. “God damn it.”

Everett snorted. “Your vocabulary is to be admired. What finishing school did you go to?”

“The school of life, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Call me Rhett.”

“Rhett.” It suited him. It was far less stuffy than Mr. Montgomery.

“There are two solutions to this problem,” he said. “I’m not sure you’ll like either.”

“I’m listening.”

“The first is that I carry you to that tavern at the end of the wharf. It will have a bathroom of questionable cleanliness where you can extricate yourself from your clothes.”

Oh no. Not a good idea, Adelaide. He is too good-looking and funny and kind for you to let him carry you. The river had plastered his clothes to his body, and even through his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket, she could see the definition of hard muscle along his arms and chest. It had been a long time since Adelaide had been pressed up against a man, and Rhett was exactly the kind of man she would choose, had she the time and freedom. But Cordelia was currently sitting in a small room above a dockside tavern, and the longer it took Adelaide to secure them passage out of London, the more of Cordelia’s whining she’d have to face.

“What is option two?” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as strangled as it felt.

He shrugged. “I help you disrobe here. I’m very good with petticoats. I can get them off faster than any lady’s maid can.”

She rolled her eyes. “You sound very certain.”

“It’s a fact. There was a competition last year, and I wiped the floor with everyone else.”

Don’t ask, Adelaide. Just don’t. But she couldn’t help herself. “What kind of establishment hosts a petticoat removal competition?”

It was Rhett’s turn to flush bright red. “That’s not really relevant to this current situation, is it?”

Ha. She knew very well the type of establishment in which he’d made a name for himself.

Adelaide looked around. Sailors were trailing to and from the ship like lines of ants, carrying cargo off and returning with empty arms to reload. Each one that passed looked at her and Rhett with unbridled curiosity. There was no way on this good earth that she was going to allow Rhett beneath her skirts with such an audience, even if the purpose was innocent.

“Fine,” she ground out. “Carry me.” She put her arms around his shoulders, trying to ignore the frisson of energy that went through her. Get a grip on yourself, Adelaide. This is not the time for untoward thoughts. But they plagued her anyway, heating her from within.

Rhett wrapped an arm beneath her skirts and swung her against his chest. “ Ooof. ” He stumbled forward, causing her to grab onto his neck with both arms, convinced they were both about to plow headfirst into the jetty.

He steadied himself, though, and she shot him a scathing look. “For what it’s worth, you are not supposed to grunt when you pick up a woman. It’s not at all flattering.”

He smiled ruefully. “It is not you. You are a delight to hold. It is the weight of the Thames, which has hidden itself in your skirts. Did we leave any water in the river? I didn’t check.”

Adelaide rolled her eyes. “Shall we get going? The sooner I’m out of this dress, the better.”

“ Agreed. ”

She snorted. He was a practiced flirt. No doubt he’d charmed his way through Europe, and now he was charming her, which was delicious, actually. No one had flirted with her in months, not since she’d given up writing travelogues to become a lady’s maid. It had been such a rotten, stressful day that perhaps she was entitled to some diversion. So she let her body loosen and allowed herself to sink into his arms.

However off-balance he’d been when he first lifted her, he had no difficulty carrying her and Cordelia’s dress down the jetty. His arms remained strong, and his stride was long and sure. It was nice to have someone caring for her for a change. The only thing she’d change about this particular moment was the scent that surrounded them.

Whatever Rhett might smell like in normal life—and she suspected it was divine—it couldn’t cut through the putrid odor they shared. The sailors they walked past gave them a wide berth. But as long as she took short, shallow breaths, she could almost ignore the smell and just enjoy the feeling of being in someone’s arms again.