Page 27 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)
She wasn’t an assassin, or a spy, nor a ballet dancer or an enigma. She was just a liar whose eyes had been on the title all along. Rhett had waited for her to reject his brother’s proposal. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d looked at him with please forgive me eyes. Well, he didn’t need to wait around to see it. He’d seen it before.
Rhett bypassed Daunt and went to the coat cupboard, pulling the thick woolen coat from its hanger. What he wouldn’t give for his old one, the one with a familiar fit and semi-proficient stitchwork where he’d repaired the sleeve after Pamplona’s running of the bulls. That coat had been tossed in the rubbish cart along with Rhett’s common sense. For what else could explain the past few days?
His next step was clear. He would return to Europe immediately. Peter’s suggestion of a diplomatic posting offered exactly the life Rhett wanted, but it would require time in London to set up. Meetings needed to be had, and a post needed to be found. He would need to be briefed.
Rhett didn’t have it in him to remain in the same country as Adelaide for any longer than he absolutely had to. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets. “Have someone pack my things and send them to London,” he said to Daunt. He wouldn’t waste time going upstairs to collect them himself. He needed to be gone immediately.
Rhett strode out into the cold and slammed the door shut behind him. Now what? It would take a coachman twenty minutes to ready the carriage. He was mad if he thought his sisters would leave him alone for that long. His gaze turned to his uncle’s car. Rhett had been a passenger a handful of times. Dickey Stevens had even let him drive a motor once. Rhett had broached the idea of purchasing one before he left, but his brother had shut it down. “ Motors are for reckless daredevils and irresponsible wastrels who’ve no care for their own safety or the safety of others ,” Peter had said.
“When the shoe fits,” Rhett muttered.
He ran a hand across the hood of the green car. It was ice cold. Uncle Frank had left it unlocked. Inside, the keys were sitting on the driver’s seat. No one was going to steal from the duke’s residence, so there was no need to hide them.
Borrow. Rhett was going to borrow the car, not steal. He would drive back to London and leave the motor at his uncle’s townhouse. Frank could return home by carriage with the girls.
Clutch. Hand brake on. Turn the key. The engine spluttered, as though trying to come to life, but then died. Clutch in. Hand brake on. Turn the key. Pump the accelerator.
This time, the engine roared before settling into a rough hum. He eased off the brake, and, with a little jerking, turned the car around.
In the rearview mirror, he saw Della—Adelaide—race out the front door. She yelled out. He couldn’t hear her; instead he watched her mouth form the words. ‘Rhett, wait!’
There would be no waiting. Impatient, irresponsible good-for-nothings didn’t wait to hear excuses from the women who broke their hearts. He pushed the pedal to the floor and left her in a cloud of dust and gravel.
Della swiped her eyes as she climbed the front steps. Rhett had left. Her instinct had been right. He would never forgive her for her lies, no matter how much she wished he would. He was lost to her.
You have two choices now, Adelaide. Accept the duke’s offer and have everything you ever wanted, or go back to floating on the tides, alone.
If she couldn’t have Rhett, then she could at least have tables, and tea chests, and a grandfather clock in each room. She would be immovable. She would grow deep into the soil and try to forget the man who had made her feel like she walked on clouds.
She returned to the sitting room.
“Well?” Peter asked, the girls looking up at her with eager expressions. If she couldn’t have Rhett, his sisters could be an excellent consolation prize. Perhaps.
“Yes. I’ll marry you.”
Her heart tore into a thousand tiny pieces with her words.
If you are getting everything you want, Adelaide, then why do you hurt so much?