Page 3 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

Carrying beautiful ladies was one of the few tasks at which Rhett was almost guaranteed to shine. He’d carried them from ballrooms after they’d swooned; he’d carried them across meadows after they’d conveniently turned an ankle. He’d carried them to bed. But even he wasn’t delusional enough to think he was making a positive impression on the woman currently in his arms. Quite besides the fact that he reeked, his boots squelched in a way that said “child playing in puddles” more than “gallant rogue,” and the threshold he’d just crossed was not into a candlelit bedroom but the seediest, most disgusting tavern in England.

He could feel her tense in his arms.

“This place is… disgusting,” she said.

“Which is why we’re here. No reputable establishment would let us enter.”

She sighed. “That’s probably true.”

It was definitely true. The wet footprints he was leaving on the grubby stone floor were crime scenes in themselves. He strode directly to the back of the room, where he kicked open the door to the bathroom.

“Sorry about the smell,” he said.

“At this point, does it even matter?” she asked.

Rhett smiled. Most ladies would tear strips off of him for taking them to such a place. This mystery woman was, at least, pragmatic… and quite likely not ton at all, despite the dress. She was an enigma.

He tried to find the least urine-stained piece of floor to set her down.

She steadied herself with a hand on his arm and his insides flip-flopped unexpectedly.

Before he could say anything charming or witty, the door behind them crashed open and a drunken sailor entered, the fly of his trousers already unlaced. His enigma looked away, drawing a hand to her eyes to block the view.

Rhett wished he’d had that same luxury. The man’s shriveled todger was already exposed when Rhett grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back the way he entered.

“But I need to take a piss,” the sailor whined.

“Find somewhere else.” Rhett slammed the door shut, but then thought better of it and pulled the door wide again. The sailor hadn’t gotten far. He was so drunk he was still processing his eviction. “Hot water,” Rhett said. “Lots of it. A dress, if you can find one, and one of the kitchen maids. I’ll make it worth your while.”

The sailor’s eyes narrowed. “How much worth my while?”

“I’ll pay your bar tab,” Rhett responded.

“Righto.” The sailor shuffled away. Whether he had the cognitive function required to act on Rhett’s demands remained to be seen. Rhett would give it ten minutes, and if there wasn’t at least one steaming bucket of hot water in sight, he would find some other means of acquiring one without leaving her unattended.

“All clear,” he said to Della. She lowered her hand and gave him a funny look.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You are… thoughtful, Mr. Montgomery.”

He blushed. That wasn’t the type of compliment he was used to getting. Uncomfortable, he scratched the back of his neck. “We’ll wait for water and a kitchen maid to help free you.”

“And you?”

“Will stay here until she arrives and then guard the door. I make no promises about the direction my thoughts will go in.”

The woman snorted. “I’m sure I can guess.”

His instinct was to find a wall to lean against. Women liked leaning, or so he’d heard. Leaning on walls, leaning on desks, leaning over them. He was his most impressive at a sixty-five-degree incline. But there was no wall fit to touch. “So tell me,” he said, crossing his arms instead. “What brings a woman like you, in a dress like that, to the London docks?”

She shifted her gaze to her sleeves, which she tried to tug back into their original puffs. “I am seeking passage to the continent.”

Obviously. “So you said to the captain. Passage for you and your—”

“Sister.”

She was concise—yet another divergence from his usual female companionship. “And does your sister also wear her fortune sewn all over her body?” He would tease her out from her armor before the afternoon was through.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. The buckles were undone, at least. “No. She has more common sense than that. She is more like you. Her clothing is functional rather than decorative.”

He drew a hand to his chest in what was only part mock outrage. “Are you suggesting that I am frumpy?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not at all. Clearly, you are the epitome of style. Forgive me. I don’t know how I overlooked it.”

He took a step back, brushing down his lapels and trying not to wince at the glutinous feel of them. “I would have you know my coat is made of the finest German wool. It is—was—a good portion of my fortune.”

She smiled and it drove away a little of the cold, at least. “It is a very fine coat, despite its current state.”

“Thank you. It has been with me for many adventures. Alas, I think it has seen its last. At least it went out saving the life of a beautiful woman.”

She flushed pink and diverted her gaze, running her fingers across her brow, as though his compliment was having precisely the effect on her that was intended. He could win her over.

There was a knock at the door, and Rhett straightened, stepping in front of her to block the view from the main room of the tavern.

A young girl opened the door. A dark line streaked across her hairline where sweat had mingled with dirt and dust. Two buckets of steaming water were at her feet, a shirt and pants were draped over her arm. “I was told I was needed in here, sir.”

Rhett nodded and took a bucket of water in each hand. He stepped out of the way so the young girl could attend to Della.

The maid only got a few feet into the room before she stopped dead, her nose wrinkling. “No,” she said, taking a step backward. “Lord, no.” She untied her apron and tossed it at Rhett’s feet along with the clothes. “Good luck with that, sir.” Then she slammed shut the door behind her.

Damnation. “I… uh.” Rhett turned around, grimacing. “I’m not sure what to do here.” He didn’t know this woman well enough to strip her of her clothes. Not that you needed a person’s entire life history to do so, but you did need enthusiastic consent, and usually some kissing first.

The woman closed her eyes and sighed. “It will have to be you.”

Rhett’s heart rate picked up, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his inner desire from having any external expression. “Pardon?” He was surprised the frog in his throat let the words out.

“Don’t tell me Mr. ‘I can remove women’s petticoats in under ten seconds’ was all talk.” Her gentle teasing loosened the parts of him that had frozen.

“I never promised to do it in less than ten seconds,” he said, struggling to remove his wet coat. “In fact, I’m not sure I can divest you of this monstrosity in ten minutes. But I’ll try.”

She turned her back to him, giving him free access to the dozens of tiny buttons that ran from her shoulders to the small of her back. They were damn fiddly ones—the kind he didn’t enjoy working with even when they were dry.

She sensed his hesitation and simply said, “Tear them. Otherwise, we’ll be here for hours.”

He could not think of a single woman of his acquaintance who would take such a practical attitude toward the day’s events. He searched through the maid’s apron and thankfully found a pocketknife.

Before he could take it to her dress, some basic tidying was needed. At some point in the dunking, or in the chaos afterward, most of her hair had come undone, with only a couple of pins to hold up what remained. Gently, he tugged them out, and the locks flopped down. He stuck the pins in his pocket, then he took all her hair, combed through it gently with his fingers, parsed it out into three lengths, and braided it. Then he gently placed it over her shoulder.

She picked up the braid and studied it. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“I have three sisters,” he said, picking up the knife. “I can braid hair and pour tea. Teddy bear teatime was taken seriously in our playroom.” The thought made him smile. He’d been avoiding coming home, and he was not at all excited about his upcoming conversation with Peter, but damn, it would be nice to see the girls again.

The knife was blessedly sharp and cut through each loop that constrained a button with relative ease. With each slice, more of her underclothes were revealed. The chemise was plain, rough cotton, completely incongruous with the quality of the dress. The corset was equally thin and austere. The mystery of her deepened.

He worked swiftly, trying to ignore the swell of his cock as more of her was exposed to him. Her shoulders were practically bare. The wet fabric was practically transparent. Once all the buttons were free and he’d undone the ties of the small horsehair bustle, there was nothing to keep him from viewing her perfect form, accentuated by the way the fabric clung to her skin.

“Should I cut away the petticoat too?” It was well and truly tangled around her legs. No wonder she couldn’t move two steps.

“No,” she said forcefully. “I can save it with a good wash.”

Rhett doubted it. There was nothing he was wearing that he didn’t plan on tossing into the fire. A laundry maid would have to scrub for hours to get the filth out, and he wouldn’t subject the lass to that. It was odd, though, that Della was so willing to take a knife to her elaborate dress but was determined to save cheap underclothes.

“I’m going to unwrap it from you, then,” he said to her. “I’ll have to put one hand on your thigh and reach between your legs with the other.”

She nodded her consent, a flush of pink creeping up her chest.

He knelt down, keen to hide the jerk of his erection. Her skin felt clammy and cold beneath his hand, but when his other hand grazed the inside of her thigh to grab the hem of her skirt, warmth touched them both.

Gods. The sooner he was out of this misery, the better. He needed to address his own needs—a freezing cold bucket of water intended to do more than sluice away the muck.

Finally, her skirts were unwrapped, and he untied the knot around her waist. Rhett kept hold of the fabric as she stepped out of it. She turned to face him, her cheeks red, one arm crossed over her chest, the other covering what it could of her drawers. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I’ll keep the rest of the clothing on, I think.”

Rhett swallowed. “That’s a good idea.” To avoid looking at her, he studied the floor where they stood. The buckets were no longing steaming. He tested the temperature and then raised one. “Turn around.”

She did so, and having her back toward him with her round derriere so perfectly displayed did nothing to cool his ardor. He dumped the water over her head. It cascaded off her in rivulets, running down her bare skin and dripping off of her chemise.

Torture. Complete fucking torture. He handed her the soap so that she could clean herself properly, and then turned away. Some visions he didn’t need to capture as memories. Such memories might drive him mad.

“I’m ready now,” she said.

Thank the Gods. He picked up the last bucket of water. He was more targeted this time. He poured slowly, making sure that the water rinsed every inch of her.

As she stood under the stream, she turned, raising her head so that he could rinse her face. Her lips were angled perfectly. It would take no effort at all to lean down and press his lips to hers. Instead, he clamped them shut. She was so damned close, and this was, without a doubt, the most intimate he had ever been with a person. He’d slept with many women, he’d bathed with some, but never had he performed such ministrations.

“Thank you,” she murmured as the last drop of water hit the puddle at their feet. Her hands were crossed in front of her chest. Clearly, she was just as conscious of her transparent underclothes as he was.

This would be the time for a witty remark, something to make her laugh and hide just how discombobulated she made him, but the English language seemed to have disappeared from his brain. He didn’t enjoy feeling this… bare. Naked was fine. Naked was as good an armor as a joke. Bare was a state he refused to be in.

He picked up the clothes the kitchen maid had left. They’d been sitting on top of a towel, which was now so piss-stained from the lavatory floor it was unusable. He handed the shirt to her, and she tugged it on, struggling where her wet skin caught hold of the fabric.

Deftly, she buttoned the collar. Rhett was certain she intended to look more demure all done up, but the sight of her in an oversized man’s shirt that barely existed was more erotic an image than her practically naked had been.

He wanted it to be his shirt she was wearing. Not the particular shirt on his body right now, but a future, clean shirt.

He wanted her, not just because she was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen, but because throughout this entire ordeal, she’d remained calm and practical; she’d even found humor in it. There wasn’t a single woman he knew who would have responded with such good grace.

He had no idea why she’d been wearing that damned dress. It had fooled him at first glance. She’d appeared like a high-society miss, but that wasn’t possible.

She got to work on the buttons that closed the fly front of the trousers and then rolled the waistband over itself until it somewhat fit on her body. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her fingers—long and nimble. They moved quickly with a softness that immediately made him imagine them hooked around the buttons of his trousers.

He dragged in a deep breath.

“Thank you,” she said once she had rolled the hem of the trousers so they wouldn’t drag on the ground.

“Think nothing of it.” Don’t stop thinking of it. The gods only knew he wouldn’t.

Then she stepped closer to him, and his mouth ran dry. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. When she rose onto her toes and reached her lips to his, he stopped breathing. Her kiss was soft and sweet, but not unpracticed. She deepened it with no hesitation.

His instinct was to wrap an arm around her waist and draw her to him, but he hadn’t gone through hell trying to get her clean just to cover her with his filth, so he kept as much distance between them as kissing would allow. By the time she had finished, there were stars in his vision, and there was a good chance he was about to swoon. He inhaled, and by the time oxygen filled his lungs, she had put several feet between them.

“Thank you, Rhett. Good luck with your reckoning. I’m sure it can’t be worse than what you’ve already faced today.”

He tried to revert to his usual roguish self, but her kiss had left him feeling as though nothing fit well anymore. He faked a satisfied smirk. “Everything I’ve faced today led to a beautiful woman kissing me. I could be smitten by all the world’s gods simultaneously, and it would still be worth it.”

She laughed, a truly joyous giggle. “I’ll carry that thought with me as I face my own reckoning.” Carefully, she gathered her spoiled dress and rolled it into a giant ball, trying to keep it well away from her body.

“How can I see you again?” he asked as he realized she was leaving. Because, gods, he wanted to see her again. Not a single liaison had ever left him feeling so addled.

She sighed and looked genuinely disappointed. “It’s not in the cards for us. I do not know where I’ll be a day from now. But wherever it is, I’ll remember you.”

And with that, she walked out of his life.