Page 32 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

One year later…

“We are going to be late.” Adelaide shivered as Rhett’s fingers skimmed over her stockings and up beneath her skirts and petticoats until his hands rested on the back of her thighs.

“Then let’s be late,” he murmured, his lips pressing into the silk bodice of her gown. He was only half dressed for the dinner they were to attend that night. His cravat was untied, hanging on either side of his neck. His waistcoat was open, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a smattering of wiry hair across a chest turned golden from all the sea bathing they’d done on Cyprus the week before. It would be the latest chapter in A Lady’s Adventures , the travelogue she wrote that had gripped the ton and provided Adelaide with independent income with which she bought trinkets and furniture to send back to their London home.

Rhett sat on the edge of their bed, his legs spread wide. Adelaide stood between them, using his shoulders for support as her knees faltered.

His hands trailed higher until only thin cotton drawers stood between him and her arse. He squeezed it hard, and a rush of heat pooled between her legs. “The invitation was for seven o’clock,” she said with little conviction.

His strong hands kneaded her soft flesh. “The grand vizier is always late. Make love with me now, and I promise he will never know we weren’t there at seven.” He nuzzled his face against her midsection.

“You’ll put creases in my dress.”

“Not if we take it off.” His hands shifted through the slit of her drawers, and she felt the warm caress of his finger.

“Oh, god.” She wrapped his cravat around each of her hands, using it to steady herself. He increased the pressure of his finger and slipped into that perfect rhythm, the one that never failed to set her entire body shuddering.

“See?” he murmured. “Isn’t this worth it?”

Her gaze slipped out of focus. “Yes,” she said, pulling away from him so that her brain could function. “But only if we make it quick.”

Rhett grinned, and she turned so that he could make quick work of the buttons that ran from her high collar to the gathered skirts at her hip. Carefully, she pulled the loose silk over her head and lay it on the rug as neatly as possible. The petticoats could stay on. No one but her would see the wrinkles in them tonight.

As she carefully arranged her dress, Rhett pulled his shirt from his waistband, unbuttoned the fall of his trousers, and shimmied until they were in a pool on the floor by his feet.

Adelaide raised an eyebrow. “No drawers?” she asked as she tugged at her own until they, too, were nothing but a pile at her feet.

“It saves time. That’s the responsible thing to do, is it not?” He leaned back on his arms, studying her. His knees were spread wide.

The sight of his cock, large, stiff, throbbing, wiped all thoughts of dinner commitments from her mind. She gathered her petticoats in her hands until they were bunched at her waist, her legs and arse exposed to the warm air.

Rhett sat upright, holding her by the waist as she climbed on top of the bed and straddled him, her petticoats settling across them both. She let out a soft moan as she sank down.

“Gods, Adelaide.” Rhett collapsed back on the bed, his hands fisting in the layers of cotton around them.

She couldn’t respond. Her senses had been completely scattered as they were every time they made love.

Rhett grabbed her hips with his hands, his fingers pressing into her, holding on as she rode the swelling wave that would bring them both to climax.

Afterward, she collapsed onto his chest, dragging in a deep breath, feeling completely at home against the rise and fall of his chest.

Rhett kissed her hair, which was definitely going to need addressing before she left the house. Then he patted her backside. “Come on. We have a dinner to attend. You’re making us late.”

“ I’m making us late?” She scrambled off of him.

“The Prime Minister doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Rhett said as he stuffed his legs into his trousers and tucked his shirttails in. “And he’s been early to every meeting so far.”

“Wait. What?” She snatched her dress from the floor and pulled it over her head, not taking the care it needed and pressing creases into the skirt.

“It’s all right. I’m sure he’ll be understanding when I tell him my wife ravaged me.”

He’s kidding, Adelaide. He’s probably kidding. Damn it. “Buttons. Now.”

When her clothing was fastened, he turned his attention to his cravat, fingers flying. She stood in front of the mirror to repin the strands of hair that had come loose during their lovemaking. Finally, they were both presentable.

“You are a scoundrel,” she said as she walked through the door he held open for her.

“You love a scoundrel,” he said as he followed.

By the time they’d reached the landing, Winnie was already in the foyer, impatiently circling, tapping a leaf of paper against the pale green dress she and Adelaide had picked out for dinner. “What took you so long?” she asked, waving the letter in the air.

A warm flush crept up Della’s neck. Before she was forced to tell a lie, Rhett stepped forward.

“Button issues,” he said. “One came loose and I had to help sew it back on.”

“You?” Winnie looked at her brother skeptically.

He held a hand to his chest in mock affront. “I’ll have you know I am quite handy with a needle and thread.”

His sister tsk ed. “It’s no doubt why you’re both late. You should have left it to Della. She’s far more proficient than you at sewing. At everything, really.”

Rhett pursed his lips, clearly unhappy to be caught between defending his talents and suggesting that he was better than his wife.

To extract him from his dilemma, Della turned to Winnie. “Next time we have a loose button, I will simply choose another dress so that we can remain on time.”

While Winnie’s expression was approving, Rhett’s was heated. “Yes. Next time,” he said. “I’m sure there will be many more loose buttons in the future.”

Adelaide was all too aware of the embarrassed flush creeping over her, and she elbowed her husband in the ribs.

Oblivious, Winnie furrowed her brows. “If that’s the case, brother, Della needs a better seamstress. Now you have not yet asked about this letter,” she said, waving it again. It is from Jac. Cordelia is set to marry again.”

“Pardon?” That was the last thing Della was expecting. As far as she knew, Cordelia had been exiled to the Scottish highlands until her father chose to allow her back to London. She crossed to the mail salver and sifted through her own correspondence. The two had stayed in touch following Adelaide’s wedding. They had, in fact, formed a friendship of sorts. As impossible as Adelaide may have thought it a year ago, Cordelia had even demonstrated personal growth in her isolation. But there was no letter from her in the pile.

“There was an announcement in today’s Times ,” Winnie said. “Cordelia Highwater is betrothed to the Duke of Moorhouse. They are to be wed the moment the season starts. Thankfully, I will, at least, be there to see this wedding. “Do you think she’ll go through with it?”

Would she? Adelaide didn’t know. “I am not sure,” she said to her sister. “It depends on why they’re marrying.”

“Come,” Rhett said. “We are late already.” He took Della’s coat from the butler and helped his wife into it. When she turned to face him, he licked his thumb and rubbed it across the hairline by her ear. “Dirt,” he muttered.

Damn. That would have been from earlier. The gardeners at the consulate had agreed that she could have her own garden on the grounds, somewhere she could plant an English tree and tend to flowers. It would be her gift to the country, and a gift to all the diplomats’ wives who would come after her—a garden they could tend that would contribute to a rich tapestry of roots, lives, and history.

She rubbed her hairline. “Is it gone?”

Rhett nodded, and gave her a quick kiss. “It is. You are perfect. Let’s go negotiate a treaty.”