On deck, he caught her arm again. His grim expression as he glanced down at her breeches brought heat to her cheeks.
She’d learned to ignore the looks of the men with whom she worked, but she was suddenly too aware of how her men’s clothing must have revealed more than it should as he’d followed behind her up the ramp.
He tugged her toward the hold without speaking, and she wisely held her tongue. The captain hurried toward them, but Hampton waved him away. Fear tickled her stomach as she recognized the power this man wielded. He owned this ship and dozens more like it. All these men were at his command. If he truly were a smuggler, he need only lock her in the hold and set sail. No one on board would dare question him.
Sending Hampton’s tight-lipped visage a furtive look, she decided he looked quite ruthless enough to do that or worse. Lud, why hadn’t she seen that before? Was she so enamored of those dark eyes that she had taken leave of her senses?
At her resistance to his hold, Alex sneered impatiently. “What’s wrong? Having second thoughts about wetting your elegant slippers?”
Pride tilted her chin higher at his reference to the sturdy leather brogans she wore to protect her toes from dropped crates. “I should think that you would be more concerned with your pretty gold buckles and silk stockings, Mr. Hampton. I’m dressed more sensibly for this expedition than you.”
Muffling a curse, he handed his hat to a seaman and clattered down the steps into the dark hold. The lantern scarcely illuminated the steps. He lit a second lantern and held out his hand to help her down.
Despite her bold words to the contrary, Evelyn despised these excursions into the moldy confines of a ship’s interior. She didn’t like the stench, the creaking darkness, or the ever-present threat of rats. Even though she wore none, she had the urge to lift her skirts from the water and debris of the lower depths. Without conscious thought, she accepted Hampton’s offered hand.
The contact almost shocked her into flight. Large, strong fingers wrapped around her smaller ones, making her insides do a strange little dance. Surely she had held a man’s bare hand before. Was she coming down with a sickness? When she would tug away, Hampton’s fingers closed tighter.
Frightened, she studied him in the uncertain light. An oddly mocking look creased his face, but it did not seem directed at her. He scanned the rows of barrels and crates until he found what he was looking for.
“Your shipment is over there, Miss Wellington. Shall I call someone to pry them open?”
She could read the familiar brand burned into the wood, but she shook her head. “Only the crates of porcelain, Mr. Hampton. And it might not be wise to open them under any eyes but ours. I, too, am averse to having my neck stretched.”
He turned his gaze on the mentioned part of her anatomy, and she blushed again. She shook her hand free and strode determinedly to the cargo, searching for the symbol that would indicate a shipment from Staffordshire.
Behind her, Hampton shouted for aid.
“If all my men are under suspicion, Miss Wellington,” he replied in low undertones, “then we had better remove more than the suspected cargo to the warehouse.”
Two men clattered down at his command. Hampton pointed out an assortment of crates he wished removed, gave orders that the porcelain be treated with respect as it was a wedding gift.
With imperious calm, he took Evelyn’s hand again, ignoring her tug of protest as he led her back to the gangway.
Back on deck, they were confronted by his frowning captain. “You can’t remove the cargo until customs approves it. There’s still a ruckus down there that don’t look like it will end soon.”
Releasing Evelyn, Hampton walked to the rail and glanced over. “The man in orange is the one we need to see?”
He pointed to her Uncle George— looking his officious best in satin. Sighing in exasperation at the commotion George was causing, Evelyn muttered “rust,” but her companion ignored her correction and waited expectantly. Once she assured him that the man in rust was the customs officer, Hampton jammed his hat on his head and headed down the ramp.
Evelyn watched with interest as he shouldered his way to his goal. A head taller than most of the crowd and hiding a muscular physique beneath his silks and laces, Hampton had no difficulty carving his arrogant path. Uncle George looked bewildered as Hampton caught his arm and began hauling him through the crowd, but Evelyn knew he was as much relieved as alarmed.
George Upton had never known when to keep quiet or how to deal with the results once his tongue was loosed. Hampton was doing him a favor. Without a target, the mob would eventually disperse.
Evelyn shook her head in despair that a relative of hers could be so lacking in common sense. Thank goodness he wasn’t a blood relative.
Uncle George gave no sign that he recognized her as Hampton hauled him on board and ordered that he begin inspecting the cargo. Upton preferred not to acknowledge the fact that he had a niece who wore breeches. Evelyn leaned back against the railing while Hampton carefully chose the crates he wanted removed first.
Obviously accustomed to authority and expecting efficiency to match his own, the Englishman paid no heed to the customs officer and the captain frantically flipping through the manifest to keep up with his selections.
When the first of the crewmen began hauling the crates down to the wharf, Hampton took her arm and steered her down the ramp to follow them back to the warehouse.
Once inside the dry comfort of her office with her little brother standing guard outside, Evelyn examined the crates, pushing the porcelain shipment to the front.
“I’ll need a crowbar to open these. Where do you keep them?” Hampton demanded.
If he had been any one of the sea captains or effete aristocrats who graced her uncle’s drawing room, Evelyn would already have the crowbar in her hand. If Hampton had even wore the garb of a soldier, she could despise him and would have no difficulty returning his rudeness.
Instead, he sauntered with muscular grace in the direction she indicated, and she could almost feel the strength in his hands as he returned with the tool and pried at the wood.
To her shock, she realized she had already forgiven him of all charges of smuggling. There were many other things she couldn’t forgive him for, but his striking looks and shiny black locks would cease to be a worry as soon as he was gone.
The lid of the first box popped off, and he removed the top layer of packing material. In triumph, he lifted the hand-painted porcelain. “Staffordshire, madam. Not brandy. Have you any further proof?”
Evelyn knelt beside the crate and set aside the lovely dishes on top. Removing the second layer of packing, she uncovered a gleaming row of bottled brandy. Lifting a bottle for his inspection, she raised a wry eyebrow. “Brandy, sir. Not Staffordshire. Do you need further proof?”
As he grabbed the bottle from her hand to inspect it, the commotion outside grew louder. They both glanced out the wavy panes of glass.
A half-dozen red-coated soldiers were marching in the direction of the warehouse. Hampton hit the cork with his hand and buried the bottle in its bed of straw.
“Let’s get this covered before someone sees it.” He grabbed a handful of the packing and began to cover up the contraband again.
Evelyn did the same. “What am I supposed to do with it? Every one of these crates marked ‘Staffordshire’ will probably be like that.”
Hampton hammered down the lid. “What did you do with the last shipments?”
“I had already shipped them before I learned what they contained. The box I held back for my mother as a Christmas gift was the first I knew of the brandy. I don’t normally inspect everything we receive.”
“You suspected all the shipments after opening one crate?” He turned to stare at her with incredulity.
“No, two. I thought the first a mistake and ordered another. It was the same as the first. That’s when I sent the letter. I was furious. I not only did not have the gift I wished for my mother
, but I was stuck with harboring two crates of illegal brandy. If they are found, I could be arrested. You don’t know what it’s been like here since they started rewarding spies and liars for turning in their neighbors to the Admiralty Court.”
Hampton ignored her indignation. Shouldering the crate, he walked down the rows stacked high with goods until he located a crate of Chinese porcelain. He set one crate on that, then looked around until he found an empty space on a high shelf.
Evelyn watched in astonishment as the elegant gentleman easily heaved all the crates over his head to set them on the highest shelf. Even if anyone saw them, it would not seem unusual to store porcelain out of the way of clumsy feet.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We get the hell out of here before someone wonders what I am doing lingering so long with you. Do you know where your shipments went? Where these will go?” He steered her toward the door.
“I looked up the names, but they mean nothing to me. They’re companies in various towns some miles from here.”
“Can you get me a list?”
“Yes, but it will take some time.” Evelyn shivered at the precariousness of their situation. If the smuggler was anywhere about, he must wonder at his shipment being unloaded early and at the command of the ship’s owner. Their prolonged conversation might drive him to investigate.
“Then we’ll need to meet again, preferably somewhere else. Any suggestions?”
“My uncle’s. I will see that you receive an invitation to dinner. I’ll pass you the list when I can. No one could suspect us of colluding on a social occasion.”
“Your uncle might,” he argued. “It’s better if we claim no prior acquaintance other than that necessary to unload the ship.”
“That’s not a problem. My uncle will never know that I am the one inviting you. Trust me.”
Hampton placed his hat under his arm and made a curt bow. “I will leave it to your discretion, then. It will take months to find out who shipped it from my end. The receivers are our best hope.”
“I understand. Good day, Mr. Hampton.” Evelyn said this in full view of the front office as he opened the door to escort her out. Only her brother and the clerk from another warehouse were in the room, but she felt the need for formality.
She breathed a sigh of relief as he departed. Finding the smugglers was going to be easier than dealing with one Alexander Hampton. She shivered at the thought of meeting him again. Was he always so angry?
Chapter 2
“They say he owns half of Cranville Enterprises,” Cousin Frances said in awe over her teacup, the day after Evelyn’s encounter with the subject under discussion. “I cannot imagine such wealth, can you? Just the contents of the one ship in port now must be worth tens of thousands, and he must own dozens. Why, I saw bolts of silk from his stores that would make your mouth water.”
Evelyn set her saucer down and gestured toward the package on the seat beside her cousin. “I really must be going. Mama insisted that I bring you some of those candies Mr. Hampton gave Jacob. They are delicious, though personally I find the man odious. Flaunting his wealth in front of starving, unemployed sailors is the height of maliciousness.”
Evelyn reached for her hat. Her cousin Frances leapt to her feet in a flurry of silken skirts and laces and a cloud of scent. Generally her cousin’s porcelain prettiness sported a pout of boredom when she was forced to converse with her bourgeois relatives. At the moment, she was all sunshine and roses, catching Evelyn’s arm gaily and attempting to delay her departure.
“Faith, but you must not hurry so! We never have time for a good girlish chat. Sit and tell me more about this odious gentleman. Is he old? Is he ugly?”
Evelyn donned her hat and began to tie the ribbons. “Quite striking, actually. He has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. And the meanest mouth.” She added that for her own personal satisfaction. It should be amusing to see how the hateful man pried Frances’ claws loose from his scalp. “Anyway, he is still unmarried, which shows that London women have much more sense than I ever gave them credit for. I really must be going. I’ll see you later.”
She hummed to herself as she left the house. She really had no idea of Hampton’s marital or financial state, as it was of no concern to her, but it was all the information Frances required to set her on the prowl. At twenty, her cousin was a year younger than Evelyn, but horrified at her spinster role.
Evelyn could have told her that the available young men of town thought she was a spoiled, greedy Tory. Frances wasn’t quite that bad, but she didn’t belong in Boston right now. She would be much better off back in London, where she had been born.
Of course, if Frances were not quite so thoughtless, she would have offered her cousin the use of the carriage to take her down to the wharf. But Frances was busy scheming, and Evelyn was accustomed to the walk. She preferred the anonymity of the crowd. The Uptons’ carriage was just one more sore point in a town where the grandest transportation was a good horse.
During bad weather, Evelyn rode a rented hack down to the bay. The rest of the time she enjoyed traipsing across the Common and gossiping with her neighbors, stopping at Faneuil Hall for fresh vegetables, or listening to the arguments of the men after a town meeting. She felt quite at home in this milieu of men, and because they were accustomed to dealing with her at the warehouse, they accepted her into their conversations.
With her father’s death, Evelyn had taken his place in more positions than the warehouse, however. As she hurried past the State House, a young man in dark broadcloth and rakishly cocked hat hailed her.
“Miss Wellington! Will we be seeing you at the meeting tonight?” He crossed the dusty cobblestones and politely removed his hat when he reached her.
“I will try to be there later, Pilgrim. I suspect I will be commanded to my uncle’s house for dinner first.”
The young man looked concerned. “Then perhaps we should hold the meeting at the tavern. We have no wish to overburden your poor mother—”
Evelyn waved away his protest. “You don’t know how much it means to my mother to be allowed to continue hosting these meetings. Please, do not consider moving it. I will be there as soon as I can, to take her place should she grow tired. You know the Sons of Liberty are always welcome in our home. My father would have wanted it that way.”
The young man grinned. “He always preferred your mother’s fare to the tavern’s, and I must agree with him. But I fear our committee will soon overflow your accommodations. In times like these it might be necessary to bring all the smaller groups together under one roof. You know we discussed it last time.”
“I know, and then you will find it necessary to keep women out.” Evelyn spoke with more irritation than sadness at the departure of this group whose politics fascinated her. “Stand forewarned, we will form a committee of our own, and you will never know what we are up to.”
Instead of lecturing as some of the older men might have, he grinned and returned his hat to his head. “Just don your breeches and join us, Miss Wellington. We’ll be happy to have you.”
She laughed as he strode off. ’Twas a pity she could find no romantic interest in Pilgrim Adams. He was a fine young man, even if his red hair and freckles made him look more clown than merchant. Unfortunately, she suffered Frances’ problem in reverse. She had worked and played with all these young men since she had been in leading strings. They thought her one of them. It seldom occurred to them to come courting a woman they had exchanged argumentative blows with the day before.
The few who had dared to approach her door with flowers in hand were men who believed she would stay home if she married, leaving them with the care of her father’s profitable business.
Tightening her lips as she remembered those few disasters, she hurried toward the bay. She intended to teach Jacob the business just as their father had taught it to her. One day they would share equally in the warehouse. She wished there were some way of owning their
own ship, but that would have to wait until Jacob came of age. No one would lend capital to a female.
***
The summons to her uncle’s dinner arrived in the middle of the afternoon. Evelyn glared at the message with a mixture of relief and annoyance. The day had turned intolerably hot. Perspiration rolled down her back as she sat on her high stool, pulling ledgers in search of the names of the companies ordering porcelain in the last year. Caught up in the detective work, she had traced all orders of Staffordshire porcelain back to 1762, at which point she found no more. She was in the process of locating old correspondence for names and addresses when she received her uncle’s summons.
She glanced at the long-case clock on the wall. Four o’clock! Good heavens, Frances had taken longer than usual to win her father over, or had maliciously delayed the message until there was scarce time for her cousin to get ready. Whichever, Evelyn had to be satisfied with the hastily scribbled notes in her hand.
Calling for Jacob and the hired man, Benjamin, to close up for her, Evelyn tucked the list into her pocket and hurried out into the street. Her hair was dirty and disheveled, and she needed a bath. Heating the water and hauling the buckets would take another half-hour. Her hair would have no chance of drying. Perhaps she ought to just show up in breeches and smock to teach her uncle the results of ill manners.
Already tired, irascible, and worried, Evelyn was in no humor to be treated as a dependent relative when she finally arrived at the Uptons’. The maid abandoned her in the hallway, leaving her to discard her mantilla on the hall tree and enter the drawing room unannounced.
In deference to the occasion she had donned a lilac silk that billowed extravagantly over her petticoats but did not require the use of the French panniers. Her wrists and throat were unadorned except for the lace frills on her sleeves and décolletage. She wore her still-damp tresses in a loose coil covered with a bit of lace and a lilac ribbon, and not in the English fashion of piling her hair upon cushions and covering it with powder and plumes.
Rebel Dreams Page 2
