Rebel Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  If Uncle George complained of her plainness, she would tell him in no uncertain terms that she would wear breeches the next time he summoned her so late in the day.

  She entered the drawing room to find Frances clinging to Hampton’s arm and gazing up into his sardonic face with a look of rapture. Foolish creature! Couldn’t she see the mockery in the man’s damnable eyes? He thought them all primitive amusements compared to his usual sophisticated company. Even Frances’ elegant imported gown and fashionably coiffed hair would not impress an arrogant aristocrat like Alexander Hampton.

  His gaze turned to her, and Evelyn felt it rake over her modest silk and hair. It must be like comparing a caterpillar to a butterfly, she surmised. He merely acknowledged her presence with a nod and returned to her cousin’s conversation.

  Obviously he had dressed down for the dubious honor of dining with colonials. He wore the same navy silk frock coat he had worn yesterday. His lace was newly cleaned and starched, but no more elaborate than for a business call. He had not even condescended to powder his hair but wore it tied in a simple black ribbon. Uncle George must be choking at such impertinence.

  Evelyn assessed the remainder of the company. At such short notice the guest list was small. There were the neighbors, the Stones, and her uncle’s best friend, Thomas Henderson. Uncle George had been throwing her into the lawyer’s company for several years now, but the feeling of antipathy between them was mutual, thank goodness.

  She smiled at her aunt as she approached and submitted to that lady’s questioning on the state of her mother’s health. Anything was better than confronting either Hampton or Henderson.

  ***

  Bored by the chatter of the peacock at his side, Alex allowed his thoughts to drift. The gracious smile Miss Wellington bestowed upon her aunt revealed her affection for the older woman. What would it take for a man to elicit such a response?

  From the glare with which she had gifted him, he was not likely to find out. It was a good thing they were agreed on the priorities of this situation. Now that he’d found a buxom tavern maid to ease his needs, he could deal sensibly with Miss E. A. Wellington. He’d acquire the list from her, conduct a quiet investigation, hand his evidence to the Admiralty Court, and get the hell out before the straitlaced witch scratched his eyes out for existing.

  Alex strained to keep a pleasant demeanor throughout dinner as the Henderson fellow occupied much of Miss Wellington’s conversation, while Frances Upton chattered mindlessly. He had ample opportunity to observe the table’s other occupants.

  The neighborly Stones he dismissed as nonentities. Matilda Upton seemed a motherly, kindly woman with no significant thoughts of her own. He had been shocked to discover that “Uncle George” was the same officious customs officer who had approved his cargo, but he could see the reason why Miss Wellington might not wish to acknowledge the relationship. The man was a pompous ass, so puffed up with his own consequence that the veriest pinprick would deflate him.

  Alex toyed with the idea of applying the pinprick, but refrained. In London he might make veiled allusions to toad-eating frogs and garden-grub Yankees, but he felt certain this company would not be amused.

  Except, perhaps, for the haughty blue-eyed female across the table. Gad, but Miss Wellington had an incredible face! It was all high bones and sharp angles filled in with a gardenia-petal softness that begged to be caressed. It wasn’t a beautiful face by any means, but it was striking. While most women painted already pale faces even whiter, she did nothing to conceal her ivory-and-rose complexion.

  Until now, he had considered his cousin Alyson to be one of the loveliest women of his acquaintance. Miss Wellington was Alyson’s opposite. Whereas Alyson was all soft, cuddly curves and vague smiles and generous gestures, Evelyn was tall and straight with clear eyes full of intelligence and a direct manner sparing of extraneous words or gestures.

  Bored, he continued the comparison: Alyson’s contrasting shades of black and white to Evelyn’s warm hues of rose and ivory and brown; Alyson’s wandering thoughts to Evelyn’s precise responses. He had never realized how different two women could be, but he suspected the pair would be famous friends should they ever meet—they both distrusted him heartily, and rightly so.

  Alex stifled a groan of boredom as the women withdrew to allow the men their after-dinner brandy and cigars. He sniffed the brandy with suspicion, deciding it was of the same quality as the bottles in the warehouse, but there was no reason to believe it was smuggled. Certainly a customs officer would buy only from English merchants after paying all the appropriate tariffs. The tariffs were exorbitant, hence the smuggling. But they were no longer at war with France, so trade was brisk in wealthy circles.

  He reluctantly joined in the general discussion of the king’s policies. The cost of housing English troops in the colonies was undoubtedly high, he agreed politely, wishing to hell they would shut up and let him find Evelyn. All he wanted was that list and to get out of here. Politics had never been his strong suit.

  But Upton was obviously interested in courting his favor, if only for his daughter’s sake. Uninterested in the peacock or the conversation, Alex rudely declined a second drink and announced he was prepared to join the ladies.

  His host hastened to comply. As they entered the drawing room, Alex located Miss Wellington thumbing through a book of verse while listening to her aunt’s conversation. Frances Upton was artfully arranged at the spinet, rippling at some minor piece. She looked up to him expectantly, but he took the seat beside Mrs. Upton and appropriated the volume of verse in Evelyn’s hand.

  “Macpherson? Bah, he’s a Scottish simpleton. I should think you would have more challenging literature to occupy your mind.”

  “And I suppose your tastes run to Fielding, Mr. Hampton?” The scorn in her voice indicated her opinion of this writer of lascivious novels.

  Unhappy at being ignored, Miss Upton left her bench to lean daringly over his shoulder, giving him the best advantage of her extravagant décolletage.

  “Do you enjoy poetry, Mr. Hampton? My father is said to have one of the best libraries in Boston since the one at Harvard burned. Books are not easily come by here, you know. Shall I show you his library?”

  Alex eyed the voluptuous Upton asset he would most like to peruse but wisely refrained from comment. Instead, he rose abruptly, nearly plummeting Frances to the floor while holding his hand out to Evelyn.

  “I will return Miss Wellington’s vulgar taste in poetry to the shelves and show her some more useful literature, then. If you will excuse us . . . Come, Miss Wellington.”

  Evelyn stared at him with what he recognized as mutiny at his peremptory command. Fortunately, she had the intelligence to realize stealing a moment to converse was the reason they had both suffered through this dinner. She rose and curtsied. “If you will excuse us just a moment, I will show Mr. Hampton the library.”

  Once out of sight, Evelyn removed the folded paper in her pocket. “Here is the list of everyone receiving Staffordshire in the last three years. The same companies also seem to buy a great quantity of tea and regular shipments of port. If the pattern holds, it’s quite possible the tea and port are actually silk, Madeira, and coffee. The crates and kegs would be similar and the difference in invoice and shipment would represent a small fortune in duties. I won’t go into the details of their transactions with some of our local shipping, but it is even more open to suspicion. I shall have to stop dealing with these firms. I didn’t have time to locate correspondence containing names and addresses of the owners.”

  Hampton glanced at the list and shoved it into his pocket. Her worried expression was understandable. Curtailing the companies she dealt with would compromise her income. Worse, it would raise the smugglers’ suspicions.

  Normally, he wouldn’t care what happened, but since his honest cousin Alyson had arrived in his life, he seemed to have developed a nagging kernel of conscience.

  “You cannot stop dealing with those compa
nies and arouse their suspicions,” he warned her. “You must assume them innocent until proved otherwise. We need to catch both ends of the trade if they are guilty. That will take time. Continue your business as usual, Miss Wellington, and let me take care of the rest.”

  “If you think I intend to hand you that list and forget everything that has happened, you are quite mad, Mr. Hampton,” she informed him. “For all I know, you are part of the ring. If you cannot work with me on this, then I will have no choice but to turn the evidence over to my uncle and the courts.”

  “If you were a man, I could call you out for that, Miss Wellington.” Angrily crunching the list in his pocket, Alex strode toward the door, but he couldn’t resist one final word. Turning to meet her fury, he added, “I am surprised that you have not already turned the evidence over to your uncle instead of relying on a suspicious character like me.”

  Her gaze faltered, and she appeared to be gritting her teeth when she admitted, “I have heard my uncle make mention of several of those companies. I fear he may have some interest in them.”

  Alex’s hand fell from the door latch. He returned to stand in front of her, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. “When were you intending to tell me that minor piece of information?”

  She didn’t flinch at his anger. “You have given me little reassurance that you will not walk back on that ship and sail away, leaving me to my own devices.”

  He deserved the accusation in her violet eyes. The sound of footsteps in the hall warned that their time was limited. “Find some intellectual book, Miss Wellington. Someone’s coming. Where can we meet on the morrow?”

  Evelyn fled to the shelves to find a volume. “On the Common, in front of the school, at three.”

  The door swung open and Frances peered around the corner with a dimpled grin. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

  Alex favored her with a scathing glance. “Your cousin has the mind of a mule, Miss Upton. She’ll never benefit from a man’s learning. But then, a pretty girl like you needn’t understand that, need you?”

  Not grasping the veiled insult, Frances smiled gaily and claimed his arm. “A woman need only understand what a man likes, Mr. Hampton. Evelyn has an unfortunate tendency to forget that upon occasion.”

  Alex heard muffled laughter from the slender figure at the shelves, and out of sheer maliciousness, concurred. “How right you are, Miss Upton. I am certain you have never forgotten what a man likes.” Smoothly he guided her out the door. “Your exquisite gown is a perfect example, my dear.”

  Hearing a book slam against a wooden shelf, he grinned to himself. A tied score, and the next round to be fought tomorrow.

  Chapter 3

  Evelyn watched the tall, athletic grace of the man approaching along the summer-dry grass of the Common. Hampton had evidently adopted the simpler style of male attire favored here, but even in a plain brown broadcloth coat and buff breeches it was apparent that he did not belong. The coat was cut away at the front to reveal the expensive embroidered short vest beneath. Instead of the ever-present cocked hat, he wore some new fashion with a narrow brim and high crown. Since he also wore boots, she assumed he had been riding. Apparently the English even had appropriate attire for that.

  The grim line of Hampton’s mouth indicated his opinion of her. Very well, she could show him just how mule-headed she could be.

  She held out her hand in greeting. “I see you have not sailed with your ship yet, Mr. Hampton.”

  He gave her crisp sprigged apron and straw hat a look of contempt. Instead of making a polite bow over her hand, he held it. His dark eyes twinkled maliciously. “No. Miss Wellington, I thought you might wish to be instructed on what it is men like.” With that, he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand.

  Evelyn felt the shock wave all the way up her arm, but she steeled herself against the sensation. Removing her hand, she informed him coolly, “Not unless you care to be equally instructed on what women prefer, Mr. Hampton. I can begin by telling you that public mauling is not high upon the list.”

  “Privately, then? I have this room above the tavern . . .”

  If she had held one of her cousin’s foolish fans, she would have hit him with it, but she was not so simple-minded as to strike him in view of half the town. She had thought it safest to meet him in public, but she was having second thoughts about the concept of safety. If half the town knew she was meeting him, how long would it be before the smugglers started putting two and two together ? Or one and one?

  “Mr. Hampton, I doubt that we have time for your notion of humor. By nightfall our names will be paired if we linger here much longer. Have you come to agree to work with me on this investigation?”

  “Heaven forbid that our names be paired together, Miss Wellington,” he replied. “I am at your command. Shall we find a more private meeting place?”

  Evelyn frowned, afraid he was not taking this at all seriously; yet he never smiled. He could be a smuggler and a murderer for all she knew, but she could not handle this problem alone. She would have to trust him until he proved less than trustworthy.

  “There’s a small barn outside the town gate where my father occasionally stored goods. We still rent it, so I have every right to inspect it. I must warn you, it’s a bit of a walk, but you cannot miss it. There’s a broken wagon in the side yard. If we went there separately, none would notice.”

  Lifting his hat, Hampton made a curt bow. “In half an hour, shall we say?”

  Relieved that he was so biddable, Evelyn nodded and walked away. She needed to tell him that her correspondence had produced a few illegible signatures that meant little to her. She was in no position to track down the vague addresses on the invoices of shipments merchants picked up themselves.

  ***

  Cantering his rented mount up to the decrepit building that fitted the description Miss Wellington had given, Alex had better ideas than discussing invoices and smugglers. Inside the barn’s interior, he discovered a fresh stack of hay piled in one corner. He had some very pleasant memories of haystacks.

  Alex had felt the lady shiver when he had kissed her hand. Perhaps he had taken her measure wrong. A woman who worked around men all day might enjoy male company in other ways too. She was much more to his liking than the mindless maid who had filled his bed these last two nights, even if the lady had a tongue sharper than the Maclean's sword. If the truth be told, he could learn to enjoy fencing with her if he thought he had any chance to unlace her bodice.

  Sunlight filtered through holes in the roof and between boards missing from the barn walls. Alex watched dust motes caught in a molten stream of gold. The air was warm, but not unpleasantly so, and he was half-tempted to discard his coat and hat and sprawl upon the hay for a quick nap. It had been a long time since he had been in anything so primitive as a barn, and he could not recall ever being in a barn so primitive as this. The ones on his mother’s estate had been snug and airless.

  Remembering the maid he had met with frequency in the warm security of his mother’s hayloft when he was little more than a lad, Alex glared impatiently at the open door. One little half-witted maid had taught him the pleasures of the body as well as the deceit of the female sex.

  Women were for enjoyment, nothing more. Miss Wellington put on prim airs, but no proper lady would meet him in a place like this. It should be amusing to see how she got around to what she really wanted.

  ***

  When Evelyn finally reached the barn, she was hot, tired, and dusty. Mr. Hampton was sitting cool and relaxed in his shirtsleeves on a comfortable bed of hay.

  He rose and offered a polite drawing-room bow. “You will forgive my not offering you a ride. I assumed our intent was to meet in private.”

  Irritated that she had not had the sense to ride, she withdrew her hand. “Quite correct, Mr. Hampton. Let us be done with this quickly. I have had time to consider several ideas as to how to trace the smugglers.”

  “As you said, let us be qu
ick. I cannot tarry long despite the pleasure of your company, Miss Wellington. Will you have a seat or must we remain standing?” He indicated the old blanket he had thrown across the haystack.

  Evelyn regarded the tattered wool with disfavor, but his tone offered a challenge she could not ignore. Wrapping her skirts around her, she took a corner of the disreputable blanket. When Hampton dropped his long frame beside her, she nearly jumped and ran. His masculine proximity made her shiver, and she tried not to notice how indecently large he appeared in sleeveless vest and no coat.

  “I have not yet sent out notices that the shipment has arrived,” she continued, trying to hide her nervousness, “but everyone is likely to have heard that the Minerva is in port. I thought we might have someone follow the wagons that pick up the goods.”

  Hampton crossed his hands behind his head and lay back against the straw. Evelyn stared at the barn wall so she could not see the rugged strength of his shoulders or watch the chiseled darkness of his face. Then he crossed his booted feet, and she could not help but notice the bulge of muscular thighs in tight breeches as they brushed against her skirts. This was inexcusable. Stomach in knots, she waited for his reply.

  “Excellent idea, Miss Wellington,” Alex responded sarcastically. “The man following could pretend he was a dog and trot alongside the wagon for the fifty or one hundred miles it might take to its destination. No one would ever suspect a thing.”

  Heat and nervousness ignited her simmering anger. Without any thought at all, Evelyn turned and pounded Hampton in his damned flat stomach. He grunted more in surprise than pain and caught her arm before she could flee in fury.

  “What the deuce was that for?” He gripped her arm, refusing to let it go when she tried to jerk from his grasp.

  “That was for being a stupid man with a sarcastic mouth, Mr. Hampton. I cannot believe I’ve risked my reputation and possibly my life just to endure your insults. Let me go. It is obvious we have nothing further to say to each other.”