Rebel Dreams (12 page)

Disgust and anger rose up in her as she realized this same
man who had kissed and held her came here at night to lie with a tart like
that. She could not control the quiver of fury in her voice. “I thought to seek
your help, but I can see you are otherwise occupied.”

Frustrated at her inability to speak her real thoughts,
Evelyn turned away, but Alex’s mocking baritone called her back.

“I’m in no hurry, my dear. Why don’t you come back and join
us? If you’re willing to try bundling, I’ll even throw Tess out.”

Fury brought tears to her eyes, and clenching her fists,
Evelyn swung to confront him. “I wouldn’t bed or wed you if you were the last
man on earth. I came here to ask your help and warn you that the mob is out
again, but I can see you care only for your own selfish pursuits. The mob is
probably too drunk to figure out how to reach the
Minerva
anyway.”

Hard fingers caught Evelyn’s shoulders and jerked her back
before she could make her escape. Alex scowled. “You have no right to come here
and condemn me for what I do in the privacy of my rooms. You’re not my wife. I
never had any intention of tying myself to a woman’s mewling whims, for just
that reason. I don’t need a horde of whining brats to prove I’m a man, and that’s
the only reason I can see for marrying. I’m a free man and mean to stay that
way. Now, get off your damned high pedestal and tell me what you came here for.”

Shaken to the core by his blunt honesty, Evelyn stared
blindly at the wall. Her breath came in short spurts, and she fought back the
tears streaming down her face.

“The mob is rioting again. They surrounded my aunt’s house
before I could get her away. They’ve broken up in groups. There’s one gone to
Judge Story’s. They’re threatening to come burn all the English ships in the
harbor. They were smashing in the fence at my uncle’s when I left.”

At his curse, she tried to fight his grip, but Alex’s fingers
didn’t loosen. Evelyn brought her heel down on his instep. “Go bed your doxy. I’ll
take care of it myself.”

Alex caught her up short, jerking on her shirt collar. “Don’t
look at me like I’ve just committed adultery. We’re nothing to each other. Do
you understand that?”

The words pierced her like bullets, but Evelyn vented her
rage without acknowledging the pain. “I understand you’re a bloody bounder just
like you always said. Now, let me go.” She swung her foot at his shin, and he
had to loosen his hold to dodge the blow. She flew from his grasp and down the
stairs before Alex had time to do more than yell her name.

Not until Evelyn was out of sight did he realize what he had
done. Leaning his head against his arm where it rested on the doorframe, he
cursed himself for three sorts of fool. He had thrown accusations at her that
rightly belonged to another, and so had destroyed the very small hand of trust
she had offered to him. He deserved her curses. His rashness had destroyed more
than one relationship before. It seemed he was doing his best to end another.

Giving no thought to the woman in his bed, Alex opened a
dresser drawer, pulled out his pistol, checked the load, and thrust it in the
pocket of the coat he quickly donned. Grabbing the sword gathering dust beneath
the bed, he buckled that on too. Rescuing fair maidens wasn’t in his line of
work, but he rather fancied the dragon.

Clattering down the steps, he called to one of his crew in
the tavern, gave a terse message, then hurried into the night. The smell of
smoke had reached the wharf.

Running down the alley behind the Upton house, Evelyn bit
back a sob. She could hear the yells and cries of the mob, heard the smashing
of glass as the threats escalated, and shuddered as she nearly ran into a burly
trio uprooting a fence post. It was as if the devil had been let loose to tear
her world apart. The horror of her encounter with Alex was almost as shattering
as the rioting.

Thinking her a boy, the trio of scoundrels let her pass. She
slid through the hedge to enter the way she had left. Her uncle was a fool to
linger. There would be no protecting his precious possessions if he insisted on
staying put and antagonizing a mob. She could hear his voice in the front room hurling
curses. The vandals wanted his head, but most of the mob was poor and would be
satisfied with whatever they could lay hands on. She couldn’t tell her uncle
which was more valuable, his life or his library. She ran up the stairs to her
aunt.

Frances’ idea of old clothes was a sprigged muslin she had
worn last season. Evelyn sighed at the vivid white and multitude of petticoats.
She would stand out like a lighthouse on a stormy night.

She helped Jacob and their aunt shove jewels and coins into an
overburdened satchel. He raised a frightened face when she joined them.

“They’ve found Story’s wine cellar,” he said. “They’re too
drunk to follow orders. They’re tearing up the judge’s study now, looking for I
don’t know what. They weren’t supposed to harm anyone, Evelyn, I swear.”

“We’ll not take any chances. We’ll try the side door. They
haven’t noticed it yet. They’re probably looking for the wine cellar here too.
Come on, Aunt Matilda, we’ll get you to Mama. They won’t bother us there.”

Jacob stood and shifted from foot to foot uneasily. “Uh,
Evelyn, that might not be so good. They’re watching to catch Uncle George, and
they’ve got our house posted. They’ll search there next.”

Frances wailed hysterically, and Matilda sat down in dismay.
The shouts of violence outside erupted in a wild cry of triumph. The cellar
door leading to the wine must have been discovered.

George Upton’s screaming obscenities cut the air. Matilda
shook her head and covered her eyes. “I want to go home. I don’t know why I
ever came here. They’re all savages. All of them.”

Evelyn feared Matilda classified her husband in the same
category. She was inclined to agree. Grabbing the heavy satchel of valuables,
she checked the hall. “We’ll find somewhere. Let’s go now.”

They hurried in single file down the back stairs, without glancing
to the man berating the mob from the library. He had taken no thought to the
care of his family, and they gave him none now. Matilda silently slid a hand
over the mahogany breakfront, her pride and joy, as if saying good-bye. The
china inside gleamed with the loving care she had given it.

Evelyn dropped the satchel and opened the silverware drawer,
pulling out the utensils she knew her aunt had brought with her from England.
She dropped them in Jacob’s pockets until they filled to overflowing, then
wrapped the remainder in her jerkin and picked up the satchel again.

The side door creaked, but the noise was lost in the whoops
of triumph in back and angry shouts in front. The humid air escalated tension.
Evelyn nearly jumped from her skin as two men rounded the corner of the house,
almost bumping into her.

Without the jerkin, her disguise was well nigh useless. The
two rogues stared at her in confusion for a moment before discovering Frances
in her white dress. Their gazes took in Matilda and Jacob and finally returned
to the satchel in Evelyn’s hands. They laughed drunkenly as they realized what
they had discovered and reached for the valuables.

“Leave us be. If your cause is liberty and justice, you have
no reason to harm women and children.” Evelyn glared at the bottle in one man’s
hand and pushed toward the opening in the hedge she had used before.

“Not so fast, wiseacre.” The ruffian caught her arm, and she
could smell the fumes of alcohol on his breath. “The others can cry for liberty
and what-have-you, but I got better things in mind. Give over the satchel,
lady.”

His fingers hurt her arm, and she wanted to weep at being
treated thus twice in one night. It was too much to be ignored by the men she
had called friends, cursed by a man she called her fiancé, threatened by
hooligans, and forced to slink through the streets of her home. Mentally
calling Sam Adams and his committee every vile name she knew, Evelyn swung her
foot hard, connecting squarely with the thief’s shin.

He roared a curse and raised his fist. She feinted to the
left, and before he could swing again, someone grasped her attacker’s elbow and
bent it backward with a painful crack. The thief shrieked in pain.

“That’s the last time you’ll lift a hand to a woman, my
friend,” a warm voice murmured, ripe with mockery and something infinitely more
dangerous.

Alex. Evelyn closed her eyes with a shudder. She heard both
thieves scurrying into the night and opened her eyes in time to see the silver
gleam of his sword returning to its scabbard. She stared at the weapon in
horror, but her cousin and aunt held no such qualms. They grabbed his arms and
covered him with welcome.

Evelyn caught the dark gleam of his eyes as he glanced over
their heads to her. She felt frozen to the spot, weighed down by the enormity
of his appearance and her memory of how she had seen him last.

“I have men waiting in the street. Come, I have to send my
ship to safety. Are you ready?” Alex grabbed the satchel from Evelyn’s hand,
avoiding touching her as he led the way through the break in the shrubbery.

He was moving the
Minerva
out. She wanted to question,
but there wasn’t time. She felt more than saw the shapes of large men keeping
pace with them as they hurried down the street.

Torches flickered along all the streets, and the cries of
angry, drunken men filled the air. None dared stop the mob. It would be madness
to try. Evelyn took another fearful breath and focused on the broad shoulders
of the man ahead. She had lost all direction this night.

When it became apparent that Alex and her Aunt Matilda had
come to some agreement involving rowing out to the ship, Evelyn retreated into
the shadows of her warehouse. If they were planning to escape to England, she
wanted no part of their plans. She handed over the jerkin full of silver to one
of the sailors but did not join in their leave-taking.

When Alex came searching for her, she shook her head at his
offered hand.

“I’ll not go with you. Take care of Aunt Matilda. I have
other things to do.” She turned and started down the wharf.

Alex ran after her, grabbed her shoulder, and spun her
around. “My men have orders to sail at the first sign of trouble. Your aunt and
cousin have already agreed to go with the ship. I’ll go back for your uncle. I
don’t want to have to track you down too. This whole damn town is about to
explode. The ship is the safest place to be.”

“Not if it’s sailing to England.” Not flinching from his
furious dark glare, Evelyn stiffened her shoulders and waited for him to
release her. “This is my home. I’m staying. Jacob’s already gone back to tell
Uncle George where we are, so you may go with Aunt Matilda now. Climb on your
ship and sail away. We’ll be fine.” The flames from the bonfire at the State
House streaked the sky behind her, putting the lie to her words.

***

Alex dropped his hand from Evelyn’s slender shoulder. The
colonial situation was deteriorating rapidly, and he couldn’t risk leaving his
ship in port. There would be martial law or anarchy by morning. But he didn’t
want to leave Evelyn behind, roaming the streets in that revealing costume. He
wanted her safe, where he could find her.

Instead, she stood there bravely, her violet eyes saying
good-bye—against the backdrop of a town gone mad. Then she turned and walked
away, slipping into the darkness as if she were no more than a shade or a
memory.

Alex let her go. He had no other choice. He’d made it clear
that she didn’t belong to him any more than he belonged to her. He had a ship
already stocked and ready to sail, and long overdue. He owed it to his partners
to see that it returned safely.

Turning on his heel, Alex shouted to the men on the dinghy, “Tell
Ruggles to sail at the first sign of trouble. I’ll find my way out later.”

With a curse to himself, he strode toward Upton’s. He didn’t
owe the bastard a thing, but he couldn’t send the man’s family off to England
without at least trying to help.

The worst of the damage had already been done by the time
Alex arrived. The magnificent library had been shredded to papers drifting up
and down the street. The china crackled under his feet as he walked through the
hollow house searching for any sign of inhabitants.

He found Upton standing in his front room, still shaking his
fist at the now invisible intruders. When Alex entered, he turned on him.

“You! Where were you when I needed you? Go back and tell his
majesty the travesty that has been wrought this day! I demand justice be done.”

Alex found a still-intact decanter of claret and poured
himself a glass. “Go tell him yourself. Your wife and daughter are on the
Minerva
waiting to sail. The mob’s moved on to Hutchinson’s, from all
reports. There will be a boat waiting to row you out at the wharf. That’s the
best I can do for you.” He waited with interest to see the man’s reaction.

Upton began to turn purple, as if all the bile he had
accumulated this night had built up to cut off his breathing. He spluttered and
squirmed and finally protested, “I’m not leaving! I have a job to do. I’ll not
let the bloody bastards drive me away. That’s what they want, you know. They’d
drive us all out so they could take over. I’ll not go, I tell you!”

Alex had to admire the man in an odd way. Upton wasn’t a
complete fool, nor did he lack courage. Unfortunately, he was too much of a
jackass to know how to make the best of his more admirable qualities. Alex
swirled the claret in his glass and contemplated how he had succeeded in making
the best of his own worst qualities, and he gave the older man a wry toast.

“Suit yourself. I’ll send you the bill for your family’s
fare. I don’t suppose you happen to know where I could find your niece and
nephew, do you?”