Rebel Dreams (16 page)

She laughed softly, and he felt joy that she was as lost as he
in this new discovery. In the morning they would wake and come to their senses.

Evelyn cuddled closer. “Home is somewhere out there on the
other side of the moon. Perhaps if we tried walking, we might find it.”

“I fear not, but I’m willing to try if you’ll stay by my
side. I don’t want to go alone.” Alex caught her hand in one of his and held
her gaze, willing her to understand what he could not fathom himself. All his
life he’d been empty inside. Now suddenly, strangely, he’d begun to feel again.

She touched his bandage with her free hand and smiled. “I
think the blow affected your brains, sir. You had best not be left unattended.”

With a wry smile he made a leg and gestured to the street. “Shall
we go, then, my lady?”

Not releasing his hand, Evelyn followed him back to the
cobblestone street.

“I have a mad cousin by the name of Alyson who believes the
moon drives us to strange notions,” Alex told her. “Moon dreams, she calls
them. Do you think she may be right?”

“Almost certainly. Daylight ought to be a cure. Shall we
write to your cousin and ask?”

“Her replies are seldom sensible, and I have a feeling
sensibility is required here.” Alex squinted upward and found the sliver of
moon overhead. That particle of light couldn’t be sufficient to drive men mad.
Rationality was already returning.

Evelyn must have felt it too. She sighed. “Is your cousin
truly mad? It might be the better way to be.”

“On the whole, I daresay you’re right. Alyson is utterly
content in her own little world. She lives on the outer borders of nowhere in
the heathen hills of the Highlands with an equally mad Scot and two holy
terrors and an assortment of ferocious characters who would make Blackbeard
shiver. And she loves it. In her case, madness is a definite benefit.”

Evelyn smiled upon him with approval. For just this one
perfect moment, they were in harmony. “I wish I could meet her. Perhaps her
happiness could be contagious.”

The mood slithered away faster than Alex could grasp it.
Ugly reality had a way of rearing its head. He shook his head and felt the dull
ache return. “Not for us. We’ve been inoculated with common sense. Alyson’s
husband once said Alyson would go happily to meet her death. The two of us
would fight death every inch of the way. There have to be people like us to
protect the Alysons of the world.”

Death wasn’t the only thing they would fight. Their argument
of earlier would be only one of many. They were too different, too far apart in
their thinking to ever reach a modicum of agreement. Their kisses were only a
mad flight into fantasy. He knew that. He hoped Evelyn did, too.

“Shall I disagree with you and give us something new to
argue about?” She lifted her gaze to his and met his rueful grin.

“It’s a topic I’m willing to argue but not eager to win. I’ve
never kissed a lady in breeches before. Do you think we might try it just one
more time before the moon goes down?”

They had wandered to the enveloping shadows of the grove of
elms and the Liberty Tree. The first leaves were just turning yellow, but the
shadows were deep and welcoming. Without a word, Evelyn came into his arms. For
just this one moment, Alex surrendered his sanity for the sake of a dream.
Rebellious dreams, perhaps, but joyous ones.

Her lips were both gentle and hungry as they touched his.
There had to be a time and place for the two of them. Alex wrapped caught her up
in his embrace. If only now could be the time. She parted her lips, and he
twined his fingers in her hair. Now. He needed her now.

“The whole town is talking! I say we cry the banns now.
You cannot continue living in the same house with my niece without declaring
your intentions. In three more weeks, you may have heard from Cranville and the
wedding can be held immediately.” George Upton paced the parlor—the library had
been closed and boarded up since the night of the riots.

Alex leaned against the mantel with a bored air, but his
eyes narrowed. “I have already informed Mrs. Wellington of my intention to move
out now that I have recovered my health. Unfortunately, there is the small
matter of paying my way, since your wife and daughter sailed with my purse. If
you could advance me their fares, I’ll remove myself immediately from your
niece’s home.”

“That won’t do! I must think of Evelyn’s welfare. She is
headstrong and does not realize the damage she has caused her family by
consorting with radicals and garbing herself like a man. Now this! No, it won’t
do at all. The two of you were seen last night coming out of that tavern
together. The banns must be cried immediately.” Upton stopped his pacing long
enough to glare at Alex.

Alex lifted his shoulders from the mantel and glared back
from his greater height. “In all due respect, I think not, sir. I will be at
the King’s Arms; you may send your fare there. Evelyn plans to be involved in
auctioning off some unpaid consignments these next weeks. I thought I would
lend my hand. You might do the same.”

Upton looked briefly alarmed, then turned livid and
cursed—sure signs of a guilty conscience if he’d ever seen one. Alex stalked
past him and out the door.

If Upton were involved with the smuggling and the warehouse,
as he suspected, Alex hoped he’d heard his warning. The unpaid consignments
almost all contained contraband. Didn’t the man realize the harm he could do
his family by playing in the same dangerous circles as smugglers and thieves?

Still incensed over a man who would endanger the ones
closest to him for the sake of money, Alex progressed toward the King’s Arms
where, his newest abode. He wouldn’t return to the inn in sight of Evelyn’s
warehouse. He would be at the window every day looking for some sight of her.
And then he would be straining his brain to find some way to invite her to his
rooms. He knew himself too well, and he was beginning to know Evelyn even better.
Her kisses meant one thing and his meant another.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but the damned woman didn’t even
bolt her doors. The thought of that open invitation had driven him to madness last
night after he had brought her home. She wouldn’t have stopped him if he had
come to her during the night. It was his duty to be the responsible one,
particularly since she would think their lovemaking meant marriage, and he had
no intention of binding himself to anyone.

***

Evelyn dug her fingers into her hair and stared at a
ledger page that could have been hieroglyphics for all she cared. The fight
with Alex this morning before she left had unnerved her more than she had
thought humanly possible.

What did she care if he went bankrupt moving into a tavern
where he couldn’t pay the fare? Let him starve on pride if he liked. He would
hurt her mother’s feelings if he moved out, but her mother would be equally
hurt when she discovered the Englishman wouldn’t be her son-in-law. How had she
got herself caught in such a coil?

Her stomach contracted in knots recalling last night. That
was the reason Alex was moving out, she knew. It was impossible to live in the
same house and remember those kisses and not reach out for more.

She groaned and covered her eyes with her hand. How had she
let him go so far? She could feel the tips of her breasts rubbing against the
fabric of her cotton chemise, aching for the brush of his hand. The coil in her
stomach burned hotter, spreading its wickedness through her midsection. Alex had
known he was doing this to her, the dirty, rotten seducer. She ought to be glad
he was gone.

She slammed the ledger closed and looked for some physical
activity that would drive out these demons.

The soldiers tramping down the street distracted her. The colonial
militia had little or no formal training except what they had learned in the
war against the French and Indians. They seldom patrolled in anything
resembling an orderly manner. This steady rhythm indicated trained troops. She
had thought the main body of redcoats were on the island fort with the
governor. What occasion had brought them to town?

Before her thoughts had reached “general warrant” to wonder
what poor soul’s house was to be ransacked now, the office door burst open, and
she was staring into the cold eyes of a British officer.

“Miss Evelyn Wellington?” he demanded, already reaching into
his pocket for the piece of paper that gave him freedom to search as he willed.

Evelyn stared in horror as the paper appeared. She had never
found any way of disposing of those last two crates of brandy. Surely they
would never find it on that high shelf in crates of porcelain. She nodded
slowly.

***

At noon, Alex returned to Evelyn’s home to collect his
clothing. Amanda Wellington fluttered and protested, but it was as much for her
sake as her daughter’s that he had to move out. He liked the woman too well to
hurt her by dishonoring her daughter. It had been his idea to carry out this
mock betrothal, and even he had to admit that his intentions at the time had
not been precisely honorable.

The betrothal had been an easy solution to her uncle’s
protests. He could have let the old carrion try to put him in jail. Instead, he
had opted for the pleasure of being thrown in the constant company of the
tempting Miss Wellington.

He had accepted Amanda’s peace offering of tea when Jacob crashed
through the front door screaming at the top of his lungs. Alex made no sense of
his words. He rose and grabbed Jacob by the collar.

“Speak slowly and stop screaming, lad. You’re scaring your
mother.” To Alex’s surprise, Jacob grabbed his arm.

“They took Evelyn! The redcoats came, and they tore up the
warehouse, and they took Evelyn! You’ve got to get her! Hurry, please, before
they take her away. They’ll hang her like they hanged Tommy Jones.” He seized
Alex’s hands and pulled with the strength of terror, nearly unbalancing him.

Amanda rose shakily, bracing her hands against the table. “Quiet
down now, Jacob, you’re talking nonsense. Tommy Jones was a dangerous smuggler
who outran the law once too many times. Evelyn never smuggled anything.”

Jacob threw Alex an anguished look. “You know. They found
the brandy and all sorts of things. They knew just where to look. There was
Madeira and coffee and I don’t know what all hidden in some of those kegs.
Evelyn didn’t put them there. I know she didn’t.”

Alex felt the emptiness return, the blank fury with which he
had faced the world for so long. Evelyn might have done it, for all he knew.
She might have used him as women so often tried. She could be guilty as hell.

The bloody truth was that he didn’t care. He wouldn’t let
her rot in a common jail cell with criminals while her damned uncle continued
to roam the streets—and her damned uncle was behind this, beyond a doubt. The
warning Alex had given had led to this. He had only himself to blame.

Without a word, he walked out of the house. Jacob tore after
him, his small legs doing twice the work to match Alex’s long strides.

At South Church, Alex met Sam Adams hurrying from the State
House. Alex blocked his path. “If I don’t rescue Miss Wellington from whatever
hellhole they’ve locked her in, you’d better put your damned mob to good use
tonight. Protest something practical for a change, like the imprisonment of
innocent citizens.”

Adams dusted his already dirty coat as if Alex had
physically assaulted him. Then in cold tones he replied, “That is exactly what
we have been protesting, but we do it for the sake of all the people, not just
one. We’ll be at Faneuil Hall tonight. If you’re ready to see reason, you’re
welcome to join us.”

Alex wasn’t in any humor to argue the fine points of
democracy. Tucking away the name of the meeting place in case of need, he
hurried on to the British garrison. He had no high opinion of mankind in general,
whether they wore red coats or called themselves Whigs or Tories. He just
prayed Evelyn had fallen into the hands of someone who had at least made some
pretense of being a gentleman. He didn’t want to think about what could happen
to a woman in the hands of a randy brigade of soldiers.

He told Jacob to wait outside and stand guard.

Inside, his curt questions and authoritative mien brought
him to the office of the battery captain. The man behind the desk ignored him
as Alex entered, but he couldn’t ignore the forceful rap of Alex’s gold-tipped
cane.

Garbed in his fashionable London macaroni gear and wearing
his most aristocratic hauteur, Alex glared until the officer rose to his feet
in a reluctant gesture of respect.

“Where is Miss Wellington?” Alex had learned the trick of
physical intimidation long ago. He swung his walking stick and frowned
imperiously. “Don’t just stand there, man. When your superiors find you have
taken an innocent female into custody, they will have your commission.”

“Miss Wellington is under arrest. She cannot be released
without the authority of the judge.”

“She will be released, and this minute, or you will find
yourself before a judge. I came here on behalf of the Earl of Cranville to
investigate the reported atrocities of his majesty’s finest against loyal
colonists. I did not believe the charges until now. You are holding an innocent
woman, Captain. If you don’t release her, I’ll have you charged with complicity
and bring the judge down here to order your arrest. I wish to see Miss
Wellington immediately.”

The officer had identified him by now, and his Adam’s apple
bobbed nervously as he glanced to a door leading into the back of the building.
“She is being kept comfortably, sir. I have no power to release her. She will come
before the judge in the morning to decide whether there is sufficient evidence
to warrant a trial. If she is innocent, she will be released then.”