Rebel Dreams (38 page)

Evelyn stared at this rude behavior in bewilderment. “Is
there something wrong with the design? I will take it back and make it right.”

Alex stretched out his long legs and smiled his satisfaction
while keeping his hand protectively over his watch pocket. He ignored the
protests from around the room. “I’m not certain whether to reward the man or
challenge him, but he made it right.”

His smug expression brought instant suspicion, and Evelyn
reached around him to try to remove the fob for a closer look. He held it
close, refusing access, and she beat his hand with frustration.

Across from them, Rory began to grin. “Complete with
figurehead, you say? A truly creative jeweler.”

The women turned to him for explanation, but meeting Alex’s
gaze, Rory shook his head. Both men grinned at each other in understanding, but
before they could be slaughtered by a room full of curious women, a confusion
in the foyer caught their attention. Animated voices from the foyer carried
through the marble halls.

Alex leapt to his feet and hurried out. Uncertain whether
she should follow, Evelyn hesitated, until a familiar note in the voices caught
her ear. She gained her feet at the same time as her mother and rushed after
Alex.

Alex stepped back from welcoming Matilda and Frances Upton
as Evelyn and Amanda flew to embrace them. Taking in the situation, Deirdre gave
orders for trunks and rooms and fires. Chattering happily, the group made their
way back to the warmth of the parlor.

An unusually subdued Frances hugged her aunt and cousin with
fervency. In the months since leaving Boston to live with her mother’s English
relations, she had apparently learned it was difficult to be the center of attention
outside her own environs. Her attire was far less fashionable here than it had
been in Boston.

“I think we owe much to you, Mr. Hampton. I don’t think we
have thanked you enough,” she exclaimed, taking his hand.

Surprised, Alex bowed and smiled indulgently. “You need not
thank me for anything. I’m selfish enough to have done it all for Evelyn.”

The lateness of the hour and the weariness of the new
arrivals soon broke up the gathering. Rory and Alyson made their excuses,
although the way they looked at each other gave the real explanation. Jealously
Evelyn watched them go, wishing she and Alex could learn to live that way. She
turned back into the room to catch his gaze on her, and she blushed under the
intensity of his stare. Maybe this night would put an end to their stalemate.

Her mother and Deirdre were ushering the new arrivals to their
rooms. The butler arrived carrying a salver with a letter upon it. Discreetly
standing out of the way of the departing ladies, he held the missive out to Alex.

Evelyn watched in dismay as her husband hastily read the
letter, turned a shade whiter, and shoved the paper into his pocket. She
hurried to catch up with him when he started for the door.

“Alex? Is anything wrong?” She caught his arm, forcing him
to halt.

“A little trouble, nothing more. Go on up to bed. Make
certain your maid puts your necklace in a safe place.”

He seemed distracted and without memory that he had promised
to talk with her this night. Evelyn released his arm, belatedly recovering some
of her pride. “What kind of trouble? Is there anything I can do?”

“Not a thing. It’s business. I have to go out for a little
while.” As if remembering this was a holiday and he had a wife, Alex bent and
pecked her on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, little tyrant, and thank you. You
could not have found a better gift.”

She wanted to thank him too, to throw her arms around him
and kiss him and show how much she appreciated all he had done to make her
Christmas happy. But he was already on his way down the hall and reaching for
the cloak the footman held out to him.

Brokenhearted, she watched him stride out without another
look back. Damn the man, every time she imagined he was developing some feeling
behind that icy facade of his, he slapped her in the face. When would she learn
to hate him?

Alex didn’t come to her that night, and he was
conspicuously absent from the breakfast table the next morning. Rory looked
grim when his meal was interrupted by a message similar to the one Alex had
received, and he hastily offered his excuses. Evelyn looked to Alyson to see
how she had taken this abrupt departure.

Alex’s cousin stirred her tea, a distant look on her face.
Feeling Evelyn’s gaze, she looked up but only shook her head with a bleak look.
It was that look that caused Evelyn’s stomach to clench with foreboding.

By evening the news had filtered to the household. One of
Cranville Enterprises’ smaller ships had gone down at sea with all hands
aboard.

While the contents of the ship were insured against the loss
of cargo, no means of protecting loss of human life existed. The families of
all the sailors aboard had to be notified. Evelyn had lived too close to the
sea all her life not to know what that meant. The captain’s widow and children
would need to be personally notified, and the other families would receive
heartbreaking letters of regret. She left the salon, wiping her eyes with the
back of her hand.

Evelyn wished there were something she could do, but Alex
had effectively closed her out again. He didn’t return from the warehouse. Instead
of turning to her in this time of need, he had turned inside himself, shutting
all else out. She was beginning to recognize the symptoms. Now he would bury
himself in overwork and deny the pain that surely he must suffer. Even Alex
could not be so callous as to ignore the human tragedy of a shipwreck.

If he returned that night, she didn’t know of it. When she
rose the next day, he was already gone. That he could not come to her with his
pain or his problems made her want to scream, but she held her tongue and
wandered the house, waiting for his return.

She had married a man with a problem greater than she could
combat. Alex had spent his childhood virtually alone, with only a selfish,
demanding mother to turn to. The next years of his life he had spent in
challenging everyone and everything he encountered to reject him as the first
two women in his life had done. Now that he had a wall around him so thick no
one could pierce it, he no longer sought rejection, but he did not remove the
barrier either. He was as thoroughly trapped on the inside as she was on the
outside, and she could see no means of ever reaching him.

There had been moments when she thought she had found the
secret entrance. Those rare smiles he cast upon her had to count for something.
There had been the precious fleeting moments that had brought her to the altar
against all common sense, but looking back, they were few and far between. The
only times she really felt as if she had touched him were when they made love.

They were gathering in the salon after dinner when Alex
finally appeared. The stormy look on his face and irritated bellow at the
servants warned of his mood, but Deirdre ignored the signs to approach him.

“Have you had any further word of survivors, Alex? Sometimes
there—”

“They are dead, my lady, all of them. One cannot run aground
on an iceberg and swim to safety. Now, if you will excuse me . . .”
He rudely pushed around her and stalked toward the liquor cabinet.

Alyson drifted into his path before he could reach his goal,
her pale hand lifting to his chest, her misty eyes worried. “Alex, you cannot
blame yourself. The captain chose his route wrongly. Sit down and let one of
the maids bring you some warm punch.”

Alex wrenched her wrist away. “Tell me you’ve read a dead
man’s mind to reach that conclusion, Cousin. Now, out of my way. I have more
work to do, and the lazy maids we have about here haven’t restocked my brandy.”

Rory materialized at Alyson’s side, holding out a snifter of
his favorite drink. “Have this and sit down, Hampton. You cannot bring back the
dead by working yourself to your own grave.”

“By damn, will you get out of my way! Next time, I’ll send
someone to fetch the damned bottle for me.” Flinging open the cabinet, Alex
removed a newly filled decanter of brandy, and without looking at anyone,
strode out of the room.

The silence that follows a tempest filled the room. The roar
and the thunder echoed in the distance as some unfortunate servant entered Alex’s
path. Evelyn felt her aunt and cousin look away from her in embarrassment, but
more than that, she felt the sympathy and curiosity in other eyes as they
awaited her reaction. She was not accountable for Alex’s behavior, but they
seemed to be waiting for her to do something. She clasped her hands and stared
at them. How could she tell them that she was the last person in the world to
persuade her husband to reason?

The chatter slowly returned. Frances agreed to play the
spinet. Tea was brought in. Rory made some excuse and departed, but Alyson took
a seat beside Evelyn. She did not pretend to drink her tea but stared in the
direction of the draped windows.

“At least I am not afraid of him anymore.” She offered
without any prelude or explanation. “His vile temper is dangerous, but usually
only to himself. After our first child was born, Rory and Alex and all the men
had a drinking contest. I could not blame them. That was a terrible time, and
they deserved a night of oblivion, but Alex was still awake when all else had
fallen under the table. He kept shouting for more, but the maids were too frightened
to bring it to him. The house was practically barren of food and drink, and he
nearly demolished several cabinets before he found what he sought, and by that
time his hands were bleeding so profusely he could scarce lift the bottle.
There is a madness in him sometimes that he does not recognize. I hope you do
not mind, but Rory has told me of the child he lost. I think that night, with
the birth of my child, Alex was reminded of what he preferred to forget.”

Evelyn squeezed her nails into her palms. She knew the
madness of which Alyson spoke, knew the anger inside Alex ate at him, but he
had shut her out. “He will not listen to me,” she replied to Alyson’s expectant
silence.

“It is not words he needs, Evelyn. It is love. He does not
think he’s deserving of love. Did you know that his father died when Alex was
but three? His mother took him away from his rightful family, from the men who
might have taught him a man’s world, because she hated his father. James
Hampton was an undisciplined rake, but most of all, he was a drunkard. He died
of a broken neck after making a drunken wager to race to Yorkminster. Despite
his mother’s interference, Alex spent many years trying to follow in his father’s
footsteps.”

There was only sad understanding in Alyson’s voice. Evelyn
clenched her hands and mourned those wasted years. His father had died of
drink. There was a good chance Alex might do the same if he were left alone
long enough to discover there is no oblivion in a bottle. He needs love, Alyson
said. Could she be right? Every time Evelyn got close to Alex, he pulled away,
but if just once she could break through that wall and hang on . . .

Without a word to Alyson, indeed, with little recognition
that any others were in the room, Evelyn rose to follow her husband. If she
thought about it, she would realize this was madness, so she stopped thinking
and acted on instinct. Someone had to dissolve this barrier between them if
they were to have a true marriage. She had forgotten her objections to
marrying. Perhaps they had been valid once. Perhaps they still were. But what
mattered most was the lonely man upstairs and her love for him.

She had to believe that. Only the strength of her love could
carry her into the lion’s den. In her own chambers, Evelyn removed her
clothing. If she had only one way to reach Alex, she would use it. Acres of
velvet and silk would only hamper her purpose.

In one of the many drawers of her armoire she found the
lovely lace-and-lawn nightgown that Deirdre had given her for Christmas. It was
an extravagant confection unlike anything she had ever owned. The gossamer
softness slid over her skin like cool water. Without corsets or garters or
petticoats, she felt free and unfettered. Lace dripped from elbow-length sleeve
to wrist. The wide ruff of lace at her throat lifted with every breath,
revealing the valley between her breasts. The material was nearly transparent.

Taking the pins out of her hair, Evelyn brushed it to a
satin gleam. She was grateful she had given her maid the day off. She didn’t
want anybody to know the seduction she embarked upon. Or the rejection she
would almost certainly suffer.

She set the brush aside and stared at the door to Alex’s
dressing room. It wouldn’t hurt to go into his dressing room. If he were there,
she could always ask to borrow something.

She turned the knob and let herself in. The room was empty
and unlit, and she had to cross it with only a candle and memory to guide her.
Perhaps she should have brought a lamp, but she distrusted throwing any more
light on what she was about to do.

Her fingers hesitated over the latch to Alex’s chamber. Once
open, there would be no turning back. She would seal her future. The choice was
hers, and in his own enigmatic way, Alex had given it to her.

It was that realization that made her turn the knob until it
clicked, signaling her presence to anyone on the far side. Still, he did not
call to her or give any sign that she was wanted. Setting her lips, Evelyn
pushed the door inward. She was damned tired of being shut out of his life. He
had promised they would talk. So they would talk. Now.

The room was cold and dark, lacking even a fire. She
hesitated, trying to remember the furniture arrangement. The huge bed she
recalled from her one visit should be directly in the center of the far wall
across from the door. With all the lights out, surely he had retired to bed. He
couldn’t work in the dark.