Rebel Dreams (5 page)

“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.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s so obvious, Miss Wellington. I
generally demand a good deal more explanation than that when someone thumps me
in the gut. But if you insist upon behaving as a hysterical female, I can see
where it might be useless to continue our discussion.”

“What discussion?” she cried in frustration. “I’m the one
who discovered the illegal brandy. I’m the one who came up with the names. And
so far, I’m the only one who has come up with any ideas as to how to catch
them. All you have done is snipe at me with masculine bigotry. I hit you in the
stomach, Mr. Hampton, because that’s what a man would have done in my place.”

She wriggled to the end of the blanket, trying to escape his
unrelenting hold and dark mask of anger. She had reacted instinctively, not
with any smidgen of common sense at all. Any fool could see he was twice her
size and capable of great harm. Even another man would have thought twice
before doing what she had.

To her surprise, he regarded her with a calm lift of his eyebrow
and dropped his hold. “I see. Instead of calling me out, you prefer fisticuffs.
You are a most unusual woman, Miss Wellington. I’m not certain how to proceed.”

“You may proceed by climbing on your high horse and riding
out of here, Mr. Hampton. I no longer require your assistance.”

“If that harebrained scheme of yours is how you intend to
catch a wily band of smugglers, Miss Wellington, you need my assistance more
than you can imagine. If this is any example of how you generally conduct your
business, it is a wonder your father did not marry you off long ago to some
brute of a husband who would beat some sense into you.”

Evelyn’s muffled scream of outrage gave fair warning this
time. Alex caught her by the waist and flung her back against the blanket
before she could launch another attack. She was up in a flash, but he caught
her shoulders and held her down again.

Instead of giving her the tongue-lashing she deserved, he stared
into furious violet eyes. Her lush, rose-colored lips should never be tainted
with the curses currently passing them. Reacting to the soft, supple curves
beneath his hands, Alex leaned over and swallowed her accusations with his kiss.

Lightning careened through him. Heat melded his mouth to
hers. Her lips melted, and instead of struggling, she let him explore. The physical
sensation of two bodies cuddling in the warmth of a summer day recalled
pleasant memories.

With mindless lassitude, he parted her lips and taught her
the forbidden pleasure of his tongue.

She panicked, clamped her teeth closed, and beat at his arms
with her fists. He moved his exploratory kisses to the corner of her mouth and
along her cheek, but she continued to fight, tossing her head back and forth.

Alex pushed himself up and stared into her terrified face
with anger and puzzlement. “You do not like that manner of kissing? Or did I
mistakenly eat garlic for lunch?”

“Of all the arrogant, presumptuous, dunderheaded, mindless
jackasses of men I have ever had the misfortune to meet . . .
Let me go!”

It was a severe temptation not to comply. She had returned
his kiss with a passion Alex recognized. Even now he could see her breasts
rising against the confinement of her cotton bodice. He knew he had only to
touch the erect tip pushing against the thin material to persuade her back into
his arms. Her face was flushed with pleasure and beautiful with her desire.

But he was no longer sixteen and didn’t need to exhaust his
lust with every available female. He sat up and began to brush himself off.

“My mistake. I rather thought you enjoyed it too.”

Before she could deliver a scathing reply or scramble down
the haystack and away from him, the barn door creaked and a sliver of light
pierced the gloom.

“Miss Wellington? Is that you? I can explain about the hay—”
The man entering stopped abruptly as he caught sight of them sliding from the
stack. Then, staring at the floor, he finished hastily, “I’ll be removing the
hay shortly if you have need of the storage. Good day, Miss Wellington. Sir.”

The color had drained from Evelyn’s face by the time the man
departed. Her eyes were huge wafers beneath sable lashes, and Alex experienced
a guilty pang at how vulnerable she suddenly seemed. He had thought her as
strong as he, he realized. That was an entirely idiotic notion, considering the
differences between their ages, sex, and experience.

“I am sorry. Is he likely to carry tales?”

Evelyn squeezed her eyes closed. “I don’t know. I don’t know
him that well.” She shook her head and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter.
I am twenty-one and responsible only for myself.”

Alex gave her a skeptical look. Any young lady of his
acquaintance caught in such a compromising manner would be screaming marriage,
particularly since he had initiated the action. Despite her occupation and
hoydenish behavior, he could not believe that she was the type of woman who had
no reputation left to damage. Her pompous uncle would have packed her off to
China if that were so.

Deciding he had only himself to blame for falling into such
an obvious trap, Alex shrugged off the incident. He wasn’t the type to cry
marriage either. Perhaps she had learned her lesson. “Very commendatory of you,
my dear, but perhaps I ought to take you home now before anyone else steps in.”

“Yes, go on. I’ll walk. Perhaps you might just tell me your
suggestion to our problem sometime at the office. Or send me a letter. I don’t
care. Go away.”

Amused by her sudden abstraction in comparison with her
normally clipped, precise thinking, Alex shook his head. “I’ll admit to being a
cad, but I do try to keep up appearances. I will accompany you home, and to
hell with your neighbors. Now, come on.”

Evelyn jerked her elbow from his grasp and glared at him. “Haven’t
you caused enough trouble for one day? I am accustomed to walking. It is not
that far. I don’t need your charity or your company.”

“What you need is a little more respect and a little less spite,
but I won’t hold my breath,” he grumbled. “You will either ride out of here
under your own volition or I will pack you out of here over my saddle. If that
doesn’t convince you, think of your mother. How will she feel if the gossip
reaches her, and she hasn’t even met me?”

It was obvious that she hadn’t considered that. Tightening
her lips, she marched out into the sunlight as if to her own hanging.

Alex threw her up on the swaybacked nag that it had been his
misfortune to rent, then joined her before she had a chance to change her mind.
Her hair beneath the silly hat was all tousled, and he plucked a straw from it.
Mischievously, unable to resist the temptation of her slender curves in his
arms, he nibbled at her ear. “You look like you’ve been rolling in the hay,
Miss Wellington.”

“Stop it. Just stop it, or I will jump down. I will never be
so glad to see a man leave this town as I will you. When do you sail?”

Her words were low and choked, and he guessed he had touched
the impervious Miss Wellington a little more than anticipated. He had ever been
prone to overindulgence.

Taking up the reins, he held her waist with one arm and sent
the nag into a jarring walk with the other. “The
Minerva
sails when I
tell it to. That won’t be until I find out who dares to use me as a pawn in his
rotten game. So you might as well become used to my irritating company. Your
office is my best source of information.”

She muttered something that sounded like a particularly
pithy curse and remained silent the rest of the way into town. By the time they
reached the house on Treamount that she said was hers, Alex could appreciate
her penchant for walking. If he were to stay here much longer, he would have to
buy a real horse.

He helped her down from the ancient nag and took her elbow
to guide her toward the house. The modest brick structure sat practically on
the street, with only a small picket fence and a trim of flowers to call a
yard. By the standards of the neighboring houses, it had a look of comfortable
means, although it was not as pretentious as her uncle’s three-story structure.
The front steps led directly into the front room, he discovered as Evelyn
brought him inside.

“Is that you, Evelyn? Could you come here, please? Jacob
seems to have been fighting again.” The voice held a mixture of concern and
resignation.

Evelyn sighed and discarded her hat. “If you will have a
seat, Mr. Hampton, I will see what Jacob has broken this time, and my mother
will be right out to meet you.”

Instead of obeying, Alex followed on her heels. At her
questioning look, he shrugged. “I daresay I have rather more experience in
dealing with the results of fisticuffs than you do, Miss Wellington. I might as
well take a look at the boy and make myself useful.”

She gave him a shrewd look, but she held her tongue.

Mrs. Wellington looked up in surprise as they entered the
spacious kitchen. Jacob glared defiantly through the swelling of his eye. “Billy
started it,” he said.

“Looks like Billy ended it too.” Alex inspected the gash
above the blackening eye. “I don’t think it will need stitches, just some ice
for the swelling. I’ve suffered enough of the same to know the treatment. The
bully I used to fight always aimed for the head first. How did Billy go about
it?”

He had removed his hat in the front room, now he ran his
hand through a loose strand of hair and discovered straw dust. He discreetly
brushed it out while straddling a slat-back kitchen chair to listen to the tale
of a street fight.

Miss Wellington looked as if she’d prefer to crawl under a
table. She crossed the tiled kitchen floor to pump water into a glass.

“Well, Billy said something nasty first, so I hit him in the
stomach. That’s when he popped me in the eye and ran.” Jacob awaited the
verdict on this conduct.

“What did he say that was so bad that you had to hit him,
Jacob?” Unconcerned by the methods of the fight, his sister sought the cause
while handing Alex the glass of water.

He’d prefer ale, but he’d take what he could get while
caught in this uncomfortable family scene.

Jacob squared his shoulders and drew up his ruffled dignity.
“He said Uncle George was a no-good bloody Tory who ought to go back to England
where he belonged.”

Alex caught the worried look on Evelyn’s face. He wasn’t
certain how to interpret this conversation. He’d always considered the
colonists to be English subjects. Jacob’s words delineated a difference he hadn’t
properly recognized. Alex knew the colonists tended to be more of the Whig
persuasion than the landed upper classes, but eleven-year-old boys in England
seldom came to cuffs over their fathers’ politics.

“Uncle George
is
a
Tory,” Mrs. Wellington replied, applying a chip of ice to Jacob’s eye. “A Tory
is a man who supports the king. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Alex felt the exchange of looks between the family and knew
he was being excluded from something that the locals didn’t wish him to know.
This grew interesting, but now was not the time to probe into politics. He gave
the boy an unsympathetic look.

“If you intend to lead with a blow to the stomach, then you
have to follow up with another to the chin or you’ll get beat every time.” He
threw Evelyn a mocking look to see if she registered this information. Her
return glare assured him she would remember the advice. “Or if you do happen to
let your opponent get off a blow to the head, you must block him, like this.”
He raised his arm in an example of blocking a blow while bringing up the other
hand in a fist.

Jacob’s eager look and his mother’s frown brought Alex from
his chair. Sketching a bow, he apologized. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Wellington.
The house is no place to teach boxing. You will forgive me?”

Pepper-and-salt hair pinned and capped into the tight coif
of an earlier era, Amanda Wellington wiped her hands on her apron and regarded him
with approval. “Take him behind the house and teach him your tricks, Mr. Hampton.
Evelyn and I will have dinner ready shortly. You must stay and have a bite.”

“That is kind of you, ma’am, but I could not impose—”

“Nonsense. I always cook too much anymore. There is plenty,
and I pride myself that you will appreciate the fare more than a tavern’s. Go
on with you. Jacob will never forgive me, elsewise.”