Rebel Dreams (7 page)

“You have considered the danger you are in if your uncle
truly knows of the smuggling?”

“You say that as if he might be involved. That is ridiculous,”
she said with a dismissive gesture. “He’s a loyal officer of his majesty, sworn
to uphold the law, and proud of his position. He’s simply making trouble. It’s
not unusual.”

She said it bravely enough, but Alex heard the hint of doubt
in her voice. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he answered cynically.
“You had better consider the possibility before we make any hasty decisions.”

“What is there to decide? Marriage is impossible, you know
that. Why can’t you just board the
Minerva
and sail away? He cannot stop
you.”

Alex had to admit that the rejection stung. He knew she was simply
getting even with him for his earlier dismissal of marriage, but a little
deceit on her part would have been less hazardous to his masculinity.

Implacably, he led her toward the only solution. “I cannot
sail for the same reason you did not tell your uncle to go hang himself. We are
in this together. It is imperative to both of our livelihoods that we find the
smugglers, and we’ll both be useless if we’re in prison.”

She watched him warily. “I’m not certain marriage is any
solution. For all I know of you, you may already be married.”

He almost smiled at the well-deserved insult. “You can be
assured that I never considered that degree of respectability. Perhaps when I
write to my family of our proposed betrothal I should ask them to reply with a
character reference. It should be very amusing to hear their opinion of me.”

“Proposed betrothal? I will do what is necessary to keep us
from jail, but be assured I will not consider so much as a proposal, and
certainly not a betrothal.”

“You have such a soothing way with words, Miss Wellington.
Or shall I call you Evelyn, under the circumstances? If you are any more
agreeable, I will be tempted to leave you with your uncle’s wrath and do as you
suggest and sail away.”

“I cannot see any other solution,” she replied irritably,
stalking to the far end of the room to glare out the window.

“It’s quite simple, Miss Wellington. Unless you harbor a
tendre
for someone who will be quite heartbroken at your abrupt change of
heart, we agree to this marriage your uncle is so eager to carry out. Have you
any idea exactly
why
he is so eager to see us wedded?”

She turned and eyed him with disfavor. “I daresay he hopes
you will haul me off to England where I won’t embarrass him anymore. When my
father was alive, he could say nothing, but ever since my father died, he has
been trying to run my life. I won’t have it, Mr. Hampton. I won’t marry just to
make him happy.”

“I should hope not,” Alex agreed, sitting on the edge of the
desk and crossing his arms. Her dark hair shone with glints of red and gold in
the sunlight, a most attractive shade, he decided. But the sun at her back cast
her face in shadow, and he could not read her expression.

He couldn’t tell if she had considered what would happen to
her warehouse under someone else’s management if she married and left for
England. “We will only agree to the marriage,” he explained. “We need not go
through with it. A long betrothal is called for under the circumstances, would
you not agree? And when we have our villains behind bars, we will have a
violent disagreement—not at all out of character, considering our natures—and
you will throw me out on my ear. I shall sail away, never to be seen again.
Will that work?”

***

Evelyn considered it. She disliked dishonesty, but she
could tell the deceit didn’t bother this . . . rake . . .
at all. She also disliked the idea of being constantly in his company, which
this specious engagement would entail. Still, she had to admit, it would also
make it easier for them to work together.

She looked up to where he sat carelessly swinging his leg
from the edge of the desk. He didn’t seem concerned about her decision. His
striking masculinity made it difficult to think logically. She could not
imagine why an arrogant London gentleman like Alexander Hampton would even
consider pretending to be betrothed to a nonentity like her.

Returning to the Persian carpet in front of the desk, Evelyn
regarded him quizzically. He was really too rude-looking to be called handsome
in the conventional sense. He certainly didn’t have a pleasant demeanor. His
mouth was more likely to be turned up in a sneer than in humor. Those blasted
eyes always hinted of mockery, even now when he sat calmly under her perusal.
She would like to shake his self-assurance just a little, but he was far more
likely to shake hers.

“Tell me, Mr. Hampton, just exactly what is a rake?”

He met her gaze with equanimity. “A rake is a man who
overindulges in all the vices. The name is Alexander, Miss Wellington, or Alex,
if you prefer.”

“All
the vices? That must be time-consuming, and very
expensive. Are you truly a rake?”

He sighed in exasperation, uncrossed his arms, and stood up,
towering over her by nearly a head and dwarfing her with his greater breadth, a
physical intimidation that probably worked well on most people. She’d learned
better.

“Be assured, Miss Wellington,” he replied in a seductive
baritone, “I am not known for my temperance. A long betrothal to me could very
well ruin your reputation, should mine become known. That will give us greater
incentive to finish the job quickly.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “Do the vices a rake indulges in
include lying and stealing, Mr. Hampton?”

“No, and not murder either, although I’m willing to make
exceptions. Are you going through with this or do you wish to see me languish
in jail?”

His impatience oddly pleased her, and she smiled. “As
amusing as it might be to see you behind bars, it might be preferable to keep
you from corrupting our criminal elements. Generally, they overindulge in only
one vice at a time.”

He looked startled when he realized she was laughing at him.
He raised one eyebrow in his loftiest manner. “Does that mean we are betrothed,
Miss Wellington?”

“Oh, certainly. Why not? I have never been betrothed to a
rake and a bankrupt before. I am certain my reputation can only be enhanced
when I display my excellent taste in choosing you. Shall I have to see you very
often when we are officially affianced?”

His fingers closed about her nape. “Every night, my dear,
until I teach you respect. Don’t you think that’s fair?”

His mouth closed over hers, and Evelyn shut her eyes and
gave herself up to the kiss. It was a reckless, mad thing to do, but she wanted
it, and it seemed only fitting to seal this insane betrothal with an equally
insane kiss. Besides, she doubted that she could deny him if she tried.

His lips were strong across hers, knowledgeable and
demanding. He knew what he wanted, and as his dark head dipped to extend his
claim, Evelyn grabbed his shoulder to balance herself, succumbing to the
tempest he aroused in her. She was almost relieved when the furious knock came
at the door.

Upton threw open the door without waiting for a reply, catching
them with their heads together. Behind him, his wife and daughter gasped in
shock.

“That’s not fair! You wouldn’t even let me go down to the
wharf to see him, and you leave
her
alone in there with him all she
likes! You don’t want me to even have a chance.” Petulantly Frances glared at
her father, then fled.

Mr. Hampton chuckled, but when Evelyn glanced at him with
suspicion, he looked as solemn as ever. A slow flush colored her cheeks at her
aunt’s shocked stare, and she realized the dratted man had not yet released
her. As if he were divining her thoughts, his fingers closed tighter around her
waist, keeping her close to his side.

“Evelyn has done me the honor of accepting my proposal.
There is only one obstacle, and that is a mere formality. Since I am his heir,
I must notify my cousin, the Earl of Cranville, and receive his approval before
taking any vows. Not to do so would offend him, and he is quite capable of
disinheriting me and leaving me with nothing but his title. A man of your
consequence can understand my position, Upton, can you not?” The mockery in his
voice dared an officer of the crown to challenge him.

Evelyn nearly strangled at his revelation. An earl! Cousin
to a damned bloody earl! Lud, but she’d be drummed off the streets of Boston
when they heard this. Heir to an
earldom?
Maybe he was lying. He had said his vices didn’t include lying, but a liar
could say that with impunity. She glared, and Hampton shrugged
unapologetically.

Her uncle looked thunderstruck to learn of Hampton’s rank.
Rather than relieve his shock, Evelyn smiled up at her
fiancé
with the sweetest, most insipid expression she could muster.
“The Earl of Cranville? Does that mean I will be a countess? I have so wished
for a title.”

They said revenge was sweet, and she savored it as Alex’s arrogant
expression soured with her simpers. She displayed her scorn by acting the part
of her cousin Frances, behaving just as her uncle expected. From the look on
his face, Evelyn assumed she played the role well.

“Quite right, my dear. Someday you shall be a countess.” Grimacing,
Mr. Hampton turned to her uncle, who looked stunned.

Her aunt, at least, had the decency to look concerned.

Mr. Hampton addressed her. “The time it takes for my cousin’s
approval to reach us should be sufficient for your niece and I to become better
acquainted, don’t you agree? We needn’t make the betrothal official until then.”

Her aunt clenched her hands anxiously. “This is rather
hasty, isn’t it, George? I do believe the young man is correct.”

The promise of an earldom in the family was too much
temptation to resist. Upton nodded reluctantly. “We will make no formal
announcement, just let it be known that a betrothal has my approval. That
should be sufficient for now.” He gave Hampton a warning frown. “Your ship will
still not be allowed to sail with you on it.”

“I wouldn’t think of going anywhere without my own dear
Evelyn.” Alex chucked her under the chin.

August 1765

Wearing an expensive silk habit of silver gray, an embroidered
vest of black on black, and a powdered cadogan wig tied with a black satin
solitaire, and pinned in front with a diamond, Alexander Hampton appeared every
inch the noble dandy he purported to be. Evelyn wished she could jerk his snowy
cravat, kick his elegant silk stockings, and send him crashing down the
majestic staircase they had just ascended.

As was befitting the almost-
fiancée
to an heir to an earldom, she had been feted by the elite
of Boston these last weeks. She had grown weary of pressing and cleaning her
only two decent ball gowns, of talking of the delights of the “home country”
with Tories who hadn’t seen England in years, and of being looked upon with
suspicion by people she had once considered her friends. The tasks of managing
her family’s business all day and dancing all night had drained her energy and
left her nerves at the breaking point. Again she glanced at her partner with
venom as he graciously greeted their host. She was quite convinced he was more liar
than heir.

Not even glancing her way, Mr. Hampton led her into the
ballroom. Keeping his voice low, he steered her toward the refreshment table. “People
will not think all is well between us if you continue glowering at me like
that, Miss Wellington. We are making too much progress for me to spend the next
months cooling my heels in your estimable jail.”

“I am beginning to think that is where you belong. When do
you start borrowing money from these wealthy fools for a ‘worthy investment’ or
just to ‘tide you over’ until your quarterly allowance? They’re eating out of
your hand right now. Do they need to lick your boots first before you allow
them to hand over their money?”

Alex lifted one dark eyebrow and regarded her with
amusement. “My, my, have we a little cynic here? I am impressed with your
astuteness, my dear. At one time I would have done exactly that. Perhaps I’m
just keeping in practice to guard against recurrences. Would you begrudge me my
fun?”

“Yes, I would. Why should you be having fun when I am not?
The last of those illegal crates were shipped to their owners today, and I can’t
see that you have done anything at all to trace them.”

“You weren’t meant to see anything at all. That is the whole
point of the exercise. Have a little more trust, my dear. I really didn’t have
to stay to carry out this charade, you know.”

That was what made Evelyn grind her teeth and endure this
torment. If she knew nothing else about him, she knew he was quite capable of
rowing out to the
Minerva
one night without looking back. That he did
not leave forced her to believe he really was trying to find the men who had
threatened his ship with their illegal goods. That was a good selfish motive,
and one she could believe of him.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” she replied sarcastically. “I
shall take my humble self to some corner while you parade around the room
looking for smugglers. My feet hurt.”

Alex handed her a lemonade and steered her toward a silver
damask settee. “We only just arrived. How could your feet hurt? And I am not a
lord, just cousin to one. You need to learn the proper etiquette.”

Wearily Evelyn sank down upon the cushion. The ice-blue silk
of her favorite gown billowed out around her, but she failed to appreciate its
elegance any longer. “I have been on my feet all day trying to find places to
store that latest shipload. The warehouse is full to bulging. No one has the
money to come claim his stock. And I don’t want to know the proper etiquette. I
have no earthly use for it.”