She wasn’t at all certain she could accept Alex’s generous offer in any case. She suspected he owned neither ship nor contents. Whatever his relationship with the powerful earl, it could not be enhanced by selling what was not his.
Her thoughts constantly turned to flight, but that would leave her mother and Jacob in Uncle George’s unforgiving hands. If she could sell the warehouse and its contents and add the proceeds to the amount gained in the auction, she might come close to the fine needed to keep her from jail. Their other debts wouldn’t be paid; they would be bankrupt and without a means to make a living, but she would be free to look for work.
That thought did not lighten Evelyn’s mood. She doubted that there was a man in Boston willing to hire her as more than tavern maid or housekeeper. Her father had needed her help and accepted the practicality of her working by his side until Jacob was old enough to learn the business. No other man had that incentive.
She should have married. That was the only respectable occupation for a woman. Then she would have a husband to protect her and her family. Not that any of the men who had offered would be of much use in this situation.
Despising her weakness, Evelyn avoided Alex. He had told her in no uncertain terms of his opinion of marriage. She could not look for help from that quarter, and she would not let him think she expected it. After all, he was little more than a stranger who had somehow become entrapped in her life and would soon fight his way free.
***
Irritated by Evelyn’s refusal to give him so much as the time of day, and frustrated by his helplessness, Alex threw himself into the volatile politics of Boston as a distraction. He met the wealthy John Hancock and contemplated seeking his help for Evelyn’s future, but he disliked the man’s ineffectual weakness and hypochondria and didn’t further the acquaintance.
He listened to impassioned speeches and conceded the colonists had some reason for complaint, but they were better off making their speeches to Parliament and not to each other. They argued so bitterly over ways and means that Alex felt it unlikely they would ever accomplish anything.
In the back rooms, out of the public speechifying, Alex found more concrete issues discussed. As much as he disliked the crotchety Sam Adams, he had to admire his thinking. The man knew how to get things done. If all the colonies could be made to defy the Stamp Act, as he claimed, there would be very little Parliament could do short of war to enforce it. Alex prayed sensible heads would prevail in England if it should come to that stage.
Each night he returned late to the Wellington home and hesitated outside Evelyn’s bedroom door. He wanted to discuss what he had heard with her, to bring the issues into perspective with her commonsensical views, but she no longer seemed interested. In any case, he would forget talk once he was in her bedroom. He hadn’t been with a woman since the night of the riot, and his physical needs were unaccustomed to neglect.
He knew she was awake. He could see the candlelight beneath her door and hear the pages of her book turning. He could stand there forever and imagine how she would look in a thin muslin nightdress with her hair tumbling down about her shoulders and breasts. The picture of a virgin queen, he grimaced to himself. That thought drove him down the hall to his own room.
***
Alex wasn’t there when George Upton finally caught Evelyn alone at the warehouse. She watched his approach without emotion. Now that she had made a decision of sorts, she had to cling to it and forget all the negative emotions that protested the unfairness of life.
Her uncle tried to look concerned. He tried to look sympathetic, but she saw only triumph in his eyes. She had been a thorn in his side ever since he married her aunt, although she didn’t know why. She held nothing against her uncle but the fact that he was obnoxious and arrogant. Gradually his nattering pierced the fog of her brain.
“I have found a few friends who are willing to buy the warehouse at what I consider a very fair price. It’s not sufficient to pay the fine, of course, but I might possibly have enough to lend whatever difference you might need. Your fiancé can pay me back when you are married.”
Her uncle made it sound so easy that Evelyn almost smiled. She didn’t, however. Instead, she broke the news with no emotion at all. “There will be no marriage, Uncle George. I’d rather go to jail than sell my family to the damned British courts. Your offer is appreciated, but tell your friends I will not sell.”
It was almost worth going to jail to see the stunned look on her uncle’s face. It quickly turned purple. “Not marry! You will disgrace your family and your father’s name! You must be mad! I have offered you the easiest possible solution. You need only sail away with your new husband to leave all this shame behind. What on earth possesses you, child? I am only trying to look out for your best interests.”
Perhaps he was, but he didn’t know she had no husband to go to. Even if Alex offered, she couldn’t marry him. Jail was a simpler solution than wife of an English aristocrat. Evelyn didn’t even attempt to explain that to her uncle, and he left in a huff.
***
A week after the trial, Alex sat at a tavern discussing plans for the upcoming congress when a small boy ran up with a message from Evelyn. He asked the boy to repeat it, and thought it odd that she wouldn’t have written such an urgent request. It had been so long since he had made other than polite conversation with her that he couldn’t be certain of her mood, however.
Cursing that she dared continue their investigation without him, he handed the boy one of his small store of coins and excused himself from his companions. The damn proud woman wouldn’t have requested his aid unless it were truly serious.
Alex hurried toward the livery housing his horse. How in hell had she got to Sudbury, and what was she doing there? She knew better than to return to that smuggler’s hideout. It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t like things that didn’t make sense.
Alex rode by the warehouse and stopped at Evelyn’s home to verify she was in neither place. He could think of no good reasons for her to be in Sudbury. That she was free to send a message could be considered reason not to fear, but his bones told him otherwise. Something was wrong.
Adding pistol and rifle to his saddle, Alex galloped his horse out of the city. While he lived, no man other than himself would lay a hand on Evelyn Wellington.
Chapter 14
Having worked himself into an overwrought state by the time he reached the Wayside Inn, Alex suffered a letdown when he discovered no more than an old swaybacked nag in the inn yard. If Evelyn were being held captive by dangerous rogues, they certainly had a sorry taste in mounts.
Feeling a trifle foolish trailing into the sleepy inn with pistol and rifle in hand, he tucked the pistol out of sight in his trouser band and prayed nothing would disturb it into exploding while in such a position. He rather treasured that part of him that would be removed by such an untimely incident.
Shouldering his rifle, Alex sauntered into the tavern. He heard no screams or moans, but he did not trust the peace any more than he trusted the inn’s owner. When the same laconic fellow appeared as before, Alex’s grip tightened on the rifle.
To his surprise, the narrow-faced proprietor nodded in recognition and gestured toward the stairs. “Hampton? The lady’s waiting for you upstairs. Room on the right.”
He didn’t like this set-up. He didn’t trust a man who stored illegal brandy. But the man didn’t take his weapons, and he wasn’t leaving without Evelyn. Alex took the worn pine stairs two at a time. What in hell would Evelyn be doing in this out-of-the-way hole alone and waiting for him? Nothing that he could think of would induce the prim-and-proper Miss Wellington to such compromising circumstances.
He knocked at the right-hand door. Despite the inn’s weathered appearance, the door seemed sturdy and Alex doubted his ability to break it in with anything less than an ax. The low ceiling brought his head uncomfortably close to the rafters, and when, miraculously, he heard Evelyn’s voice on the other side of the door
, he had to duck to enter the low door frame.
She stood in the center of the loft, wearing a wine wool riding habit and soft wool cloak, nervously clasping her hands. She watched his approach with wide, frightened eyes. Her expression nearly made him forget the wide bed situated not feet from where she stood.
“Thank goodness! Your message nearly frightened me to death! What is it, Alex? Have you discovered something? I’ve been so worried waiting here alone. I thought something had happened to you.”
Shocked, it took Alex a minute to grasp her meaning. When he did, he stared at her in befuddlement. “My message? You’re the one who sent the message. You damned near took a year off my life, thinking you were in the hands of brigands or worse. Whatever made you choose this deuced place? I don’t trust the proprietor any further than I can throw him.”
“I didn’t send any message.” Bewildered, Evelyn looked alarmed. “Are you telling me you found nothing new? That we were both brought out here for naught?”
At her words, Alex grabbed her arm and headed for the door. “Let’s get out of here. It’s almost dark already. I don’t like this one bit.”
They clattered down the stairs to find no one at the bottom. Alex hurried Evelyn out the front door and into the inn yard. They would be lucky to make it back to Boston by dark. Fears of ambush, or worse, something happening back in town that they could have prevented, had him half dragging her across the yard.
His horse wasn’t where he had left it. Gut churning, Alex headed for the stable. Evelyn ran beside him, silent as always when she was worried.
When they reached the gloom of the stable, it was empty. Alex cursed. They were twenty miles from nowhere, and not a horse in sight.
Evelyn stared at the empty shed with quiet resignation. “I rode a livery horse and left it outside. No horse thief in his right mind would steal that creature.”
Alex dragged her back toward the inn again. “This isn’t good.”
He roared as they entered the inn, but the placed echoed emptily. No one sat in the tavern. He dragged her down the hall to the kitchen, where the back door opened and a stout, weary old woman entered.
“You want summat?” She wiped her hands on her dirty apron.
“We want our horses. Where is your husband?” Irritated that he had no one to throttle, Alex tapped his boot.
The woman snorted. “Ain’t got no husband. Mr. Stockton took the wagon to town for supplies and won’t be back until morning. I don’t know nothin’ about no horses.”
Alex’s patience was growing thinner. “Our horses are gone. We need to return to town. Don’t you have any other patrons? We need some means of travel.”
She shrugged. “Everybody knows we’re closed Monday nights when Mr. Stockton goes to town. He just said to fix you and your fancy lady some supper when you’re ready. You ready?”
“Later.” With that one word, Alex turned on his heel and stalked outside again. Evelyn ran to keep up with him.
“Alex, what are we going to do?” It was already too dark to see the yard. She stumbled over a tree stump and Alex caught her elbow.
“Listen for horses. Scream for help. Hell, I don’t know. Have you some suggestion?”
“We could walk,” she offered tentatively. “Perhaps we’d meet someone on the road.”
“Probably. Thieves and cutthroats are fond of traveling by night. Can’t think of anyone else who would.”
“We can’t stay here,” Evelyn protested.
Alex studied her pale face in the dark. His mind had rejected all the alternatives—except one. That one made sense to him and was more in character with women as he knew them. “Why not, Miss Wellington? It is safer than being set upon by cutthroats. Our friendly innkeeper will be back with his wagon in the morning to rescue us. It sounds like the thing to do to me.”
***
Evelyn started at him in disbelief. “Alex, we can’t! My family will be worried sick. And if we’re gone all night together . . . It won’t do. We’ll have to walk.”
Alex turned back toward the inn. “When neither of us returns, your mother will know we’re together and be content with this turn of events. I imagine she and your uncle were growing worried about our dilatory courtship. This should put an end to their concerns.”
“Alex, have you gone mad?” Evelyn hurried after him.
“Oh, no, my dear. On the contrary, I am regaining my senses. You’re a very clever wench, you know. You should be quite proud of yourself. Come, abominable as she looks, our hostess is quite a formidable cook. We might as well make ourselves comfortable. We have a long night ahead.”
Evelyn tried to puzzle out his meaning. He should be furious, but he didn’t seem to be, not any longer, leastways. She caught at his arm. “Alex, have you thought of something? If so, please tell me. You’re terrifying me.”
He looked down at her with that sardonic venom she remembered from their first meeting. “Aye, I’ve thought of something, and strange as it might seem, I’m not totally averse to it. If a man has to be leg-shackled, it might as well be to a woman as sensible and independent as he, who won’t weep buckets when he indulges himself in recreational pastimes. On the whole, I approve of your ingenious plan, although I fear you may not be quite as pleased as I.”
The cook entered and Alex signaled to her. “We’ll take our supper upstairs as soon as practicable. The night will be too short as it is.” At the cook’s curt nod, he caught Evelyn’s wrist and pulled her in the direction of the stairs.
She stared at him in horror, not believing her ears. He seemed perfectly rational, but his words were madness. The black glitter of his eyes warned that he wasn’t as complacent as he played. Evelyn dug in her heels in and refused to budge.
“I don’t know what mad bee you have in your bonnet, Alex Hampton, but I’ll eat down here, thank you. This whole situation is unseemly enough without adding to the disgrace.”
Alex lifted one black eyebrow in a villainous manner that must have taken hours of practice to perfect. “Unseemly? You threw that word at me once before, and I told you my idea of ‘seemly.’ Now it appears we have little choice in the matter. Will you come quietly or shall I throw you over my shoulder?”
“I’ll not come quietly. I warn you of that right now. Hadn’t we ought to sit down and talk this over? I am certain there must be some way out of this.” Evelyn tried to twist from his unrelenting grasp.
“We’ll talk upstairs. I do not like setting my weapons down here, and I have no intention of waving a gun in your face like a proper brigand. So come along, and we’ll talk upstairs. I daresay this is a den of thieves, and it would not be any safer for you to stay below than to go with me.”
Evelyn suspected he had the right of it. She glanced anxiously around, not liking the heavy shadows or the stale smells of smoke and ale, remembering with creeping flesh the look the proprietor had given her earlier. For some odd reason, she had always felt safe with Alex. Her gaze fell to the pistol in his trouser band, barely concealed by his unbuttoned coat and vest. It was too intimately situated for her to grab.
Instead, she held out her hand. “I’ll go with you if you give me the pistol.”
A gleam of humor leapt to Alex’s eye but disappeared just as quickly. His hand closed around the pistol butt. “Do you know how to handle one of these? I’d not like to see you shoot your toe off.”
“I’m no marksman, but I know the basics. It’s not my toe that will be endangered.”
With a formal bow he presented the pistol. “Now, upstairs with you. I have large plans for this evening.”
There was that note in his voice again. Clutching the pistol, Evelyn glanced up the shabby stairs. Alex had been too surprised and angry for her to believe he had planned this, and he was probably right that they had little choice but to stay. That didn’t mean they had to engage in anything improper while they were here. Remembering the door on the left side of the loft and that the woman had said there were no other guests, Evelyn str
ode up the stairs with a little more confidence.
Alex stayed close behind her and did nothing to stop her when she tested the knob to the other room. It was locked.
“I daresay that’s part of his storage. As uninhabited as this place seems to be, he wouldn’t need more accommodation than the one room. The bed could easily hold three and the floor would take a dozen pallets. We’re lucky to have it all to ourselves.”
Evelyn sent him a sharp look, but Alex’s expression was bland as he opened the bedroom door for her.
Alex struck a flint to the lamp on the table. Nervously she took in her surroundings. The round table and two chairs were an unexpected nicety. She noted the cracked pitcher and bowl on the washstand while Alex threw back the worn quilt on the bed. The clean sheets beneath apparently met with his approval. Her anxiety escalated.
“We’ll be here all night, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. As lovely as that habit is, it must be a trifle warm. Let me help you with the jacket.”
He unfastened a button before Evelyn could protest. The intimacy of his hand brushing her breast left her breathless. He slid the coat from her shoulders with ease, leaving Evelyn to wonder if she would be completely unclothed before she had time to say a word.
To her relief, Alex turned his attention to his own coat, shaking it off and hanging it over the other chair. His billowy shirt failed to conceal his masculine physique, and Evelyn couldn’t help but watch with fascination as he lifted his square chin to unfasten his lace jabot. She wished desperately that he would leave the shirt fastened.
Since he wasn’t obedient to her silent wishes, Evelyn turned her back on him to observe the uncovered floor where men presumably spread their pallets. She didn’t hear Alex’s footsteps behind her until his arm slid around her waist. With his other hand, he deprived her of the pistol, laying it on the table behind them.
His voice was a warm murmur against her hair. “It’s too late for shyness, Miss Wellington. We both know what will come of this night. We might as well begin enjoying it now. Pretend it is our wedding night, if you like. It is just as good as taking you to a room at the King’s Arms or spending it on one of those narrow beds at your mother’s. Or don’t ladies think of marriage beds when they trap men into taking vows?”
Rebel Dreams Page 14