Rebel Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  Gathering Alex’s covers around her, Evelyn gazed at the lovely poster bed, then discovered their garments scattered across the bottom of the bed and the floor. Her cheeks flamed in memory of what they had done. Had she really been that brazen? Could Alex truly have enjoyed such unladylike behavior from his wife? He had not seemed displeased.

  He returned with a contingent of servants, a huge tub, and buckets of hot water. Another maid lit the fire, and still another carried a tray of steaming hot chocolate and crumpets. Evelyn discovered a ravenous hunger for all four: water, food, fire, and, most of all, the man garbed only in a long robe waiting for the servants to be gone. He caught her gaze, and his dark eyes gleamed like hot coals.

  When the servants departed, Alex strode across the room. Before she knew his intentions, he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the tub. Evelyn squealed, but he was unmoved by her feeble squirms.

  “Just think of all this time I’ve wasted in darkness. It’s a sin. From now on, I wish to see you like this in light.” Alex unceremoniously dropped her into the tub, and joined her after doffing his robe.

  “Alex!” Fire ignited Evelyn’s cheeks as she faced a broad hair-covered chest. His long legs raised around hers, and after last night, she could not help her erotic thoughts. “You cannot.”

  Solemnly he reached for the soap on the low table beside the tub. “I can and I have. Do you need some help? Come over here and I’ll wash your back.”

  “You are an odious lecher,” she informed him, without the ire he deserved. “Had you but waited your turn, I would have washed your back. I’ll not go splashing about like a duck in a puddle for your amusement.”

  Alex laughed, a sound so rare that Evelyn would almost have agreed to present her back to him if he asked again. Instead, as he began soaping himself, she reached for the delicate porcelain cup of hot chocolate and sipped as if accustomed to sitting in a bath with a naked man and drinking chocolate every day.

  “You are a sybarite, my dear. We’ll need to feed your pleasures more often. We’ll convert one of the dressing rooms to a bathing room, with a tub big enough for both of us and running hot water.”

  Evelyn almost forgot to act elegant. “Running hot water? Can you do that?”

  “If Chatsworth can have it, so can I,” he assured her pompously, then spoiled the effect by leaning forward to smear soapsuds across her breasts.

  She nearly dropped her cup and hastily set it aside to return the favor. In moments, breakfast was forgotten and the floor was soaked from splashing as they tussled with soap, cloths, and each other, until Alex finally had her where he wanted her. Evelyn cried out at the liquid smoothness of his invasion, but his gentleness returned the urgent need she had learned too well this past night. Wrapped in his arms, the steam of the bath rising around them, she felt her insides melt until there seemed no more natural place to be.

  As the water began to cool, Alex kissed her cheek and rubbed his hands along her back. “You belong in my arms,” he said with a trace of wonder. “There’s no me and you but only us. How is that?”

  Evelyn opened one eye and tilted her head to keep the hair from her face. “No moon. That ruins Alyson’s theory.”

  Alex chuckled and lifted her back to her end of the tub. “No moon dreams for my little rebel. It wouldn’t be fitting.”

  Soaping herself boldly beneath his interested gaze, she continued as if they were at the breakfast table. “Have you spoken to any of your cousin’s associates about the state of affairs in Boston?”

  Alex grinned at her sudden defiance. “I have. I’ve met a countryman of yours, Benjamin Franklin, from Philadelphia, who was caught as much by surprise at the uprising as our celebrated government. The matter is to come up in the next session in January.”

  “I wish I knew what was happening.” Frowning, Evelyn rinsed herself and stood to reach for the towel warming by the fire. Water trailed off her in rivulets, and Alex admired the glorious sight. “Do you think they’ve decided to ignore the stamps and have gone about business as usual?”

  Alex reluctantly rose. “I cannot see how they could do otherwise. How long could the courts last without trying cases? They would need stamps for all the paperwork. I should think that would be quite a dilemma for the judges.”

  “Good.” Evelyn finished drying, then wrapped the towel around herself, though it scarcely covered more than her middle.

  Alex admired the figure she cut: long slender legs leading to curved hips and small waist and to the rise of firm breasts that were neither too big nor too small, but just the size they ought to be.

  His grin at this thought caused Evelyn to glare at him suspiciously. “There is something humorous in the situation?”

  “Forgive me. My thoughts strayed.” There was nothing repentant in his grin. Taking a towel for himself, he offered her his robe. “I was thinking of figureheads.”

  Evelyn wrapped the long robe around her. “Figureheads? You and Rory laughed at some such at Christmas. If my gift was funny, I would know the jest.”

  “Your gift was perfect. I may have to cut your jeweler’s throat for his forwardness, but it seems a shame to deprive the world of his eye for beauty.”

  Evelyn flung a soapy cloth at him. “You are a horrid beast. If all you will do is laugh and not tell me the jest, then I’ll take it back.”

  Alex caught the cloth and flung it back to the tub. Fastening the towel about his hips, he stalked toward her. Evelyn whirled about and raced for the door. Alex trapped her there, one hand on either side of her head. “I must remember you suffer insufferable cads only in bed. We may do better never to get up.”

  His wife deliberately focused on his face and not his near-nakedness. “Never leaving bed could become a trifle awkward after a while. Wouldn’t it be easier just to tell me of figureheads?”

  His gaze drifted down to the deep V gaping open from her loosely wrapped robe. “There weren’t any.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “The architect’s plans you gave your jeweler would not have included the figurehead.” Alex dropped one hand and caught her belt between his fingers.

  Evelyn grabbed the belt as it gave, but holding the belt did not ensure the placement of the slippery satin. The gap widened. “But all your ships have figureheads. There’s one on the fob. Are you saying it isn’t correct?”

  “I’m saying it’s perfect. Perhaps a little more well-endowed than the original model”—he ran his finger beneath the gaping satin, caressing her breast with the knowledge of intimacy— “but excellent craftsmanship. The goddess Minerva was a bit of a dowd anyway; all that armor is repugnant.”

  Evelyn closed her eyes as his hand closed around her breast. “You are saying that the jeweler didn’t put Minerva on the fob.”

  “No, madam, he did not. Your jeweler does not know his classics. No armor, no olive branches, no toga, no curls. He invented a new Minerva, a much more satisfactory one.”

  His lips trailed along her cheek to her ear. “The figure on the fob has long flowing hair, and other endowments, which are normally hidden by armor.”

  Evelyn groaned her dismay as she understood.

  Regretfully Alex released this temptation. The chafing of his unshaven beard had already reddened her skin, and he knew he had not treated her with the consideration a new bride deserved. He smiled ruefully into her embarrassed face. “I had best let you get dressed or we shall both starve to skin and bones. I think I’ll not cut your jeweler’s throat today. He couldn’t help but immortalize such loveliness as yours. I trust he knew it was for your husband.”

  “He did.” Evelyn leaned against the door. “Is it really like? How could it be? It is so small.”

  Alex grinned and released her. “Not the parts that count. You are definitely well-fed in his imagination. You really need to start hiding your hair in some civilized fashion, my dear.” She had a tendency to wear it only looped or pulled back, which worked well in the colonies but stood out in London
.

  Evelyn grimaced in embarrassment. “If you show that fob to anyone else, I’ll cut your throat.”

  “There’s no fear of that, tyrant. I’d prefer keeping my wife concealed from the eyes of others, even if only her graven image. I realize it is a hopeless task to keep you in an ivory tower, but the fob stays hidden.”

  “Thank you.” Evelyn reached for the doorknob and glanced back at him wistfully. “I don’t suppose you would have time later to tell me if anything has been done about the charges against me? I would hate to think I remain a criminal in my own home.”

  Alex’s expression tightened. “This is your home now. I have not forgotten the charges, and I am doing what I can, but they are meaningless over here. No one will arrest my wife for some trivial disagreement in the colonies.”

  She glared at him in frustration. “Trivial disagreement,” she mocked. “Years of my life and everything I’m worth is too trivial to notice, assuredly. I’m sorry to have disturbed your time with such trivialities.”

  She slammed out of the room, leaving Alex to stare at the carved panel. He heard no lock click or bolt thrown, but it was the same as if he had. He had learned the futility of arguing with angry women.

  ***

  Alex arrived to escort Evelyn to the breakfast table. She took his arm without looking too closely at his now shaven face—she knew she would find the shuttered stranger. She comforted herself with the strength of the arm beneath her hand. She knew where that arm had been during the night. That was something no one could steal from her.

  Early risers gaped in astonishment while he seated her. He hadn’t been seen at the breakfast table since he arrived home, and he hadn’t been seen in her company except by accident. When he actually greeted his family with geniality, a round of applause erupted around the table.

  Alex glared at the instigator of this noise. “Why aren’t you on the way back to the heathen hills?”

  Rory grinned and reached for a muffin. “I wouldn’t miss this for a fortune.” He sent Evelyn a laughing look. “I know where I can find a good whip if you should require one, Mrs. Hampton. His bite really is every bit as fierce as his bark.”

  Evelyn couldn’t help but meet this sally with a smile, and a blush heated her cheeks as Alyson sent her a knowing glance. “I would prefer to keep all weapons a safe distance from his hands. I value my life too dearly.”

  Alex snorted at their facetiousness, but seated himself at her side, proceeding to fill her plate along with his own. “I didn’t marry a fool. A termagant, yes, but never a fool.”

  Evelyn shot him a look that caused her own relatives to erupt in laughter.

  “But then, I’m an insufferable cad,” he whispered so only she could hear him.

  Evelyn smiled at that, and, awed at how the lamb had tamed the lion, the others held their peace. An Alex who didn’t roar or brood or disappear in company was a rare creature indeed.

  Alex and Rory left together after breakfast, and, the holiday over, Alyson prepared her youngsters to return to their own home. While everyone else was otherwise engaged, Evelyn slipped up to Lord Cranville’s room. She made this visit every day, though frequently he slept and was not conscious of her presence.

  This day he was awake and offered a weak smile. His cough as he sat up was so deep and painful that she almost regretted disturbing him, but he motioned her to the chair beside his bed. With inborn authority, he dismissed the nurse to the outer chamber.

  “You look as if you have not slept,” he said as she settled beside him. “I trust my heir is treating you with his idea of kindness.”

  “Ummm, I’m not certain ‘kindness’ is the proper word, but Alex would never abuse me,” Evelyn said reassuringly and watched the twinkle of understanding in the earl’s eye.

  “I keep waiting for some announcement of the next heir. What is delaying you?” The earl’s voice was gruff, but his expression was lenient. He had always been a slender man. That slightness had faded to skin and bones with illness, and his skin seemed wrinkled and gray, as if aging before its time.

  “Alex and I are too alike in some things, and too stubborn for our own good. Be patient with us. I have no doubt that there will be children soon enough.”

  “I’m not a doddering old fool, my dear,” he scolded. “You and Alex would be at each other’s throats or in each other’s beds with no happy in-between if left to your natural inclinations. I trust you will both become a little more civilized with time. Until then, try the bed for a while. It becomes you, and I would know that all is well before I go.”

  There was no doubt as to his meaning. Both startled and alarmed at his tone, Evelyn reached for his hand. “You will see half a dozen more heirs to your throne before you go, if we all have to move to Barbados to accomplish it. I’ve always wondered what the West Indies was like.”

  The earl squeezed her hand. “Have Alex take you there someday. I have a daughter who would love to meet you. I fear I have wronged her in not returning since I left, but there was so much to require my time . . .”

  “I will have Alex make the arrangements as soon as you are well, or perhaps a little later. You will want to see if Alyson has a daughter this time.”

  Everett shook his head at her denial of the truth and closed his eyes. He had lived a long and full life. He had regrets, but they were not such as to keep him here. If anything, they called him to another world, where the first woman he had loved awaited him. If he traveled anywhere, it would be to her.

  Chapter 30

  Everett Hampton, fourth Earl of Cranville, died peacefully in his sleep during the first week of January while a howling snowstorm whirled about the chimneys.

  The first Evelyn and Alex learned of it came with a wild knocking on the door to Alex’s chamber. Evelyn stirred sleepily, curling closer to the heat of her husband’s nakedness. His tension brought her abruptly awake.

  He pulled Evelyn into his arms and kissed her head as the servant cried again, “Lord Cranville, please, her ladyship says to come quickly.”

  Evelyn clung to him as still another rap sounded on the door from the dressing room. Her maid’s voice rang out from behind the panel. “My lady, wake up, please. Her ladyship needs you. Hurry, please.”

  The color drained from Alex’s face and his expression was bleak when Evelyn looked to him for explanation. She refused to acknowledge what their words were saying, but looked to Alex for confirmation. “Alex?”

  His mouth tightened, but he kissed her long and hard, before setting her aside to swing his legs out of the bed.

  “I’m coming,” he shouted at the door. Then, holding his hand out to Evelyn, he brought her to her feet beside him. Neither of them wore a stitch of clothing in the icy drafts from the wind. Alex wrapped her robe around her. “Deirdre will need you, love. Hurry and dress.” As an afterthought, he added with odd regret, “I’m sorry.”

  The kiss he brushed against her hair as he sent her toward the dressing room did nothing to soothe Evelyn’s jangled nerves. Her maid greeted her with relief, and Alex’s valet brushed silently past them. The valet had no expression at all, but the maid was in tears. If Evelyn had any doubt at all as to what had happened, the servant’s next words crushed it.

  “You will be needing the gray today, my lady. We’ll send for the seamstress to have mourning gowns made when the shops open. Her ladyship is that distraught, she will listen to no one. You must hurry.”

  The shock of being pulled from Alex’s arms into the icy dawn must have befuddled her. In a daze, Evelyn allowed the maid to dress her, something she had never bothered to do before. The maid must have needed the distraction of this commonplace task as much as Evelyn needed it done, for she quieted and the tears dried as she fastened the last of the hooks and laces and smoothed the elegant silk over Evelyn’s petticoats.

  “We can dress your hair better later, my lady. ’Twill do for now.” She pushed a straying pin into Evelyn’s chestnut tresses, making certain no strands escaped. “You
’ll make his lordship a lovely countess.”

  The words were said soothingly, but shards of fear pierced Evelyn’s soul. Her fingernails dug into her palms. She must go to Deirdre.

  She flew down passageways to the far wing of the house where the earl and his wife had their rooms. The rustle of stiff cottons and the clatter of heavy shoes sounded throughout the halls, but she scarcely saw the servants running about at this unusual hour.

  A worried maid in stiff white apron and black gown opened the door at Evelyn’s scratch. The Cranvilles’ sitting room was identical to Alex’s except that the decor had been converted by two separate lifetimes of memories. A painting of the earl’s foreign daughter hung with a painting of Deirdre’s ancestral home in the Highlands. The bagpipes, Evelyn knew, were a jest from Alyson to both of them. But the magnificent collection of shells came from Barbados, and the enormous claymores over the grate belonged to Deirdre’s father. The room spilled over with these remembrances of days past, and her heart swelled with sorrow as she found the small woman huddled on the sofa with an emerald satin robe in her hands.

  She looked up as Evelyn approached, and Evelyn could see the ravages of tears in reddened eyes and stained cheeks. Deirdre had always seemed ageless, her petite stature and proud stance disguising her years, but the disguise was lost in the tide of anguish. She hugged the luxurious robe closer as Evelyn sat beside her.

  “He hasn’t had time to wear his Christmas gift,” Deirdre murmured brokenly.

  Deirdre had lovingly spent months embroidering the earl’s initials and crest on the robe. Evelyn smoothed the fabric across both of their laps and fought back tears. “But he loved it. He showed it to me at Christmas and hung it where he could see it. He loved you so much, and he was so proud of you. That’s what counts, isn’t it?”

  Deirdre began sobbing again, and Evelyn wrapped her arms around the woman who had showed her nothing but kindness. She didn’t know what to say, but tears rolled down her cheeks to mix with Deirdre’s.