Rebel Dreams (4 page)

Alex toyed with the idea of applying the pinprick, but
refrained. In London he might make veiled allusions to toad-eating frogs and
garden-grub Yankees, but he felt certain this company would not be amused.

Except, perhaps, for the haughty blue-eyed female across the
table. Gad, but Miss Wellington had an incredible face! It was all high bones
and sharp angles filled in with a gardenia-petal softness that begged to be caressed.
It wasn’t a beautiful face by any means, but it was striking. While most women
painted already pale faces even whiter, she did nothing to conceal her
ivory-and-rose complexion.

Until now, he had considered his cousin Alyson to be one of
the loveliest women of his acquaintance. Miss Wellington was Alyson’s opposite.
Whereas Alyson was all soft, cuddly curves and vague smiles and generous
gestures, Evelyn was tall and straight with clear eyes full of intelligence and
a direct manner sparing of extraneous words or gestures.

Bored, he continued the comparison: Alyson’s contrasting
shades of black and white to Evelyn’s warm hues of rose and ivory and brown;
Alyson’s wandering thoughts to Evelyn’s precise responses. He had never
realized how different two women could be, but he suspected the pair would be
famous friends should they ever meet—they both distrusted him heartily, and
rightly so.

Alex stifled a groan of boredom as the women withdrew to
allow the men their after-dinner brandy and cigars. He sniffed the brandy with
suspicion, deciding it was of the same quality as the bottles in the warehouse,
but there was no reason to believe it was smuggled. Certainly a customs officer
would buy only from English merchants after paying all the appropriate tariffs.
The tariffs were exorbitant, hence the smuggling. But they were no longer at
war with France, so trade was brisk in wealthy circles.

He reluctantly joined in the general discussion of the king’s
policies. The cost of housing English troops in the colonies was undoubtedly
high, he agreed politely, wishing to hell they would shut up and let him find
Evelyn. All he wanted was that list and to get out of here. Politics had never
been his strong suit.

But Upton was obviously interested in courting his favor, if
only for his daughter’s sake. Uninterested in the peacock or the conversation,
Alex rudely declined a second drink and announced he was prepared to join the
ladies.

His host hastened to comply. As they entered the drawing
room, Alex located Miss Wellington thumbing through a book of verse while
listening to her aunt’s conversation. Frances Upton was artfully arranged at
the spinet, rippling at some minor piece. She looked up to him expectantly, but
he took the seat beside Mrs. Upton and appropriated the volume of verse in
Evelyn’s hand.

“Macpherson? Bah, he’s a Scottish simpleton. I should think
you would have more challenging literature to occupy your mind.”

“And I suppose your tastes run to Fielding, Mr. Hampton?”
The scorn in her voice indicated her opinion of this writer of lascivious
novels.

Unhappy at being ignored, Miss Upton left her bench to lean
daringly over his shoulder, giving him the best advantage of her extravagant décolletage.

“Do you enjoy poetry, Mr. Hampton? My father is said to have
one of the best libraries in Boston since the one at Harvard burned. Books are
not easily come by here, you know. Shall I show you his library?”

Alex eyed the voluptuous Upton asset he would most like to peruse
but wisely refrained from comment. Instead, he rose abruptly, nearly plummeting
Frances to the floor while holding his hand out to Evelyn.

“I will return Miss Wellington’s vulgar taste in poetry to
the shelves and show her some more useful literature, then. If you will excuse
us . . . Come, Miss Wellington.”

Evelyn stared at him with what he recognized as mutiny at
his peremptory command. Fortunately, she had the intelligence to realize stealing
a moment to converse was the reason they had both suffered through this dinner.
She rose and curtsied. “If you will excuse us just a moment, I will show Mr.
Hampton the library.”

Once out of sight, Evelyn removed the folded paper in her
pocket. “Here is the list of everyone receiving Staffordshire in the last three
years. The same companies also seem to buy a great quantity of tea and regular
shipments of port. If the pattern holds, it’s quite possible the tea and port
are actually silk, Madeira, and coffee. The crates and kegs would be similar
and the difference in invoice and shipment would represent a small fortune in
duties. I won’t go into the details of their transactions with some of our
local shipping, but it is even more open to suspicion. I shall have to stop
dealing with these firms. I didn’t have time to locate correspondence
containing names and addresses of the owners.”

Hampton glanced at the list and shoved it into his pocket.
Her worried expression was understandable. Curtailing the companies she dealt
with would compromise her income. Worse, it would raise the smugglers’
suspicions.

Normally, he wouldn’t care what happened, but since his
honest cousin Alyson had arrived in his life, he seemed to have developed a
nagging kernel of conscience.

“You cannot stop dealing with those companies and arouse
their suspicions,” he warned her. “You must assume them innocent until proved
otherwise. We need to catch both ends of the trade if they are guilty. That
will take time. Continue your business as usual, Miss Wellington, and let me
take care of the rest.”

“If you think I intend to hand you that list and forget
everything that has happened, you are quite mad, Mr. Hampton,” she informed him.
“For all I know, you are part of the ring. If you cannot work with me on this,
then I will have no choice but to turn the evidence over to my uncle and the
courts.”

“If you were a man, I could call you out for that, Miss
Wellington.” Angrily crunching the list in his pocket, Alex strode toward the
door, but he couldn’t resist one final word. Turning to meet her fury, he
added, “I am surprised that you have not already turned the evidence over to
your uncle instead of relying on a suspicious character like me.”

Her gaze faltered, and she appeared to be gritting her teeth
when she admitted, “I have heard my uncle make mention of several of those
companies. I fear he may have some interest in them.”

Alex’s hand fell from the door latch. He returned to stand
in front of her, forcing her to look up to meet his eyes. “When were you
intending to tell me that minor piece of information?”

She didn’t flinch at his anger. “You have given me little
reassurance that you will not walk back on that ship and sail away, leaving me
to my own devices.”

He deserved the accusation in her violet eyes. The sound of
footsteps in the hall warned that their time was limited. “Find some
intellectual book, Miss Wellington. Someone’s coming. Where can we meet on the
morrow?”

Evelyn fled to the shelves to find a volume. “On the Common,
in front of the school, at three.”

The door swung open and Frances peered around the corner
with a dimpled grin. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

Alex favored her with a scathing glance. “Your cousin has
the mind of a mule, Miss Upton. She’ll never benefit from a man’s learning. But
then, a pretty girl like you needn’t understand that, need you?”

Not grasping the veiled insult, Frances smiled gaily and
claimed his arm. “A woman need only understand what a man likes, Mr. Hampton.
Evelyn has an unfortunate tendency to forget that upon occasion.”

Alex heard muffled laughter from the slender figure at the
shelves, and out of sheer maliciousness, concurred. “How right you are, Miss
Upton. I am certain you have never forgotten what a man likes.” Smoothly he
guided her out the door. “Your exquisite gown is a perfect example, my dear.”

Hearing a book slam against a wooden shelf, he grinned to
himself. A tied score, and the next round to be fought tomorrow.

Evelyn watched the tall, athletic grace of the man
approaching along the summer-dry grass of the Common. Hampton had evidently
adopted the simpler style of male attire favored here, but even in a plain
brown broadcloth coat and buff breeches it was apparent that he did not belong.
The coat was cut away at the front to reveal the expensive embroidered short
vest beneath. Instead of the ever-present cocked hat, he wore some new fashion
with a narrow brim and high crown. Since he also wore boots, she assumed he had
been riding. Apparently the English even had appropriate attire for that.

The grim line of Hampton’s mouth indicated his opinion of
her. Very well, she could show him just how mule-headed she could be.

She held out her hand in greeting. “I see you have not
sailed with your ship yet, Mr. Hampton.”

He gave her crisp sprigged apron and straw hat a look of
contempt. Instead of making a polite bow over her hand, he held it. His dark eyes
twinkled maliciously. “No. Miss Wellington, I thought you might wish to be
instructed on what it is men like.” With that, he pressed a kiss to the back of
her hand.

Evelyn felt the shock wave all the way up her arm, but she
steeled herself against the sensation. Removing her hand, she informed him
coolly, “Not unless you care to be equally instructed on what women prefer, Mr.
Hampton. I can begin by telling you that public mauling is not high upon the
list.”

“Privately, then? I have this room above the tavern . . .”

If she had held one of her cousin’s foolish fans, she would
have hit him with it, but she was not so simple-minded as to strike him in view
of half the town. She had thought it safest to meet him in public, but she was
having second thoughts about the concept of safety. If half the town knew she
was meeting him, how long would it be before the smugglers started putting two
and two together ? Or one and one?

“Mr. Hampton, I doubt that we have time for your notion of
humor. By nightfall our names will be paired if we linger here much longer.
Have you come to agree to work with me on this investigation?”

“Heaven forbid that our names be paired together, Miss
Wellington,” he replied. “I am at your command. Shall we find a more private
meeting place?”

Evelyn frowned, afraid he was not taking this at all
seriously; yet he never smiled. He could be a smuggler and a murderer for all
she knew, but she could not handle this problem alone. She would have to trust
him until he proved less than trustworthy.

“There’s a small barn outside the town gate where my father
occasionally stored goods. We still rent it, so I have every right to inspect
it. I must warn you, it’s a bit of a walk, but you cannot miss it. There’s a
broken wagon in the side yard. If we went there separately, none would notice.”

Lifting his hat, Hampton made a curt bow. “In half an hour,
shall we say?”

Relieved that he was so biddable, Evelyn nodded and walked away.
She needed to tell him that her correspondence had produced a few illegible
signatures that meant little to her. She was in no position to track down the
vague addresses on the invoices of shipments merchants picked up themselves.

***

Cantering his rented mount up to the decrepit building
that fitted the description Miss Wellington had given, Alex had better ideas
than discussing invoices and smugglers. Inside the barn’s interior, he
discovered a fresh stack of hay piled in one corner. He had some very pleasant
memories of haystacks.

Alex had felt the lady shiver when he had kissed her hand.
Perhaps he had taken her measure wrong. A woman who worked around men all day
might enjoy male company in other ways too. She was much more to his liking
than the mindless maid who had filled his bed these last two nights, even if the
lady had a tongue sharper than the Maclean's sword. If the truth be told, he
could learn to enjoy fencing with her if he thought he had any chance to unlace
her bodice.

Sunlight filtered through holes in the roof and between
boards missing from the barn walls. Alex watched dust motes caught in a molten
stream of gold. The air was warm, but not unpleasantly so, and he was
half-tempted to discard his coat and hat and sprawl upon the hay for a quick
nap. It had been a long time since he had been in anything so primitive as a
barn, and he could not recall ever being in a barn so primitive as this. The
ones on his mother’s estate had been snug and airless.

Remembering the maid he had met with frequency in the warm
security of his mother’s hayloft when he was little more than a lad, Alex
glared impatiently at the open door. One little half-witted maid had taught him
the pleasures of the body as well as the deceit of the female sex.

Women were for enjoyment, nothing more. Miss Wellington put
on prim airs, but no proper lady would meet him in a place like this. It should
be amusing to see how she got around to what she really wanted.

***

When Evelyn finally reached the barn, she was hot, tired,
and dusty. Mr. Hampton was sitting cool and relaxed in his shirtsleeves on a
comfortable bed of hay.

He rose and offered a polite drawing-room bow. “You will
forgive my not offering you a ride. I assumed our intent was to meet in
private.”

Irritated that she had not had the sense to ride, she
withdrew her hand. “Quite correct, Mr. Hampton. Let us be done with this quickly.
I have had time to consider several ideas as to how to trace the smugglers.”

“As you said, let us be quick. I cannot tarry long despite
the pleasure of your company, Miss Wellington. Will you have a seat or must we
remain standing?” He indicated the old blanket he had thrown across the
haystack.

Evelyn regarded the tattered wool with disfavor, but his
tone offered a challenge she could not ignore. Wrapping her skirts around her,
she took a corner of the disreputable blanket. When Hampton dropped his long
frame beside her, she nearly jumped and ran. His masculine proximity made her
shiver, and she tried not to notice how indecently large he appeared in
sleeveless vest and no coat.