Rebel Dreams (40 page)

“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.

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.