Rebellious Heart (3 page)

Did she still think she was too good for a man like him?

He moved his hand onto her book, letting his fingers slide down the worn spine until they brushed against hers.

At the barest contact, she drew in a breath, and her inky eyes darkened.

He dared her—no, taunted her—to pull away.

“Why do you need to better yourself, Susie?” he asked in a half whisper.

She held herself motionless.

He took another step closer, testing her, helplessly driven by the hurts of the past to challenge her. Mere inches apart, he was taking liberties, but he couldn’t deny himself the chance to see if his lack of fortune and prestige still repulsed her.

With one hand against hers on the book, he lifted the other to the long slender line of her jaw. He skimmed his fingers along the curve, relishing the smoothness of her skin.

Her breathing turned softly ragged, the warmth of it spreading over his wrist, to his pulse. The darkness in her eyes was murky and unreadable, but there was the slightest flicker of something.

His own breath hitched in his chest. What passion simmered beneath the surface of a saucy woman like Susanna?

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, she took a small step backward, breaking their connection.

“Last I remember,” he said, “you already thought you were better than everyone.”

She stared at the elegant geometrical pattern of the carpet. “Time has a way of showing us our true condition, Mr. Ross.”

“Ben?” The door of the sitting room swung open, and Cranch peeked inside.

Susanna rapidly put several more feet between them. Her hand fluttered to her bodice and the lace that bordered her graceful curves.

A wicked grin spread over Cranch’s face. “Ah, just as I told everyone.” He sauntered into the room. “I figured you must have hidden yourself away with a pretty lady.”

“You’re quite mistaken, Mr. Cranch.” Susanna tossed the
man a cutting glare. “Mr. Ross and I are only together by accident.”

Was she embarrassed to be caught with him?

“Come now, Miss Smith,” Ben said. “Admit it. You were waiting for the chance to be alone with me so that you could whisper sweet verses of poetry into my ear.”

A retort formed on her lips, but before she could utter the witty response he’d hoped for, her sister glided into the room, followed by Elbridge Quincy—as insufferable as always.

Susanna’s rich cousin had sat through the proceedings that afternoon, and his mocking gaze had followed Ben’s every move.

Of course, Ben knew Elbridge was simply jealous. Even though the scoundrel had ranked higher in their graduating class at Harvard because of his family’s social standing, Ben had outscored him on all the tests. Academically, Ben had come out third in his class, and Elbridge had ranked far below him.

But Harvard refused to let go of its antiquated and prejudicial methods of arranging students—preferring to rank students according to family status rather than alphabetically or by academic achievements.

At the sight of him alone with Susanna, Elbridge’s eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing under his wig. “Just what do you think you’re doing in the same room alone with my dear cousin?” Tall and athletic, Elbridge peered down at Ben over the tip of his long Roman nose.

During their time at Harvard together, Ben had always wanted to put a dent into Elbridge’s proud, straight nose. But he’d learned he was a better fighter with his words than with his fists. “Miss Smith and I were discussing the merits of Milton. It was quite the intimate conversation, if I might be so bold as to say so.”

Susanna grasped Mary’s hand and whispered in her ear.

“I hardly think Susanna would want to share anything with you, Ross,” Elbridge said, crossing toward Susanna, his sights focused solely upon her with a possessive glint that hinted at something more than familial affection.

Did Elbridge harbor aspirations toward the cousin he’d once tormented so religiously?

Cranch raised his tankard toward Ben. “I thought for sure you’d be trying to convince us again that Hermit Crab Joe is innocent.”

Ben knew his friend well enough to guess his mug wasn’t entirely filled with Mrs. Quincy’s freshly pressed cider. Cranch had likely spiced his drink with rum as well.

Elbridge took his place next to Susanna and puffed out the silver-trimmed waistcoat that overlaid his fine linen ruffled shirt and pristine cravat. “I thought Ross would be trying to persuade us once again of the abomination of His Majesty’s decision to prevent settlers west of the Appalachians.”

“I don’t need to do any more convincing.” Ben forced arrogance to his words. During his years at Harvard, he’d had to learn to hold himself with more confidence than he felt inside. “Why would I need to entreat anyone when I’ve already done a substantial job?”

Susanna’s bright eyes narrowed on him. “Then you disagree with King George’s proclamation prohibiting colonists from moving farther west?”

“Of course I disagree. What freethinking intelligent man would agree with the king’s decision?” He needed to choose his words carefully about King George and the new proclamation, especially around Elbridge, who was as loyal to the Crown as a native-born Englishman.

Nevertheless, over the past year since the end of the war
with France, Ben had been growing more disenchanted with the king and the policies directed toward the colonists. And he was having an increasingly difficult time keeping his seditious thoughts from having a voice.

“And just what about the king’s proclamation do you find offensive?” Susanna asked. She stood in front of the large fireplace, and the dancing light from the flames cast a sheen upon her ebony hair.

Was she like Elbridge, only trying to entrap him into saying something treasonous? Or did she truly care to hear his thoughts about the proclamation?

Her eyebrows arched, and her level gaze didn’t waver from his face. “The land west of the Appalachians is dangerous and the threat of Indian attacks constant. Do you not think the king is merely trying to protect men and their families?”

“I don’t think King George cares one whit for our protection,” he replied. “He’s trying to protect his holdings in America from the French. He knows if he spreads himself overly thin, he risks losing all he’s recently gained in the war.”

“Even so,” she said, “if the threat from France were to disappear altogether, the king would still prohibit expansion. The Indians are bloodthirsty. We’ve all heard stories of scalping and inhumane torturing of men, women, and children alike.”

His body had sagged with fatigue since the branding at the trial, but now at Susanna’s challenging comments, his pulse spurted forward with fresh energy. “Did the threat of danger from Indians and elements stop our Puritan forefathers from settling this very land we now call home, this land we hold so dear? Imagine if our ancestors had let the fear of the unknown dictate their decisions.”

Her lips stalled around her response.

Cranch took a swig from his tankard and started toward Ben. “See. This is exactly why I count you among my favorite friends.”

A glimmer in Cranch’s eyes warned Ben to stop, but the words inside him seemed to have a life of their own. “We’re here today in the colony of Massachusetts because of the courage of our relatives. I firmly conclude we can’t let fear deter us from pursuing what we believe is the right course of action.”

Cranch draped his arm across Ben’s shoulders. “This is why I am loath to be apart from you for even the briefest moment. You’re so talented at livening up a party.” He squeezed, and the pressure of his fingers was enough to remind Ben of where he was and to whom he was speaking.

And that Elbridge was in the room watching him with calculating eyes.

Mary giggled and leaned her blond head against Susanna’s dark one, whispering something into her sister’s ear.

The girl was much shyer than Susanna, but she’d had no problem flirting with Cranch. The young ladies never had any difficulty talking with the smooth-tongued Richard Cranch.

He was English-born, handsome, and good-natured. He’d moved to Boston with his prosperous father, who’d come like so many others to invest in land, along with the shipping of the rum produced in the colonies. What girl wouldn’t be impressed with him?

Certainly Mary’s family would have no reason to object if Cranch came calling.

Elbridge gave Susanna one of his winsome smiles and held out his arm to her. “We’d better make our escape now before Ross begins to regale us with tales of his recent treasonous trial in Boston.”

“There’s nothing treasonous about defending the innocent,” Ben said.

“And there’s nothing innocent about stealing a horse from a British regular.” Elbridge spoke as though he were an errant child.

Ben’s body tightened with old insecurities. He fought the pressure to slouch and fade into the background. Instead he pushed himself to his full height and reminded himself why he was fighting against injustice—to give the downtrodden, like himself, a fair chance in a world in which those with the most power and wealth made the rules.

Susanna slipped her hand into the crook of Elbridge’s arm, but she didn’t move forward with him. Instead she threw one more question at Ben. “Are you joining the ranks of the treasonous, Mr. Ross?”

He could see disappointment in the slant of her eyes, and he wished he could ignore it. “Treason can be a subjective issue, Miss Smith.”

“Obeying our ruling powers is hardly subjective,” she countered. “Scripture commands us to obey our leaders and submit to those in authority. God’s Word isn’t open to subjective interpretation.”

The intelligence and decisiveness of her responses were like a shot of energy in his veins. There was something entirely refreshing about a young woman who wasn’t afraid to voice her thoughts and spar intelligent words with a man. Most women he’d met didn’t have the slightest interest in the latest political situation involving the king, nor did they have any thoughts about treason or anything else important.

Elbridge tugged gently on her arm. “My dear cousin, I must advise against any more discourse with Ross. His
impassioned speeches will only lead him to serious trouble one of these days.”

“The greater the tyranny, the greater the treason.” Ben couldn’t prevent a parting retort.

“There you are, Mr. Ross” came a cheerful voice from the doorway.

In a glorious red gown, Hannah Quincy flounced into the room like a plump ripe apple ready for picking. She gave him the kind of smile that was meant to beckon him to her side.

He was all too willing to accommodate her.

“I came to congratulate you on your fine performance today at the trial.”

“Why, thank you, Miss Quincy.”
Performance?
He had in no way
performed
at the trial. Everything he’d done had been genuine and straight from all the passion in his heart. Nevertheless, he closeted his response into the recesses of his mind. He gave a slight bow and returned what he hoped was an adoring smile of his own.

Hannah Quincy was one of the most eligible young ladies inside and out of Boston. Not only was the Quincy family affluent, but they could trace their ancestry back to the founders of New England, to the landed gentry of England, and even to one of the signers of the Magna Carta.

That Hannah had taken an interest in him on the couple of occasions they’d been together recently was more than a little flattering.

It didn’t matter that she was Elbridge’s sister. She was as sweet as she was well-rounded. With her solid family connections and status, she was the kind of young woman he needed to marry if he wanted to increase his prestige.

As he approached her, she held out her hand to him. “I
don’t care what Elbridge says, I think you have a very convincing way with words.”

“Compared to your brother’s oratory skills, mine do seem rather convincing.”

Cranch guffawed and sputtered out a mouthful of cider.

Hannah only bobbed her pretty head while the hair coiffed high upon her brow remained perfectly still. Ben guessed she hadn’t understood the jibe he’d leveled at her brother.

Surprisingly, Susanna’s lips had twitched into a smile, which she promptly hid behind her hand.

Cranch wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “My stuffy old friend, I may hold out hope for you after all.”

“Don’t bother.” Elbridge’s nostrils flared. “Ross is such a bore that I’m afraid no matter how refined he tries to be, he’ll always be nothing more than the son of a struggling farmer.”

The words pummeled Ben in his gut just as Elbridge had likely intended.

“Oh, do stop being so cranky, you two,” Hannah said, tugging Ben toward the door. “Let’s go play. Aunt Eve always has such fun games at her parties.”

Even though Ben wanted to toss another insult at Elbridge, he reined in his rebuttal. The firm pressure of Hannah’s fleshy hand against his reminded him that he had too much at stake to alienate such a fine woman.

Sure, he’d had plenty of women show interest in him over the years. Yet he’d followed the advice of his friends and mentors who’d encouraged him to pursue his study of law with unequivocal devotion and without the encumbrance of an early marriage.

Now at twenty-eight years, with a growing practice, he’d decided it was time to find a wife. But not just any wife. He
needed one with the right connections and social standing. So far he hadn’t found anyone quite as fitting as Hannah Quincy.

He didn’t really care that she’d started showing interest in him only after he’d won the case in Boston regarding the young man accused of stealing a horse from a British regular. All that mattered was that she favored him and wanted to be with him.

He pressed her hand and smiled down at her.

She lifted her pert nose and gave him a promising smile in return. She hadn’t disdained him the way Susanna had.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susanna watching him.

He patted Hannah’s hand and bestowed a look of endearment upon her.

At the very least, he could make Susanna realize that just because she hadn’t thought him worthy didn’t mean every wealthy young lady would feel the same.