Free Dream Time (historical): Book I by Parris Afton Bonds

harbor—and its slums.
    All the Exclusionists as well as officers from every regiment were invited, which meant that Nan and Tom presented themselves at the Randolph doorway. Nan glanced up at the elegant fanlight overhead and felt the sharp shaft of envy. Her good dress had been mended so often it was literally a patchwork. Everything she had managed to save had been put into the warehouse, all of which she was on the verge of losing.
    The door was opened by a man in red livery. Nan’s discerning eyes identified furniture by the master craftsman Chippendale. The floor of the large drawing room was of green, gray, and white marble, polished enough to satisfy even a Windsor. Hundreds of candles bedecked a crystal chandelier, heating the already overheated room.
    “Nan,” Tom said aside to her, “just what are we doing here?”
    Her lips drew back in a tight smile. “Making contacts. Invaluable contacts.”
    Mingling with the guests was not the nightmare that Bligh’s reception had been. The number of Emancipists slipping inside the fine weave of the Exclusionists’ mosquito netting was increasing. A man named Simon Lord, transported for stealing several hundred yards of calico and muslin, had come up through the rum trade. Doubtless, Miles and the officers felt that by using such shady men as distributors, they were saved from demeaning contact with the penal colony’s lower echelons.
    While not exactly snubbing Nan, the majority of the guests found her bold manner irritating. She knew this and cared not. They would need her services one day—and pay dearly.
    While Tom went to the refreshment table, flanked by vases of tall fronds, she scanned the guests for sight of Miles. In profile, he was talking to Macarthur and his wife and niece. Nan studied the young woman, who appeared maybe twenty at the most. She was one of those softly rounded women men loved to touch. At once, Nan’s gaze returned to Miles’s face and searched his attentive expression for other signs. She found only a formal politeness and sighed her relief.
    As if he felt her eyes upon him, he turned, made his excuses to the three, and started in her direction. Occasionally, he paused to speak when someone detained him. He was so singularly handsome that every female eye followed him. She darted a glance at Tom, afraid he would return before she was able to speak to Miles alone. Tom was still enmeshed in the press of people at the refreshment table.
    “Does it measure up to Windsor, Nan?”
    She looked up at Miles. She hated that sardonic smirk. She hated even more her wanting of him. If Tom was more attentive in bed . . .
    “A touch of the nouveau riche, more gild than gold, but impressive all the same.”
    “And you still possess that same razor-edged tongue.” His narrow-lidded gaze raked downward, past her throat, bare of adornment, to appraise her worn gown. His lips curled in private satisfaction.
    Her pride rankled. “I am still in the game, Miles.”
    At that, his smile broke into a broad grin. “Your threat to see me labor in chains—a disappointment to realize that it was only a woman’s temper tantrum. I had you pegged for better than that.”
    He turned his back on her. A calculated affront. Watching him walk away, she assuaged her fury by telling herself that he wo uld always seek her out. If nothing else, he enjoyed the duel of wits she provided him.
    Surprising her, he turned back to her, a risky action, considering that many would note that he talked to her twice. He leaned close, so close she could smell his cologne. A tingle of desire bubbled through her.
    “Nan, dear,” he whispered, “I know about the wharf warehouse. Your operations are your secret— as long as you don’t step on my toes. The rum trade is my playground.”
    Stunned, she stared at his broad back as he made his way back to the Macarthurs and their niece.
    What happened next sucked the air from her lungs. Tom had returned with a cup of pine punch for her