* * *
Alex climbed in the window of his dark bedroom, stretching his shoulders in weariness and rolling his head, trying to ease the kinks in his neck. He tripped over the end of the bedstead.
“Taggert!” Nick’s voice came from the bed.
Alex stood still. “Is Jess here?” he whispered.
Nick sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Oh, it’s you. What time is it?”
“Three in the morning.” Alex sat on the edge of the bed and removed his boots. It had been wonderful to wear his own clothes in Boston. It had been nice not to be sneered at, and to have ladies look a
t him from over their fans. No one pointed at him or laughed at him or ridiculed him. “Why are you in my bed and why did you call out ‘Taggert’?”
“Those women!” Nick growled, getting out of bed slowly. “Eleanor was sure you were dying and demanded to see you. Then she sent the other one, your Jessica, to sneak in the window. I caught her by the seat of her pants.”
“If you hurt her, I’ll—”
“What?” Nick challenged.
“Thank you, most likely,” Alex muttered.
“Did you get your pamphlets?”
Alex stretched his back. “I’ve been on a horse for three days. No sleep, very little food, but I got the damned things. As soon as I’ve slept a day or so, I’ll distribute them.” He smiled. “So Jessica tried to sneak in the window. She didn’t see that the room was empty, did she?”
“No, I got her out in time. Take your bed and I’ll go to my own. Tomorrow the women can come in.”
“Not unless I’m warned. I’ll need to put on a”—he sighed—“a wig and my fat suit.”
“That’s your problem. Tomorrow I’m going to lie on my boat and let my servants wait on me. You can take care of yourself.”
Alex was too tired to protest. He pulled off the rest of his clothes and slipped naked into bed, asleep before the covers settled.
He was awakened by small hands on his wrist and traveling up his arm.
“Alex,” came Jessica’s voice. “Alex, are you all right?”
Somewhere in his tired brain, Alex sensed danger—and lust. He took Jess’s hand in his own and had it halfway to his lips before the danger won out. “Jess?” he said thickly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I came to see that you’re all right. Eleanor is frantic about you.”
Alex’s mind was slowly beginning to function. Right now he was neither the fat Alex nor the masked Raider. He opened his eyes, thankfully, to a dark room. “Hand me one of those wigs,” he said, moving down under the covers. The last thing he needed was for Jess to see his full head of hair. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been running her fingers through that hair.
“Alex, I told you that I can well stand the sight of a bald head.”
“Please, Jessica,” he whined.
His eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. When she thrust the smallest wig at him, he peeped at her from beneath the covers. “Turn your back.”
She groaned but obeyed and, surprisingly, didn’t say a word.
Usually when he wore the small wig she had handed him, he had to tie his hair down tightly to conceal it and now he had difficulty getting his thick hair under the wig. He hoped no black tendrils were straying for Jess’s sharp eyes to see.
“Would you hand me a coat?” he asked petulantly. Maybe a bright satin coat would keep her from looking at him too closely.
Jess spun around on her heel to look at him. “I promised Eleanor I wouldn’t say a word about your clothes, but I think the only way for me to keep my promise is if you don’t wear one of those things. Now sit up so I can look at you. Eleanor is convinced you’re at death’s door and, by your voice, you aren’t far away.”
Alex stayed under the covers and, after a few silent curses directed at nosy women, he looked up at Jess. “I can’t sit up. I don’t have anything on.” He almost lost his resolve when he saw Jess shudder at the prospect of seeing his nude body. Too quickly, he thought, she opened a chest at the foot of the bed, withdrew a clean shirt and tossed it to him as she turned her back. He sat up, the covers falling away and revealing his strong, powerful body. As he slipped the shirt on, he thought he ought to make her pay for what she had said to him when he was the Raider.