Page 2 of Thorn Evermore

“The men are tossing trunks of tea into the harbor in protest.”

“No taxation without representation!” the men chant from the boat while British soldiers stand on the dock in immobile frustration.

“I hope it works out for them. I must go, darling Elizabeth. Your father will have me hanged for what we did.”

Her cheeks bloom pink even in the dim light of the torches around us. “I will never tell, Nathaniel.” She presses her bosom to my chest. “We could marry.”

I blanche at her suggestion. “Darling, you know your father would never approve.”

Her eyes sadden as she nods. “Yes, you’re right. Kiss me before you go?”

“Here? In public?”

“No one is paying us any mind. Please, Nathaniel.”

“Of course, fair Elizabeth.”

Leaning in, I press my lips to hers, not at all surprised when she wraps her arms around my neck and presses herself into me. Elizabeth is a passionate girl.

“Scoundrel!”

The preacher’s voice pierces the cacophony, and I tear myself away from the pretty woman.

“Be well, Lizzy.”

“Goodbye!”

Running into the crowd, I attempt to lose the preacher, but his voice closes in on me. I won’t survive the next interaction, not with him having seen me kiss his daughter publicly.

I dart down an alleyway, hoping to shake him, and run straight into Jacob Smith, a delicious man who has warmed my bed more than once.

“Nathaniel,” he says, smiling warmly. “Where do you run off to?”

“I have to go, Jacob.” I cup his cheek. “I will miss you.”

“You’re leaving Boston?”

I nod, glancing over my shoulder. “I’m afraid I must.”

“He’s there!” a man yells, pointing at me over the crowd.

“Take care, Jacob. I enjoyed the time we spent together.”

“Don’t leave,” Jacob says, holding my sleeve. “You’re all I have here.”

“You’ll find the right person for you. Just be careful.” I press a furtive kiss to his lips and run off into the night.

The men shout my name as I push past people hurrying to watch the mob down at the docks. Cold wind whips past me as I desperately look for a place to duck into. At the end of the street I find a pub, pushing past the heavy wooden door.

Once inside, I take a breath but quickly realize my mistake. This is James Smith’s pub, Jacob’s father, and the man might hate me even more than the preacher does.

“You!” James Smith growls from behind the bar. “How dare you show your face here.”

“Now, I’m not here to start trouble.” I offer a passive smile with my hands raised in surrender.

The door opens and Thomas Oliver steps in with one of his men. “Get him,” Thomas shouts.

Several men rise from their tables, which is my cue to get out of here. I push past them and into the kitchen, running into Jacob’s mother and knocking over several dishes.

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