Chapter Text
Tryst
Angelica shouldered into the circle of people around Eliza and bumped against her affectionately. “Where has our dear Hamilton disappeared to?”
Fanning herself in the warm, crowded parlor, Eliza glanced up and to the side, scanning the faces of the guests. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. She sighed, and said in a low voice, “Off sulking. Or working. Perhaps both.”
He’d been sullen and pouty as one of their children about the gathering. “But it’s our anniversary,” he’d whined as she’d hurried about making last minute preparations. “I want to spend it with you.”
She might have found it sweet, if she wasn’t quite so pressed in preparing to entertain his friends and political allies. As it was, she’d huffed, brushed his arm off her hip, and ordered him upstairs to make himself presentable. He’d returned at one point, she knew, because she’d spotted him sipping a glass of wine in a circle much like the one now surrounding her. He’d met her gaze and his lower lip had jutted out in a comical exaggeration of misery. She turned her back on him, then, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the laughter that danced in her eyes.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Troup said across from her. “We have Mrs. Hamilton. No better bait exists for luring Ham into the open.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Angelica replied, linking her arm through Eliza’s.
Eliza chuckled, shaking her head at the two of them.
“Ma’am?” a timid voice asked from behind her. She turned to find a maid hovering anxiously behind her, slightly breathless from hurrying to and fro, and holding out a scrap of paper. “For you.”
Linen cupboard. The words were scribbled over the page in familiar, slightly cramped writing.
“What’s this?” Eliza asked. When she looked up, the maid had already disappeared through the throng to see to other duties. The linen cupboard? What did that even mean? Were they low on table clothes?
Before she could go investigate, a crash sounded in the dining area. The resulting minor crisis of the broken dinner plate was nothing compared to the long trial of calming the young, slightly drunk law clerk who couldn’t seem to stop apologizing. By the time she’d extracted herself from him, a maid approached her again, yet another scrap of paper in hand.
Linen cupboard, it said again, now followed by, Where are you?
What on earth was he talking about? Unbearably curious now, she deposited her drink on a side table and made her way down the hall towards the stairs to the kitchens, turning to avoid the hurrying servants as she passed.
The door to the linen cupboard was shut when she approached, but a faint light flicked from beneath the door. She swung it open and found her husband inside, shirtsleeves rolled up as he scribbled on a sheet of paper pressed up against the wall. His head was cocked the side, lower lip between his teeth, and his brow furrowed in concentration. A candle flickered on the floor in the cramped corner, and she spotted a jar of ink balanced unsettlingly close to her good guest towels.
Hamilton startled at the door opening, quill sliding down the paper and leaving a smudged line in it’s wake.
“What are you doing in the cupboard?” she asked.
He had the nerve to huff at her. “Waiting for you. Where have you been?”
“Where have you been?” she shot back. “We have guests. And if you wanted to sneak away to jot down some notes, a room with a table would have made far more sense.”
He crinkled the ruined paper and tossed it aside, grabbing her hand and drawing her close against him. With one hand, he reached out behind her to close the door, shutting them into the cramped space. Then, with a sly smirk, he pressed her against the now closed door and leaned in.
“Alexander,” she hissed. “We have a house full of people.”
“I know.” He raised a brow, eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Everyone’s been looking for you.”
His chest pressed against hers, so warm and solid as his arms braced against the door on either side of her. She breathed him in, the faintly metallic scent of the ink smudged over his hands, the spiced scent of his soap, the clean linens around them. Nuzzling his nose against hers, his breath hot and sweet on her face, he said, “I wouldn’t have been gone so long if you’d come when I first sent for you. I even had to sneak out for more paper and send Martha looking for you all over again. No small task in a house filled with people.”
The small stack of paper shoved onto the third shelf caught her eye. “You needed all that paper to write me one little note?”
“And to jot down a few thoughts about a case,” he said.
She poked at his chest, triumphant. “I knew it.”
“Knew what?” He pulled back slightly, offended.
“That you’d snuck off to pout and to work.”
He snorted. “Well, I had to entertain myself somehow while I waited.”
She laughed, softening. “How was I supposed to know that note meant you wanted a tryst in the cupboard, you lecherous rogue?”
“Why else would I invite you to the linen cupboard?” he said back.
“I had no earthly idea. I thought maybe we were low on napkins or linens for the table.”
“Napkins?” he repeated, a definite teasing tone in his voice.
She shoved at his chest lightly.
“I’m not at all concerned about napkins,” he said. “Only the chance to steal you away from the hoard of people in our house. No one will look for us here, now will they?”
She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure there will be no occasion for fresh linens at a dinner party.”
He grinned, ignoring the sarcasm. “Precisely.”
She said warily, “We can’t be gone long. People will be looking for us. They’re already looking for you.”
“They’ll keep looking for a bit more, won’t they? Now, come here.”
His lips pressed to hers, and she opened her mouth to him, tongue meeting his as she let him deepen the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers sliding over the fine silk of his jacket as she brought him down closer to her. He really was the most magnificent kisser, she considered, leg shifting to wrap around his calf as he pressed against her more firmly.
He adjusted to press his lips against her throat, his nose tickling at the sensitive spot under her ear. Head back against the door, she moaned, and pressed herself against him as his hands wandered down her back. When he sucked lightly at the base of her neck, she closed her eyes, balling the material of his jacket in her fist.
Without warning, she was tumbling backwards, landing hard on the hall floor with Alexander atop her, their limbs entangled. A maid shrieked. Eliza groaned, backside aching and face heating with humiliation.
The maid was stuttering over them, “I’m so sorry, ma’am, sir. I…I…some wine spilled on one of the table clothes. I thought I’d just…I didn’t realize…I’m so sorry.”
Alexander laughed—big, hearty belly laughs that had him going nearly boneless, his weight heavy against her. Footsteps nearby had her shoving him off of her before they could be caught in their compromising position by anyone else.
“I’ll get the table cloth, Mary,” she said.
The poor girl didn’t need to be told twice. Eliza smiled despite herself at the look of pure relief on the poor maid’s face as she scurried away.
She scrambled up from the floor and ducked into the cupboard to fish out a clean table cloth. When she’d returned, Alexander had just pushed himself to his feet, his cheeks still pink with a combination of amusement and arousal. She held up a hand to him before he could say anything. “I’m not speaking to you.”
“You weren’t complaining a minute ago,” he said, grinning.
“You’re a terrible influence.”
“I do my best.” He winked at her, the rogue.
She stalked past him.
Angelica peeked down the hallway at them as they made their way back towards the noise of the party. A slow smile formed on her sister’s face as she took them in, slightly more rumpled then she’d last seen them. “I heard a crash and shout, and I wanted to make sure everything was all right. Apparently, I ought not to have been concerned.”
Troup appeared at her side, and let out a bark of laughter. “Bit of a tumble, Ham?”
She heard Alexander’s snort of amusement behind her at the double entendre.
“I’m not speaking to any of you, ever again,” she threatened, glaring between them all, though the humor of the situation caused it to lack heat, she was sure.
“You love me,” Alexander retorted, unconcerned, sauntering past her into the crowded parlor beyond. She fought down a smile as she pushed by Angelica and Troup to follow him, chin held high and table cloth in hand. Heaven help her, but she did.