Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] (18 page)

Alex settled the fur blanket around his legs and set the horses in motion, grateful for a bit of solitude in which to order his thoughts. He should be cursing the heavens for the trick of Fate that had landed yet more responsibilities in his lap, but oddly enough the only sound coming from his throat was a burble of rueful laughter. Well, it certainly could not be said that their encounters with each other lacked for a touch of the dramatic. Good Lord, it was he who had nearly swooned, rather than the intrepid Miss Hadley, on seeing her confronted by those three armed ruffians.

The sight of her brandishing a pistol at them had stirred a number of strange sensations in his breast. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to ring a peal over her head for having put herself in the way of such danger or pull her to his chest and melt the steely resolve on her lips with his kisses. What he was sure of was that he would have launched himself barehanded at any number of assailants who posed a threat to her.

He shook his head. Chivalry had not exactly been his strong suit since longer than he cared to remember. It made no sense. She was not by any stretch the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, nor were her charms such as to twine a man in a net of silky infatuation. At that thought, another laugh nearly burst forth.
Seek to charm him?
By God, she could barely tolerate his presence! But somehow, she affected him like no other woman he had ever met.

Alex's brow furrowed. Over the past ten years he had met quite a few others, and each had provided a certain diversion. Yes, women had always served as a welcome distraction. The curve of a breast, the throaty trill of a laugh, the sensuous smile as flagrant as a written invitation to dally—at one time or another they had all heated his blood enough to make him feel... alive. But the passion was always fleeting, the transient pleasure unable to keep at bay the dull ache that inevitably crept back to suffuse his very being.

What was it about the prim Miss Hadley that seemed... different? When he looked in her eyes, he saw no trace of artifice, only a keen intelligence that cared not a whit who perceived it. Her words, as well, were unadorned with fripperies. None of the banal observations usually mouthed by those of her sex for Miss Octavia Hadley! Why, he realized with a start, she was the only female of his acquaintance with whom he felt he could have an interesting conversation, save perhaps his sisters-in law.

There was no denying that she had spirit and courage as well, qualities he was more used to attributing to his friends than his bedmates. Nothing seemed to quell her spark. Eyes blazing, she kept her chin up, as proud as her namesake in the face of adversity. He had only to recall their first encounter to be reminded of that. Most other females would have had screamed or fainted, but she had relied on her own resources—quite credibly he might add. A certain part of his anatomy had ached for some time after that.

With a rueful grimace, he realized that their first meeting had also revealed that she possessed other, more conventional female attributes beneath that high-necked wool gown. And despite her cold dismissal, he had caught the stirrings of a hot passion lurking beneath the icy shell. He found himself wondering what it would be like to fan its fire again, to have its flames lick over him and...

The wheels of the carriage hit a frozen rut, jarring his thoughts back to frigid reality. The cold had dropped even more, forming his breath into ethereal white puffs, which the biting wind quickly swirled away. Alex watched as they were dispersed, then tightened his grip on the reins. Wishes and dreams were as chimerical as such clouds. He had learned that long ago. Just as he had learned not to probe too deeply into his feelings, for the pain was too searing. It was best not to begin now. No matter how intriguing he found Miss Hadley, the attraction would soon die away, just like everything else that had mattered in his life.

It was after dark before they approached a low split log structure set off from the thick forest by a wheat field. Smoke curling up from the single chimney was the only sign of life, for the shutters were pulled so tightly closed that nary a shaft of light could escape. The stable, barely larger than a hencoop, also appeared deserted, but the sound of the runners crunching over frozen puddles brought a figure swathed in a grimy assortment of wool shuffling from inside, his muttered curses exploding in small puffs of vapor like so many artillery shells.

Alex stumbled down from his seat, his feet so numb with cold that he might as well have been walking on blocks of wood. Somehow he managed to undo the door latch and hand the three occupants out from inside the inky interior.

"It hardly looks to be the most appealing of places, but I fear we have little choice. At least there is a fire and, with any luck, a hot meal." The act of speaking proved so difficult that the words came out in little more than a labored slur.

Octavia's lips pursed as she regarded the dusting of ice crystals on his cheeks, but she merely nodded and set to follow the children towards the inn. Behind her, Alex's step faltered again, as he fought to regain some feeling in his lower limbs. She paused, then turned back and slipped her arm under his elbow.

"You've only to manage a few more paces, Mr. Sheffield."

Inside, the room was not nearly so bad as expected. The dim oil lamps revealed that the place was moderately clean, and the tall tiled stove set in the corner cast enough of a warmth to make it almost cozy. Without a word, Octavia guided Alex close to its hissing bulk and slowly unwound the scarf from his neck. He started to fumble with the buttons of his coat, but somehow his fingers refused to cooperate in the normal manner. She pushed them gently aside and undid the fastenings herself, letting the garment slide off his shoulders and to the floor.

"Emma, bring a chair for Mr. Sheffield."

The girl obeyed with alacrity, dragging the heavy wooden legs across the uneven planks and nearly knocking over Nicholas in the process. He made a face, but the little kick he lashed out wasn't quick enough to find its mark. Though the action didn't escape her notice, Octavia chose to ignore it.

She reached up to take the thick wool hat from Alex's head. "Sit down, sir."

"I c-c-can..." To his chagrin he found his teeth were chattering uncontrollably.

"You will sit down like a sensible person so I can help you remove those boots, or do you intend to be stubborn enough to compel me to use force?" Her eyes strayed to the floor. "The leather looks as stiff as a board."

He sat down without further argument for she looked perfectly capable of carrying out her threat.

The proprietor approached, eyeing their modest attire with an ill-disguised frown.

"Tea. Right away, please," said Octavia. "And something hot to eat."

The man didn't move.

Her head came up. "We are cold, and hungry. You do have food and drink here?" she demanded.

A rather rude grunt followed. "For those who can pay."

"Be assured, you will be well rewarded for your trouble." She withdrew several coins from her pocket and tossed them at the man's feet.

The change in the fellow's demeanor was instantaneous. "Yes, my lady," he said as he bent to retrieve the money. "Right away."

"Do you always find a way to make someone jump at your command?" murmured Alex, his face sufficiently thawed to manage coherent speech. "Perhaps you should have remained in Moscow to direct Kutusov in fending off the Frogs."

"I have enough on my hands trying to deal with two young people intent on doing each other bodily harm and a tutor who seems to lack for common sense, if not for sarcasm," she retorted.

He couldn't repress a chuckle. "It was that bad inside the carriage?"

"Don't ask." Her tone softened considerably as she eased off the first boot and felt his foot. "But not as bad as what you have endured during the journey. Your feet are nearly frozen, Mr. Sheffield. And your cheeks are only now beginning to lose their coating of frost."

He cleared his throat as he leaned over to tug off the remaining boot. "Well, I daresay I'll survive." It slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor. A sigh of relief followed, though he sought to mask it with a cough.

"It's hardly a joke. I'll not have you forced to drive hour after hour without relief. You'll catch your death of cold."

It had been so long since someone had voiced concern over his welfare that he was left speechless for a moment. Then a slight smile came to his face. "I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Hadley, but there is little choice if we are to reach St. Petersburg."

Her chin jutted forward. "I shall just have to learn to handle the ribbons too. That way we may spell each other. I have quite a lot of experience in driving my father's gig. It cannot be that much more difficult to handle a team and sleigh."

Alex nearly spilled the steaming cup of tea the proprietor had handed to him. But the urge to tell her she was utterly mad died on his lips on catching the glint of determination in her eye. He suddenly found himself thinking on how many of the soft, voluptuous ladies who had shared his bed would make such an offer to share the hardships of driving a lumbering sleigh through the beginnings of a Russian winter.

Closing his eyes, he found his thoughts drifting to the idea of a soft bed and an eiderdown coverlet...

* * *

"Stop kicking me!" Emma's voice drew Octavia's attention away from Alex's exhausted face.

"I'm not kicking you, I'm swinging my foot and you are in the way."

"Emma, Nicholas, you must remember not to speak English in a public place," she warned in a low voice. "We do not wish to call attention to ourselves."

The girl lowered her head and gave a sniff. "Then tell him to leave me alone," she whispered.

Nicholas crossed his arms and glowered.

The arrival of four bowls of an indeterminable stew, along with a stale loaf of dark bread, forestalled the latest skirmish. The two young people were too tired to bicker and eat at the same time, so they applied themselves to the meal without further ado. Octavia ate in silence too, but noted with some concern that Alex hardly took a bite. Instead he ordered a bottle of spirits to go with his tea. Despite his earlier attempts at dry humor, he looked unusually serious as he poured a glass and drained it with one gulp.

She couldn't help but wonder whether he was roundly cursing the Fates that had thrust her and Emma in his path as he quickly measured out a refill. He could hardly be blamed if he was, she admitted. His task had become infinitely more difficult with the addition of two more bodies to look after. And if he failed to convey the young count to St. Petersburg, it wasn't likely he would be paid a farthing for all his risks. She could well imagine what that would mean for an impecunious tutor—or whatever he was. Perhaps he would not be forced to the street, as she would be, because men had other options. But the future would no doubt be grim.

She stole another glance at his shadowed profile. Judging by the lines around his tired eyes and compressed mouth, the past had not been terribly kind either. On rare occasions the mask of nonchalance slipped, revealing a quite anther face, one that showed the scars of pain and doubt. What sort of life had he lived that had left such marks? What sort of perceived failures? The signs of dissolution were evident. That he drank too much she knew. That he looked to women for amusement she guessed.

His other vices she could only imagine.

Yet, with a curse of her own, she vowed that she would not be the cause of his failure in this endeavor. In spite of their obvious differences she felt a strange sort of kinship bound them together. After all, they were both friendless, penniless souls depending solely on their own wits and fortitude to survive in the world. So regardless of his considerable faults, she was determined to be a help rather than a hindrance.

The sound of a knife falling to the floor disturbed her reverie. Alex's chin had sunk to his chest and a low rumble emitted from his chest. Octavia laid aside her spoon and rose. It took little time to arrange for two rooms once another few coins had changed hands.

She returned and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Sheffield."

His eyes fluttered open and he stared at her in some consternation before he seemed to recall where he was. He grimaced as he shifted against the hard back of the chair.

"I've taken rooms for us," she said. "I daresay you will be a bit more comfortable sleeping there, though not much. I imagine we'll all be flea-bitten by morning."

"Ah, but when you are jug-bitten, you tend not to notice." He signaled to the proprietor and called for the whole bottle of vodka to take with him.

"Surely you don't mean to drink that, not with the boy with you." Even though she spoke softly her voice was full of reproach.

He gave a mocking smile. "Don't worry. I don't mean to share it."

She found it difficult to believe she had ever felt in charity with the rogue. "You should be ashamed of yourself, setting such a bad example."

His eyes narrowed. "Well, if it bothers you so much, put the children in together and share my room instead. After all, you are no stranger to my habits. I daresay you might even unbend enough to admit that you rather enjoyed your brief taste."

"I see it was a mistake to get your blood heated," she said coldly. "Apparently in such a state, you become so desperate you will grab at anything in a skirt, even a middle-aged spinster."