Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] (21 page)

It was, however, well past dark by the time the little party pulled to a halt before a timbered structure even more ramshackle than the previous stop. Alex helped the others down from the interior of the sled, having insisted that Octavia go inside with the young people for the last few hours of the journey. For some reason, she had not argued.

Smoke from a leaky stove swirled around the small public room, but it was at least warm, and the few other travelers hunched in their seats paid them little heed. After choosing at a table in the far corner, Alex went to inquire about supper and lodging for the night.

"Cabbage soup," he announced with a grimace on his return. "I vow, I shall shortly grow long ears and a fluffy white tail if this keeps up. It is almost enough to make one long for the execrable meals at Whites—"

Octavia looked at him oddly.

"—The White Swan, that is," he went on hastily. "In Whitechapel. The food is terrible but it is a pleasant enough place to meet one's friends."

Emma and Nicholas had brought the book with them. Heads bent low over the open pages, they were soon engrossed in finishing off another chapter. Their excited whispers rose and fell with the rhythms of the gothic prose.

"I see that Montoni and company have not yet lost their appeal," remarked Alex.

Octavia heaved a mock sigh. "I may be forced to reconsider your remark on a certain author being prone to excess sensibilities, especially when forced to endure several hours of such work read aloud by two enthusiastic twelve-year-olds." She shook her head. "Whose performance, I might add, would no doubt match anything seen on the boards in London."

Alex chuckled. "Good Lord, what a day you have had of it. A fine choice—faced with either the exuberance of the innocent or the cynicism of the jaded."

She took a sip of her soup. "Is that how you see yourself?"

There was a slight pause. "That is how others see me."

"That is not what I asked."

He looked away, toward where the innkeeper had set down the bottle of vodka he had ordered along with the meal. Instinctively his hand reached out and filled the glass sitting next to it. As he brought it to his lips, he caught sight of her expression. Had it been one of simple disapproval, he would have drained the contents and poured another. But it was more a mixture of concern, tinged with... disappointment?

Suddenly the clear liquid felt like hot coals in his mouth. After a small swallow, he placed the glass aside.

"Emma?" said Octavia softly.

The girl's head had sunk perilously close to her half-finished bowl of soup. At the sound of her name, she started in her chair, nearly sending the book and the rest of her supper crashing to the floor.

Alex pushed one of the stubby tallow candles across the table to Nicholas. "Perhaps you might take Miss Emma's bag and see her to her room while I assist Miss Hadley with the rest of our things."

No grimace or yelp of protest followed the request. Rather, the lad jumped to attention and tucked the small valise under one arm as he reached out with the other to take the open book from Emma's lap. He closed it carefully and offered it back to her.

Emma hesitated. "You may keep it for tonight, if you like. But only if you promise not to peek ahead!"

Nicholas looked suitably awed with the treasure being entrusted to him. "I promise."

The two young people made their way through the shadows to a set of narrow stairs as Octavia and Alex gathered the rest of their meager belongings. "Isn't is amazing how quickly sworn enemies can become allies?" she remarked, watching the lad stop to free the hem of Emma's dress from where it had caught on a rusty nail.

"Yes, isn't it," murmured Alex. He took up the remaining candle. For an instant, his gaze lingered on the nearly full bottle of spirits, but then he wrenched it away and forced his steps in the opposite direction. Octavia followed several paces behind.

The hallway at the top of the stairs was nearly pitch black, save for a faint sliver of moonlight coming through a tiny window. He paused by the door to her room and moved the light to shine on the flimsy iron latch.

"Good night, Mr. Sheffield. At this rate it appears we shall soon be in St. Petersburg without further incident."

The shadows cast by the taper danced and flickered, hiding a good part of his face. "Yes, it seems the danger was exaggerated."

Octavia's pulse quickened. He was very wrong, she thought. The journey was proving more dangerous than she had ever imagined. Attacks on her person, the threat of poverty, the callous indifference of the outside world—these were all assaults she could stand up to without flinching. But suddenly the carefully constructed wall around her feelings, one which she had thought quite impenetrable, was in dire peril of crumbling in the face of a charming rogue. Those quixotic slate blue eyes, hardened one moment, vulnerable the next, were threatening to leave her utterly defenseless.

What a fool!
Why, he would hardly notice her existence if there was anything else in a skirt to chase, she reminded herself.

She raised her eyes enough to catch a glimpse of the dark and light playing over his lean features. His character, too, was a study in contrasts. Wit and intelligence warred with the forces of reckless abandon. A keen sense of honor sought to keep jaded cynicism at bay.

But enough! It was ridiculous that she, a mature female, was mooning on as if she was an impressionable miss still in the schoolroom. Or even worse, a flighty heroine in a Radcliffe novel!

His hand came over hers as she fumbled with the door. "Take the candle with you." He opened her palm to receive the holder, bending slightly so that his face was mere inches from hers. "Good night, Miss Hadley. It has been a most interesting afternoon. I look forward to exploring... other subjects with you."

Octavia swallowed hard. "Mr. Sheffield, must I remind you about—"

"Playing games? No, you do not."

There was a slight movement, and her heart skipped a beat as she thought he might attempt to kiss her. When he simply straightened and stepped away into the darkness, she wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

Chapter 11

Another wave slapped against the side of the hull, sending a icy spray of salt water over the hunched shoulders hanging over the leeward rail.

"The captain expects the weather to moderate by dawn," announced the cloaked figure picking his way through the web of clew lines and sheets being worked by a rain-soaked crew. He stopped to regain his footing, then grimaced as another pelter of hail rattled against the canvas sails.

The man at the rail responded by casting up his accounts into the churning waters.

"Come below, William. Surely you will feel better if you lie down."

"And be flung arse over tea kettle against an oak beam? I'm not sure which is bloody worse," cursed the Marquess. "If Alex wished some revenge for my past actions, he may count himself well on the way extracting his pound of flesh."

Thomas regarded the leaden waves. "And perhaps a few more ounces on top of that," he said dryly.

The ship plunged down into a trough, causing another heave of the marquess's stomach. He groaned. "Remind me to avoid all future endeavors that require even so much as a rowboat."

"If it is any consolation, Uncle Ivor is feeling just as poorly. However, the indefatigable Squid claims he has a cure for this as well, so let me assist you to our cabin."

Down below in the cramped quarters, Alex's valet was indeed administering a draught to the recumbent earl, accompanied by a dose of cheerful chatter, which had the older man turning even greener about the gills. "Oh, I've become quite a dab hand at remedying any sort of queasy stomach, like one caused by a bellyful of champagne, or brandy, or claret—"

The marquess put a hand to his mouth.

"—especially when followed by several cigars, and—"

"Ah, I think we need not go into the gruesome details, Squid," said Thomas, as he dropped his elder brother onto one of the narrow berths.

"What—oh, er, sorry." He poured another tumbler of a greenish liquid from the pewter pitcher at his side and passed it to Thomas. "Here now, have His Lordship swill a bit of this. It'll have him feeling top of the trees in no time."

William croaked a feeble protest but his brother would have none of it. "If Squid says it will be effective, than you had best down the stuff, no matter how vile it looks. He has certainly proved to be a fellow of most interesting skills."

Squid grinned at the compliment. "I daresay I've kept Mister Alex out of trouble. More times than I can count on me fingers or toes."

"Well, I hope you have another digit saved, for I have a feeling my younger brother may need it." Thomas wedged himself into the third berth, using his long legs and shoulders to keep from being tossed about.

The young valet seemed to have no trouble keeping his feet, rolling effortlessly with the pitched rhythm of the ship's motion while straightening up the small cabin. "Has the captain any notion of when we may arrive, sir?" he asked as he folded a rumpled linen shirt and put it away.

"Another two days, at least. Apparently we must be on guard for a squadron of French frigates newly arrived in the Baltic, so our course may have us veer more to the north than we might wish."

At that, the Marquess gave a low groan, though it was not clear whether it was due to this latest bit of news or his queasy stomach.

"Come now, William," said Thomas. "At least you are not alone in your misery, while Alex is no doubt having to cope with even worse surroundings." That is, he added to himself, assuming his brother was still alive.

"I am happy to say that Alex's usual behavior gives me cause—for once—to feel sanguine about his situation," replied the marquess. "For to tell the truth, I think it unlikely that he ever left St. Petersburg. Why, he probably encountered some attractive little bit of muslin, found a snug set of rooms along with a copious supply of the local spirits and is, as we speak, a good deal more comfortable than we are." There was not a trace of rancor in his tone. "And I, for one, shall be more than delighted if all we have to is pry him, dead drunk, from between the sheets."

"If he's there," piped up Squid, "I'll find him in a flash, sir. Don't you worry about that."

The marquess propped himself up on one elbow, revealing that his face had regained some semblance of its natural color. "I have complete faith in your odd but useful abilities, my man. Already I am feeling more the thing," he murmured. "Would you by any chance consider a change of employment on return to England—that is, if you can tie a cravat and polish a boot as well."

The valet laughed. "Oh no, sir. Ye'd find me sadly disappointing in them sort of boring details. Besides, who would keep Mister Alex out of trouble?"

Thomas regarded his brother and the other man with a troubled mien. "I think we may find that you are mistaken about Alex, William. Even as a boy, he was all that was honorable, never cowardly or craven. Neither Uncle Ivor or I believe he is so lost to his true self that he would abandon someone in need once committed to the task." He heaved a heavy sigh. "No, I fear our brother is not enjoying the company of any female at the moment."

* * *

Octavia pulled her hair back into a more severe style than usual. It only accentuated the dark circles under her eyes, but that hardly mattered, she thought, as she peered into the cracked mirror. It was best she saw things for what they really were—she was an aging spinster with no family, no dowry and no prospects. Another hairpin jabbed into place. She was being more foolish than the children to let a sugary tale of heroes and happy endings have any effect on her own normally rational thoughts. Determined to keep all such mutinous fantasies at bay, she thrust her brush into her reticule and marched downstairs. This morning she would drive and Mr. Sheffield could sit inside and endure the trials and tribulations of Mrs. Radcliffe's characters, Emily and Valancourt.

Mr. Sheffield had other ideas on the matter. His brows arched at her announcement. "Start off the journey inside with the child—er, young people while you take the ribbons? Not likely."

"Well, I don't believe I can tolerate another melodramatic chapter at this hour in the morning," she said under her breath.