Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] (23 page)

She essayed a tight smile. "What? And deprive Emma of matching the exploits of her favorite heroine?"

That drew a low chuckle.

"And besides, the alternative was hardly more appealing. So don't rake yourself over the coals. You have handled things quite credibly up to now, and I'm sure you will find a way to bring us all through to safety."

Alex's jaw tightened. "You may find yourself sadly disappointed. I should warn you, not many people have any faith in my abilities."

"The only important opinion is your own, sir." She drew a deep breath. "Now, perhaps we should—"

He looked at her in some amazement. "You are truly remarkable, Miss Hadley. I know of no other female who could sit calmly in the middle of the wilds and discuss how to save her neck, with nary a sob or shriek of remonstrance."

"I am used to adversity. And if my neck is to be saved, I have long ago learned that I had better figure out how to do it. Sobs and shrieks are all very well for fine ladies, who can afford such delicate sensibilities. I cannot."

He poked at the glowing coals, suddenly filled with a desire to know more about her life. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you so used to adversity? Tell me something of your family, your circumstances."

Octavia's hands tightened around her cup. "It's hardly an interesting story. Or a unique one. In fact, my situation is most likely not a great deal different than yours—parents poor as churchmice, no inheritance, no influential relatives, that sort of thing."

"Nevertheless, I should like to hear it."

She had never spoken about growing up an only child with, alone with a scholarly father who had little connection with the realities of the outside world, who was blithely unaware that butchers and candlemakers expected payment, that thatched roofs leaked, that housekeepers cost a salary. But for some reason—she wasn't quite sure how—he managed to coax a brief account of her history, ending with the little contretemps that had precipitated her journey to Russia.

When he had finished laughing over that, she rearranged the blanket around her shoulders and recomposed her own twitching lips. To her surprise, she felt better for talking about things that had seemed too painful to ever share. "And now you, sir."

He looked a bit startled. "Me?"

"It's only fair. I have subjected myself to your scrutiny, and your laughter. You can hardly refuse to do the same."

The blue of his eyes hardened into a stormy grey. "My story is not one that should sully the ears of a gently born female. Best leave it at that."

"Oh no, that won't fadge, sir. You won't escape quite so easily. As you have seen, I am not so easily sent into a fit of vapors," she said in her best governess tone.

Indeed, he did look a bit like a recalcitrant schoolboy as he tried to duck her question. "We have a long day ahead of us. I suggest you get some sleep."

"Later."

Seeing that she would not be put off, he let out a harried sigh. "Very well. My father was perhaps not as... poor as yours. I received a decent education, was sent to Oxford, where I made the first few missteps on my road to ruin." A sardonic twist pulled at his lips. "One of those youthful slips resulted in my being sent down in disgrace. It caused an... estrangement from my family and I have been on my own since then. There, now that should satisfy your curiosity."

In fact, it was only piqued. "It is my turn to ask why," she said softly.

His jaw went rigid. "Why I was sent down? For seducing the wife of a don," he said roughly.

If he expected her to recoil in shock, he was wrong. She regarded him with a thoughtful expression, not one of scorn, and drew her knees up to her chest. "What makes a man do such a thing?" she mused aloud. "Ws it just another game, or was she so beautiful and alluring that you were beyond all reason?" Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I wonder, what would it be like to inspire such passion?" A resigned sigh followed. "Not that I shall ever know, of course."

Her response, like so much else about her, knocked him off kilter. He wasn't at all sure how to answer the complex questions she had raised, but what he did know at that instant was that she had been wrong earlier—it was her opinion of him that was most important. He suddenly cared very much whether she thought him an unprincipled cad.

"I didn't," he blurted out. It was the first time he had ever told anyone the truth. "Didn't seduce her, that is. I am guilty of many sins, but not of that one."

Octavia took in his pale features and bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pressed you. You don't have to talk about it... that is, unless you wish to."

Surprisingly, he found he did. "The outraged husband has caught only a distant glimpse of the tall, dark fellow dallying in the field with his wife. My friend was a brilliant student, with a promising future. He was, however, quite unschooled in the ways of the world. When the lady—a lady well experienced in the subject—encouraged his advances, he was too naive to realize the consequences." Alex paused to jab a stick at the burning coals. "My friend's family had no money or influence. His life would have been ruined had he been expelled from university, while I... I had already earned a reputation for reckless behavior." His lip curled in self mockery. "The lady was happy enough to go along when the blame was shifted to a rakehell scoundrel. And no one else found it difficult to think me the guilty party—after all, what else could be expected from someone who had killed his brother."

She gasped, but then her chin tilted up. "I don't believe you capable of such a thing. Not for an instant."

"Oh, not intentionally." He ducked his head to hide how much her simple statement affected him. "But it is true all the same."

Slowly, haltingly, the story came out—Jack's invitation to join in a lark, the bottles of brandy, the exhilaration of the wind and waves. And then the storm. "If Jack hadn't had so much to drink... if I hadn't been foxed as well," finished Alex in a near whisper. "We might have been able to handle the sails. Or at least, when our sloop capsized, he might have been able to keep a grip on my hand. I should have been able to hold on. But I couldn't." He turned away to toss another piece of wood on the fire, but the flare of light caught the anguish in his eyes.

Octavia said nothing, but reached out and touched his arm. He looked for a moment as if to brush her hand away, but then, as she slowly pulled him close, his head came, unresisting, onto her breast. She simply held him tight.

He lay very still, except for a slight heaving of his shoulders. When he finally looked up, his emotions were once more under rigid control, save for a note of uncertainty in his voice. "It is a good thing Emma is not awake to witness such a craven display of spirit. What a pitiful hero I should appear in her book."

"Valancourt is fashioned out of paper and ink while you, sir, are cut from real cloth. It is easy to be perfect when you are no more substantial than a dribble of ink from someone's pen. You have been way too hard on yourself. We would not be human if we didn't make mistakes. Or have regrets." She paused for a fraction. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Sheffield. Though you may consign my opinion to the Devil, I counsel you to talk with your father and make him see the truth. Both of you would feel infinitely better for it."

"It is too late for that. He's gone."

"What of the rest of your family? Have you siblings?"

"Two older brothers. We are also estranged."

"Don't be a fool. You must settle things with them. Promise me you will."

"What you ask is—"

"Please."

He drew in a sharp breath. "Very well. I promise I will try."

Octavia make a show of shaking out the blanket that had been draped around her shoulders. "Well, perhaps we should get some sleep ourselves. I'm sure in the morning, things will not appear quite so dark, and we can devise a plan worthy of our favorite author."

His lips twitched upward.

She moved to settle herself just inside the small shelter. "Why, Mr. Sheffield, you have no blanket of your own," she said.

"I shall manage."

"Indeed, you will not! I insist you come share this one with me."

She was happy to see the hurt in his eye was quickly replaced by the mischievous twinkle she had become accustomed to. "Now that is the most tempting offer I have had in quite some time. But I should not wish to cause you any discomfort."

"Well, it would not be the first time we have ended up twined together—perhaps I am getting rather used to it."

A strange expression flitted over his features as he slid his weary frame down next to hers.

"Good night, Mr. Sheffield," she murmured.

He gave a soft chuckle. "You might at least call me Alex, seeing we have come to be on such intimate terms."

"Good night then... Alex."

"Good night, Octavia."

Chapter 12

Morning—it if could be called that—gave rise to no more than a gloomy half light that barely penetrated the canopy of pine needles. It was hardly something to inspire a brighter outlook on their predicament, thought Alex as he shifted slightly on the frozen ground. The movement caused his thigh brushed against the sleeping form beside him and a faint smile stole to his lips. The situation may be grave, but for now, all he could think of was the reassuring warmth stealing through the rough wool of his clothing, a warmth more penetrating than any he could remember experiencing. He closed his eyes and his arm stole around her waist, drawing her even closer.

Her words from the night before still echoed in his ears. They had offered a measure of comfort and support that he had given up on ever hearing, even from those closest to him. Once again, she had not shied away in disgust at his weaknesses or his pain, but had embraced him—faults and all.

The faint smile crooked into a rueful grimace. It wouldn't do to read too much into her actions, he reminded himself. She was also capable of verbally boxing his ears with the bruising power of Gentleman Jackson himself, and she had made it quite clear on any number of occasions that she held him in little regard. No doubt it was only her innate championing of the underdog, the same sentiment that made her jump to the defense of helpless children—and stray animals, he imagined—that inspired such kindness. Yes, Miss Hadley was truly an extraordinary—and complex—female.

His breath came out in a sigh that stirred the loose tendrils of hair at the nape of her neck. She was a lovely one as well, despite her assertions to the contrary. He wondered why it was she thought herself unattractive. Had none of the country louts she had grown up with ever noticed those intriguing hazel eyes and flowing curves? Even now he tried to keep his thoughts from wondering what her firm, rounded breasts would feel like in his hand, whether those long legs were as shapely as he imagined—

Octavia's eyes fluttered open. For an instant, she snuggled even closer to him, then, as everything came into focus, she pulled away with a little start. "Oh!"

"Good morning, Octavia," he said softly.

A flush of color rose to her cheeks. "Er, good morning." She sought to extract herself from his arm.

"Alex," he reminded her, not quite letting go. "After all, we have spent the night together."

The blush deepened. "Do stop teasing. As if..." Her words cut off.

"As if what?"

She swallowed hard. "As if... as if we have time to waste." She struggled to a sitting position. "We had better start thinking of a way to extricate ourselves from this coil."

Alex reluctantly let his hand fall away from her hip. "Mmm. Right." It was most difficult to turn his attention from the cascade of honey-colored tresses that tumbled down her back to more practical matters.

With a stick, he prodded a few of the embers into flame, then added an armful of fresh wood to the fire. His eyes glanced upward, only to narrow in concern at the ominous grey clouds rolling in from the east. "I think we have no choice but to continue with the horses and try to find a way out of this damned forest." He pulled a rough map from inside his coat. "If we head west, we must come out somewhere here." His finger traced along a sketchy road and stopped higher up, at where several village names were scrawled. "At least we may find some food and shelter, and perhaps a conveyance to purchase or a public coach heading north."