Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] (28 page)

"Time enough for that in the morning," he growled.

The Devil take it! Was she that anxious to be rid of him? The cold realization caused an icy knot to form in the pit of his stomach. Without further words, he turned and stalked out the door.

Biting her lip, Octavia fell to helping the children out of their heavy coats and boots, then settled them at the scarred pine table, along with their book. They raised no complaint but it was clear from the half-hearted murmurs that their minds were engaged with something other than concern for the fate of Emily and Valancourt.

She was unpacking a few of their meager possessions when Emma suddenly closed the pages and looked up. "Are you and Alex... angry with us? Have we done something wrong?" The girl's voice was hardly more than a tentative whisper, and from the look of concern on the boy's pinched face, it was clear she was speaking for both of them.

Octavia brushed a lock of hair from her pale cheek. "Oh no, my dear. We couldn't be more proud of both of you. No hero or heroine from a book could have been faced such dangers with half of your courage and grit."

"Then why does Alex look... like a bear with a thorn in his paw?" ventured Nicholas.

Because he has a thorn in his side—me, to be precise.

Although it was the unfortunate truth, she kept it to herself, searching instead for a reason the children might understand more readily. "It has been a long and difficult journey," she answered after some consideration. "And one that is still far from over. What you see in him is not anger, but worry. No doubt his nerves are much frayed from the constant concern for your safety. H—he cares very much for both of you." A slight tremor had crept into her voice. "Does that answer your question?"

They nodded, but a certain doubt remained etched on their faces.

"Come, let us start the stove and put on a kettle for hot water. I am sure Alex will be ready for a hot cup of tea when he returns."

But when the door flung open some time later, it appeared that tea was not what Alex had in mind to chase the chill from his bones. As he stomped the snow from his boots and headed for the small table, his unsteady steps revealed that he had already had more than a glass of vodka. Quite a few more. And to Octavia's dismay, she spotted the corked tip of a bottle sticking out from his coat pocket.

"Alex! I've kept the water hot for you." Emma was out of her chair and half way to the stove. "Shall I fix you some tea?"

He let the packages in his arms fall to the table in a heap. "Don't want any tea," he growled. "Just want to be left alone for a bit, without a pack of plaguey women and children pulling at my coattails."

It was the first time he had ever spoken harshly to the children. Emma recoiled as if struck and her lower lip began to quiver.

Oblivious to her wounded feelings, Alex took up one of the blankets from the neatly folded pile on the floor and stalked toward the near bedchamber. "I'm devilishly tired. Perhaps I shall be allowed some peace and quiet." With that, the door was kicked closed.

Octavia was too shocked to do anything but stare, mouth agape, at the rough-hewn pine boards. It was Nicholas who slid from his seat and went to put an arm around the girl's quaking shoulders. "Don't be upset. Sometimes men act very badly," he counseled, his adolescent voice so grave that Octavia nearly smiled in spite of her. "Alex isn't... quite himself at the moment. In the morning, I am sure everything will be fine and he will make a very handsome apology to you."

A watery sniff was the only response.

"Come on, let's finish the end of the chapter. We cannot leave off with Emily in such a perilous position."

Emma allowed him to guide her back to the table, where he took the book onto his lap and began to read with a forced cheerfulness. After a moment, Octavia sat down as well. Rummaging her in valise, she extracted a needle and thread and began mending a small tear in her cloak.

The parcels of food lay untouched. No one seemed to be the least hungry.

* * *

"We may be in luck, sirs!" In his haste to convey the news, Squid burst into the sitting room of the rented quarters without so much as a knock.

The marquess dropped the papers he had been reading, while his uncle nearly sloshed half of his tea over his waistcoat. Thomas, who had been searching for an atlas among his belongings, stuck his head out from one of the bedchambers.

"A lad just appeared downstairs with word that man answering to Mister Alex's description has taken a room near the waterfront, in the same place as he stayed before." The valet's eyes were alight with excitement. "And there's a nipper with him. I shall go at once—"

Ivor rose. "We all shall go."

"Indeed we shall." The marquess held up a note from the embassy. "As luck would have it, there is a convoy leaving for London on the ebb tide this evening. If it is really Alex, perhaps..." He looked expectantly at his uncle and then his brother. "I, for one, would not be adverse to quitting this land of snow and ice as soon as possible. Surely Alex will be just as eager to be on his way back to England."

His uncle stroked his chin. "Hmm. I suppose it would do no harm to have the trunks taken around to the docks and the naval attaché ready to make room for us on one of the ships."

Thomas had already gathered up their overcoats and hats. "Let's be off, then."

Squid flagged down a passing hackney and managed to convey to the driver where they wished to be taken. The man's shaggy brows waggled in surprise as he eyed the elegant dress of the three gentlemen standing behind the valet, but he merely shrugged and gestured for them to climb inside.

A few coins pressed into the landlady's gnarled hand convinced her to divulge exactly which room the tall stranger had been given. Unable to contain his impatience, Squid took the narrow stairs two at a time and was already rapping on the door as the three gentlemen reached the landing.

* * *

"Ssssh. Not a sound," cautioned Octavia in a low whisper. Another flurry of knocks shook the door, with even more urgency than before. "Both of you—go into the bedchamber and close the door." Nicholas began to mouth a protest, but Emma tugged on his sleeve and led him away.

Tossing her mending aside, she groped for one of the pistols hidden among the folded blankets. There was no time to rouse Alex—if indeed, he was in any state to be roused. Given the fact that the bottle in his coat pocket had been quite full, she decided her aim would be better than his at this point.

The flint and priming looked to be in order, so she moved to the door. "Who is there," she demanded in a low, raspy growl she hoped would pass for a man's voice.

"A-Alex? Is that you?"

The question had been spoken in English, but she hesitated, thinking it might only be a ruse.

"It's me, Squid!"

Squid?
It was quite unlikely any Russian would come up with such a name. Tightening her grip on the weapon, Octavia opened the door a crack. A slightly build young man with a thatch of golden curls peeking out from under his fur hat stood only inches from her, his fist poised to deliver yet another knock.

For an instant it was difficult to tell who was more surprised by the encounter.

The young man's arm hovered in mid air, then a wide grin spread across his face as he turned to speak to the others behind him. "Leave it to Mister Alex to have a pretty wench willing to warm his sheets."

"Let us hope he has had as much success in locating our nephew as he has had in finding a doxy for his bed," remarked William, his eyes raking over Octavia's rumpled gown and the tumble of errant curls that had escaped her hairpins. "Ivor, have you some money to give this... female for her services?"

"But we still do not know if it is really Alex who is inside," pointed out Thomas. "Squid, can you ask he if—"

"If you are looking for Mr. Alex Sheffield, he is here. As is young Count Scherbatov." Recovering from her initial shock, Octavia responded rather loudly in English, her speech clearly mirroring the same cultured tones as those of the marquess and his brother.

Squid gave a strangled cough and the three gentlemen each turned a different shade of pink.

"Y—you are English?" exclaimed the marquess.

She nodded, only then remembering to lower the barrel of the pistol.

"Er, I beg your pardon, ma'am, for voicing such inappropriate speculation," began William. "We had no idea you were, er, not one of the local—"

"You can hardly be blamed for assuming the worst, sir." Her chin rose a fraction as she regarded the group before her. It was most peculiar, but for an instant she couldn't help but feel there was something strangely familiar about the two dark haired gentlemen...

Quickly banishing such odd thoughts from her head, she continued in a rush, "However, despite present appearances, I am no doxy, but a respectable English governess. There is a reasonable explanation for my presence in Mr. Sheffield's rooms. We agreed to join forces and travel north together for the sake of the young people in our care, as it seemed... the sensible thing to do. Although the highest sticklers may not approve of the arrangement, nothing improper has occurred between us. Together we have managed to bring our charges to safety. Through, I might add, some very harrowing circumstances."

If anything, her show of quiet dignity caused the gentlemen to appear even more embarrassed. For a moment, the only sounds were the shuffling of booted feet and several more muted coughs. After an exchange of rueful glances, it was Ivor who broke the awkward silence.

"Once again, Miss, er...."

"Hadley. Octavia Hadley."

"Once again, Miss Hadley, let me offer you our sincere apologies for the crude comments that were made... " A brief inclination of her head indicated that the apology was accepted and he should go on. "I believe our man Squid has introduced himself, but let me make the rest of us known to you. I am Lord Chittenden and these two gentlemen are my nephews, Lord Wright and Lord Thomas Sheffield."

Octavia blinked. The Earl of Chittenden and the Marquess of Wright! Why, even a country miss such as she knew they were two of the most influential—and moneyed—men in London. That certainly explained how such a daring rescue attempt for their young relative had been planned. But it did not explain what the gentlemen were doing here in Russia themselves. After all, if they had paid for someone else to risk...

Another discreet cough interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Hadley, might we step inside?"

A dull flush rose to her cheeks. "Yes, of course," she stammered, quickly stepping aside so that the gentlemen could file into the room. "N-naturally you are anxious to meet with your young relative."

"Quite." William's eyes had already made a sweep of the spartan quarters. "I am also anxious to have a word with my brother."

It took a moment for the statement to sink in. "Brother?" she repeated faintly.

"Yes. Alex is our youngest brother," added Thomas. "Did he not mention the family connection?"

Octavia felt the color drain from her face as the words of the garrulous Mrs. Phillips came echoing back.
Alexander Sheffield—are you perchance related to William Sheffield, the Marquess of Wright?
No wonder the two younger gentlemen had looked rather familiar!

"No. He did not." Her voice had taken on a rather brittle edge. "I imagine he saw no reason to reveal the truth to a... mere stranger." Drawing in a sharp breath, she added, "Indeed, the only reference he made to his family was to indicate his estrangement from them. He said that they did not care in the least what might happen to him."

"He was wrong." The marquess's lips crooked in a rueful expression. "Not that he was given much reason to think otherwise."

Turning abruptly, she moved to one of the closed doors and threw it open. "Nicholas, you must come out and meet your... other relatives."

The boy slowly stepped out from the shadows, followed closely by Emma. However, rather than approach the three gentlemen who stood expectantly in a tight semicircle, he rushed straight to Octavia.

"Surely a brave fellow who has faced murderous Cossacks, deadly blizzards and a troop of enemy soldiers can't be nervous at the prospect of meeting his family," she murmured close to his ear. Giving him a small squeeze of encouragement, she urged him forward. "Now go give your uncles a proper greeting."

Squaring his thin shoulders, the boy approached the strangers and made a very credible bow. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. I—"

Before he could finish, Wright had enfolded the lad in his arms. "Hello, Nicky. You cannot imagine how glad we are to see you."

Octavia took tight hold of Emma's hand and watched with a pensive smile as Nicholas was introduced to the rest of his English family. But her thoughts were focused on the one Sheffield who was not present in the room.

The wretch!
It turned out that lies were also to be included among the litany of Alex's sins. Why, he had played her for a fool from the very beginning, letting her think he was an impoverished tutor, as alone in the world as she was! Her sense of betrayal was so overwhelming she feared for an instant that she might fall into a swoon worthy of the worst sort of gothic heroine.

Her disillusionment was, however, quickly replaced by seething anger. Why, she fumed, if Alex had been able to stand on his feet, she would have been sorely tempted to plant a fist smack on that patrician nose of his!