Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] (5 page)

"This storm is truly upsetting you, is it not?"

Another resounding crash tore a wild oath from his lips. The lamp swung wildly, then went out, leaving them in pitch blackness.

"Sir, let me help you to your cabin. Perhaps you would feel better there." Octavia felt her way over to him and touched his arm.

He gave a low groan and clutched at the collar of his coat. "For God's sake, don't let go of me," he said thickly.

Octavia wedged herself in beside him and slipped her arm around his shoulders. "Very well, I won't let go." His head fell against her breast. Through the thick wool of her coat she could feel the racing of his pulse and hear the raggedness of his breathing. Her hand came up, threading lightly through the tangled locks, brushing them off his forehead. Beads of sweat clung to his temples, despite the chill air. "It will pass," she whispered.

He made some incoherent mutter in return, stirring in some agitation, but only to settle himself closer. One of his legs came over hers while his arms crept back around her waist. If anyone were to come along and see such a scandalous sight... She was thankful that the lamp had been doused and that the only sound of movement was the muffled tramping on the deck above.

Octavia had no idea how long she sat in such a compromising position, but her presence seemed to bring a modicum of comfort to her companion, so she made no effort to move. Neither did she attempt to converse. Only when the force of the storm gave signs of abating did she give a gentle shake to the man's shoulder. "Sir, I believe the worst is over. We cannot sit here all night, you know. You must get up and let me help you to your cabin."

Her words finally seemed to roust him from his stupor. He groped for a handhold and slowly pulled himself to his feet, her arm still steadying his progress.

"Which way?" she demanded.

"I... I'm not sure," came the vague reply.

"Well,
think
!"

He swayed slightly. "Ah... left."

"Then move, sir! I cannot carry you there."

He stumbled forward, leaning heavily on Octavia'a shoulder. Somehow, she kept him upright, despite the constant pitch and roll.

"It's this one," he said, a bit uncertainly as he lurched to a stop before one of the tiny cabins. "At least, I think it is."

She opened the door a crack, praying that he was right. The last thing she needed was to be observed with a thoroughly foxed man hanging around her neck. Thankfully, the tiny space was indeed empty. She shoved him inside, then quickly pulled the door shut behind them. Only then did it occur to her that matters would be even worse if she was seen leaving his cabin.

"Oh, damnation," she muttered to herself. At least it was dark in the narrow passageway so the chances of being caught were slim. In any case, there was little to do about it now. "Will you be all right? Do you need some assistance in removing your coat?"

He appeared to have regained control of his emotions, for the half mocking, sensuous smile had returned. "It is a tempting offer, my dear, but I do not relish another encounter with a certain part of your anatomy." He grabbed hold of the side of his narrow berth to steady himself. "However there are other parts I would dearly love to feel," he couldn't resist adding.

Her face flamed. "Let me out of here."

He made no attempt to stop her. "Before you go, would you be so kind as to pass me a bottle of brandy from the chest behind you?"

"I think you've had enough."

"The hell I have," he said softly.

She hesitated for a moment, then handed him the spirits with an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. "Go ahead then, drown whatever it is that you are running from—and yourself along with it. Good night, sir."

Whether it was the lurch of the ship or his own willful steps, his broad chest was suddenly between her and the door. "Good night, Miss," he murmured, his head bending closer to hers. "And... thank you."

Octavia swallowed hard. "Sir, I warn you, I'll not stand for anymore of your nonsense. If you try to kiss me again—"

There was a low rumble of amusement in his throat. "Kiss you?
That
was not a kiss back there, my dear.
This
is a kiss."

His lips came down on hers, firm but gentle, sending both shivers and sparks down her spine. They parted and his tongue brushed against her own tightly shut mouth, urging her to open to him. She made to protest, but no words came forth as he slid inside her. He tasted of fiery brandy and the salty tang of the sea. It was like nothing she had ever imagined—and certainly nothing like the fumbling advances of her cousin. For a moment, she found herself responding to the heat of his embrace. She melted into his chest and tilted her head back, allowing him to deepen the embrace, if only for a brief instant.

Suddenly, she came to her senses and pushed away from him with a small cry of outrage. "How dare you!"

"I warned you that you might enjoy it," he murmured with a roguish grin.

Octavia pushed past him and flung the door open, heedless of who might see her.

"Conceited rake," she muttered under her breath as she hurried towards her own cabin. "Why, he is nothing but a drunken lout. And a most ill-mannered one at that!" How in heavens had she been gulled into thinking he had any need of her sympathy, she thought angrily, though in truth she was not sure with whom she was more upset—her accoster or herself.

* * *

The sun was bright, even though it rose no more than thirty degrees above the horizon at the noon hour. They had tacked into the Gulf of Finland that morning and were in the final leg of their journey. The Baltic waters were as blue as the sky, and just as calm. A brisk wind had the ship running under full sail, its hull leaving a foaming wake as it raced along at eight knots. Octavia watched the gulls circling overhead, feeling just a slight pang of envy at their total freedom. She could help wondering just what it would be like to be able to chart one's course in life, to have choices.... A movement near the galley caught her eye and brought her thoughts back down to earth.

Well, at least one choice she had was to avoid the odious Mr. Sheffield!

That was his name, she had learned. But since that initial meeting during the storm, she had taken great pains to stay out of his presence, no easy task given the cramped quarters of the ship. There was no way to get around his company at mealtimes, but she had studiously refrained from any more that the barest conversation that civility allowed. At least he had shown a modicum of tact by not forcing his attentions upon her, or making any sort of reference to the fact that they were acquainted with each other. On being formally introduced, he had kept his expression a mask of bland politeness. But as he bowed over her hand, the rogue had actually winked at her!

And he kept following her around, popping up at the most inopportune moments, like these, when she was alone and looking forward to some quiet time for reflection. On any number of occasions she had been forced to be rather rude, but he didn't seem to take the hint.

Drat the man.

She looked aft, with the thought of slipping up towards the quarterdeck, only to see her retreat cut off by the formidable bulk of Mrs. Phillips. Good Lord, was nothing to go right this afternoon?

"Ah, Miss Hadley, a lovely afternoon, isn't it?" exclaimed her cabin mate.

It
had
been, she thought.

"Indeed it is." Alex leaned nonchalantly against rail and fixed both ladies with a brilliant smile. He seemed to repress a chuckle at the scowl his approach brought to Octavia's face. "We look to have clear weather for the rest of our journey to St. Petersburg."

"I'm sure that is a great relief to some," replied Octavia a bit acidly.

"Yes, I imagine there are those who take great exception to being tossed and tumbled around."

She looked at him with narrowed eyes, and the man had the nerve to wink again.

"Oh, I couldn't agree with you more, Mr. Sheffield," said Mrs. Phillips. "Storms are most uncomfortable things." She paused to readjust her bonnet. "Sheffield, Sheffield. Tell me, you are not by any chance related to the Marquess of Wright?"

He raised one dark eyebrow. "Madam, do you imagine I would be on a ship bound for the wilds of Russia if I was?"

She gave a titter. "How silly of me. Why
are
you on your way to Russia, if I might be so bold as to inquire?"

Bold? Ha! Brazen was more like it, thought Octavia to herself. The lady had done nothing but try to pump information out of anyone she could corner. However, for once it might be interesting to hear the results. She, too, had wondered just what brought the man on board.

That he was no fine gentleman was evident. His clothes were presentable enough, but little things gave away the state of the owner's purse. The cuffs of his jacket were slightly frayed and the elbows showed a bit of shine from long use. His shirt collar had already been turned, and the polish on his boots could not hide the fact that they had seen better days. Her mouth quirked slightly. Oh yes, she recognized the signs of economy quite well. Mr. Sheffield was no more plump in the pocket than she was.

And remembering his roving hands and lips, she had other reason to know he was no true gentleman, even though she had to admit such behavior was hardly a reliable measure of one's breeding these days.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Alex's reply. "I have been engaged as a tutor, ma'am."

Octavia gave snort, which she disguised as a cough. What in heaven's name was he going to teach a young man—drinking, cards and wenching?

He seemed to read her thoughts and a faint smile came to his lips. "I have some proficiency in languages and mathematics," he continued. "Among other things."

She couldn't believe it! Another wink! The man was insufferable.

"Why, what a coincidence!" exclaimed Mrs. Phillips. "Miss Hadley is engaged as a governess, aren't you my dear?"

Octavia muttered an assent through clenched teeth.

"Yes, she is to see to the ward of one of our deputy ministers. An excellent man. My husband knows him well."

"You will no doubt find St. Petersburg a fascinating city. The French architect—"

"Oh, Miss Hadley will not be in living in St. Petersburg. She is going to Moscow."

Why didn't the woman give him her bust measurements and the color of her garters while she was at it?

Alex's brow puckered. "Moscow?" He slanted a glance at her. "Reports have it that Napoleon means to invade Russia shortly, despite his alliance with the Tsar. Moscow will no doubt be his main target."

"That is hardly any of your concern," She knew it was a churlish reply, but her patience had been sorely stretched.

He accepted the set down with his usual enigmatic smile and a slight incline of his head.

"And you, Mister Sheffield, where do you go, and for whom are you working?"

The woman truly left no stone unturned. No wonder she had mined such a wealth of gossip and trivia to inflict upon captive ears.

"I am off to some estate with an unpronounceable name, somewhere to the east of Dzerzhinsk."

Octavia had not a clue as to where that was.

"As for my employers, I am to be tutor to the only son of a Russian nobleman and his English wife."

Mrs. Phillips clucked in sympathy. "Oh dear, you must have been rather desperate to take on such a position. It sounds like an awfully daunting prospect."

He merely smiled. "Challenges are what make life interesting. Don't you agree, Miss Hadley?"

Octavia had had quite enough of his company. "If you two will excuse me, I should like to finish the chapter of the book I am reading before supper."

"And I think I shall see if I might find a cup of tea," announced Mrs. Phillips, clearly feeling she had learned as much as she was going to learn.

"Good day, Mrs. Phillips." He made a polite bow to the older lady. "And good day, Miss Hadley. A pleasure conversing with you." There was a twinkle in those cursed blue eyes. "Perhaps, given our mutual interests, we will run into each other during the course of our stay in Russia."

Not bloody likely.
Not if she had any say in the matter.

* * *

Alex watched the sway of Octavia's shapely hips as she retreated towards the main hatchway. He was quite aware that certain other parts of her anatomy were just as attractive. Despite being thoroughly cupshot, he had not failed to notice the feel of her firm, rounded breasts crushed against his chest, or the lush softness of that expressive mouth—that is, when it wasn't too occupied hurling some scathing setdown at him.

He could hardly blame her. To put it mildly, he had not exactly made the best of first impressions. His lips curled in a rueful grimace as he recalled his appalling behavior. He truly wasn't in the habit of groping unwilling females, especially innocent ones, even in his most intoxicated state. It was the storm. He hadn't been on a boat in ten years, not since that day with Jack. The crash of the first wave had brought a flood of terrible memories. No amount of brandy had been able to drown them out. He didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't been able to touch someone real, someone warm.