Lady Alexandra's Excellent Adventure: A Summersby Tale (2 page)

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HAPTER
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T
he air was wet with rain as Alexandra and Ryan waited below an outcrop in front of The Royal Oak. A gaslight on the side of the building brightened the darkness with a shimmering orange glow as the tavern’s sign squeaked from side to side on its hinges.

Alexandra’s cloak was drawn tight across her shoulders, the edge of her hood lowered to just below her eyebrows. About her nose and mouth, she wore a scarf, the damp chill serving as a perfect excuse for her to conceal her face.

She and Ryan had purposefully arrived early, but they were now both shivering with cold and eager to be on their way. Alexandra watched the water drip from her hood—large, heavy drops that landed against her horse’s mane. “Have you met him before?” she asked Ryan, hoping to learn whatever she could about Michael Ashford, a man she was determined to hate.

“Trenton? No . . .” Ryan admitted, “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“But surely you must have heard
something
about him,” she prodded.

Ryan nodded. “He is—from what I understand—the sort of man who makes an excellent acquaintance. In fact, I’ve never heard a single word said against him from any gentleman.”

Not exactly the negative description of his character that Alexandra had been hoping for.

“However, he’s not the sort of man that any reasonable parent would trust to as much as dance with their daughter.”

Alexandra’s interest peaked.

“I daresay he’s quite possibly the biggest rakehell in all of England.” Ryan told her.

“Oh?” she asked, hoping that he might elaborate on that.

“It has been said that he has no fewer than nine mistresses at any given moment—one for each day of the week, with a couple to spare for variety’s sake.”

Oh my.

Ryan glanced over at his sister, a look of surprise crossing his face as he realized what he’d said. “Forgive me. I know this is not at all the sort of thing I ought to discuss with you. It’s quite inappropriate really.”

Alexandra stopped herself from rolling her eyes. What a silly thing to say when she was sitting there dressed like a man, about to tear off to France in the company of spies. This entire situation was inappropriate. “Not to worry,” she quipped. “I am confident my constitution can handle it.”

“Yes, well . . .” Ryan said somewhat skeptically. “If I may give you a word of advice—stay away from Lord Trenton as much as possible. He will only give you trouble.”

“Are you suggesting he will try to take advantage of me?”

Ryan darted a nervous look in her direction. “It is a fair assumption to make when one considers the man’s reputation,” he told her. “And once he discovers you are not a man, but an attractive, young woman instead . . . well, I think you get the idea.”

Cold anger flickered behind Alexandra’s eyes. “He will never succeed.”

Not in this lifetime.

Ryan muttered something beneath his breath that Alexandra could only assume must have been a curse.

Silence followed, dragging on for what seemed like an eternity, until Alexandra finally noticed her horse’s ears perk up. He began shifting restlessly from side to side beneath her, his front hooves clawing at the muddied ground in agitation. Looking up, she spotted a lone figure emerging from beyond the darkness. He sat astride the most magnificent horse she’d ever seen—a velvety black stallion with powerful ropes of muscle that flexed with every move it made.

“The Summersby brothers, I presume?” The figure moved toward them until his head was under the shelter of the outcrop. He then threw back his hood and wiped the water from his face with the palm of his hand.

Alexandra tightened her grip on the reins, her whole body tensing as she stared at the man before her. His eyes were dark beneath dense black hair that hung in messy tresses to his broad shoulders. His nose was straight, his mouth set against a perfectly sculpted jaw line. Not a flicker of humor graced his features. Indeed, he was as grave as he was handsome—not at all the sort of man Alexandra had expected, for her vivid imagination had conjured a far more toady fellow instead. He was unnerving to say the least, especially since her experience with men was basically limited to her brothers.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she studied Michael’s features in much the same manner that a botanist might study a shrub. Well, if she had to be tortured by his company for an indefinite amount of time, it was just as well that he wasn’t too sore on the eyes. Still, when he turned his deep brown eyes on her, she felt a sudden flutter in the pit of her belly that she wasn’t at all comfortable with. She disliked surprises, and discovering that her treacherous body responded to a mere glance from this cad was not only unpleasant but also completely unfamiliar territory for her. She had no idea how to handle the situation short of nodding and allowing Ryan to answer for her.

“Indeed we are,” Ryan told him. “And you must be Lord Trenton.”

Michael nodded, his eyes moving over both of them in an assessing manner. Alexandra’s heart hammered against her chest as she cast her eyes down, fixing them upon her horse’s mane. She knew that he wouldn’t be able to make out much of anything about her, thanks to the scarf and hood, but her nerves were still on edge as she waited for his approval.

“Are you ready?” he finally asked.

Again Alexandra only nodded, though the sudden surge of relief she felt was quite overwhelming. She darted a quick look in Lord Trenton’s direction, just in time to notice a look of disappointment crossing his face. Too bad. For now the most important thing was to make it to Brighton. With just a little bit of luck, they would be in France by tomorrow.

Setting off, the group left London far behind, mud flying about the thundering hooves of their horses as they galloped through puddles and along muddied roads, the dirt caking their horses’ flanks. Michael led the team onward, while Alexandra had taken up the rear, content to keep as much distance between her and Lord Trenton as possible. Consequently, she didn’t mind at all that the only thing she could see from her present position was Ryan’s billowing cloak.

By midmorning the rain had stilled, yet they kept up their pace until they reached Crawley, where they finally allowed themselves a well-deserved break. The horses were tended to in the stables of a roadside inn, while the three companions each paid a penny for a pint of beer and a chunk of bread to ease their aching bellies.

Allowing her brother to make the necessary excuses, Alexandra walked away from him and Michael, her hood drawn down and her scarf still in place to conceal her face. She had no intention of letting Michael know that she was a woman until they were safely in Paris where it would be nearly impossible for him to send her back home. It wouldn’t be easy to keep him in the dark for that long, but she’d have to manage.

She’d also decided that the less time she spent in his presence the better, regardless. Her father had put a lot of faith in her ability to bring William home safely. It was an important mission—one that would mean life or death for her brother. She couldn’t afford any distractions, least of all something as superficial as a handsome man’s face. The mere thought of him was enough to make her scold herself.

Kicking a couple of pebbles carelessly about with the tip of her boot, she glanced back at Ryan. He and Michael seemed to be getting along well enough, though she couldn’t begin to imagine what the two of them might possibly be talking about. Lowering her gaze to the ground, she quickly reminded herself that she didn’t care. Michael was her nemesis, no matter what. But just as that thought had taken shape inside her head, she looked up to find him staring right back at her with piercing dark eyes—that same assessing look upon his face.

On a sharp intake of breath, she spun around and looked away, her stomach flip-flopping so violently that she thought she might be sick. Things were clearly not going as smoothly as she would have hoped. She’d learned to master her emotions years ago. Granted, these were new, unexpected emotions—the sort she’d always dreaded—but they were emotions all the same. One way or the other, she would have to find a way to overcome them.

“H
e’s a bit of an odd fellow, your brother,” Michael said as he took a bite of his bread and followed it with a large gulp of beer.

Ryan eyed his sister for a moment, still wondering if it wasn’t a huge mistake, bringing her along to France. He knew that she was better skilled than he, but she was a woman, and as such, one simply couldn’t ignore the fact that she would always be at greater risk. Here she was now, preparing to travel into male dominated territory. And not just any men, but soldiers who might not have seen a woman in months.

It was complete lunacy to put her in that situation. God only knew what might happen if she found herself outnumbered and he couldn’t be there to protect her. He shuddered at the thought of it. “Alex is a bit of a loner,” he said in response to Michael’s question.

“Not much of a conversationalist I take it?”

“There’s a time and a place for everything. Alex has never liked distraction. Indulging in idle conversation while on the move would be, according to Alex, a distraction.”

“But not according to you?”

Ryan shrugged his shoulders. “I never had the same discipline my siblings have. Hence why I’m not as quick with my sword or as fast on the trigger, but I can still manage to win a good fight,” he grinned. “You need not worry about protecting me. I can hold my own.”

“I must say I’m glad to hear it, because where we are going, I doubt I’ll have much time to waste on novices.”

Ryan’s eyes gleamed with mischief. Clearly, Michael had underestimated both of them. He suddenly looked forward to showing him what they were both made of, but more than that, he couldn’t wait to see the befuddled look on his face when he discovered that one of the best swordsmen in all of England was in fact a woman.

He watched now, with some degree of apprehension, as Michael cast a careless glance in Alexandra’s direction. Following his gaze, he noted that his sister was standing as if rooted to the ground, her bright blue eyes staring right back at them.
Turn away, damn it
, he wanted to yell. If she kept on standing there like that the earl would certainly grow suspicious and . . . she finally turned her back on them.
Thank God
. But when Ryan glanced back at Michael, he couldn’t help but notice that his expression had grown rather unsettled, almost as if he’d noticed something his conscious mind had yet to come to terms with.

“Call your brother,” Michael said, his thoughts once more concealed beneath a stern facade as he patted Ryan roughly on the shoulder. “We have a boat to catch.” He then emptied the remainder of his beer and strode away in search of his horse.

Ryan watched him go, unable to shake the unnerving sensation that Michael might pose a much greater threat to his sister than the French soldiers ever would.

T
hey reached Brighton by lunchtime—the salty scent of the sea greeting them before the town itself came into view.

Slowing their horses to an easy gait, they made their way through the cobbled streets toward the docks. The sea looked calm as it lapped against the pier, sending a soft spray of seawater onto the wharf. Alexandra breathed in the pungent smell of discarded fish, increasingly thankful for the scarf that she wore about her face. A pair of seagulls squawked as they bobbed up and down overhead like a couple of marionettes, their beady eyes searching for an easy meal. Teams of men busied themselves with hauling crates back and forth, yelling instructions while a handful of street urchins ran to and fro between them.

“We’ll be sailing with Captain Grover,” Michael said. “Would you two see if you can get us a table at that pub over there while I make some inquiries about his whereabouts?”

After tethering their horses to a couple of iron rings that were set in the outside wall of the tavern, Alexandra followed Ryan inside, her eyes squinting against an onslaught of smoke as they adjusted to the dim lighting. The place was teaming with noisy and hungry men, all pushing each other about to attract the attention of one of the waiters.

Ryan elbowed his way past a couple of brawny chaps and made his way toward the back corner of the room to an empty table with a couple of benches alongside it.

Striding after him and stepping over a grizzly canine in the process, Alexandra was just about to sit down when she felt a heavy hand settle upon her shoulder. “I believe that table is ours,” a mocking voice grumbled behind her.

Instinct roared to life inside her like a furnace. She spun smoothly away, ducking low to avoid the blow that she sensed would be coming. No man would ever lay a hand on her without facing the consequences. Metal flashed as she unsheathed her sword in so swift a movement that the man was caught completely off guard. He’d had no time to gather his wits about him and now stood staring down at the tip of Alexandra’s blade where it pushed against his chest, pressing into his coat. Her scarf had loosened, exposing most of her face as she stood there now, staring up at her adversary with eyes of steel, her mouth drawn tight in a menacing smirk.