Lady Alexandra's Excellent Adventure: A Summersby Tale (4 page)

With a soft nudge, he distanced himself from Alexandra. “Yes, quite.” he said. “Do you think you can manage?”

“I believe so,” she told him, relieved that the awkward moment had finally passed.

“Good, because I was hoping we might have a small contest.” A glimmer of mischief flickered in his eyes.

“What sort of contest?” she asked, her curiosity peaked.

An impish smile spread its way across his face. “The sort wherein we throw knives,” he told her.

It was impossible for her not to laugh. This was precisely the sort of thing that she enjoyed most. “You’re a brave man,” she jibed. “You know I dislike you intensely—after all, I’ve made no secret of it. And yet you trust me to throw a knife and not hit you with it.”

“Should I be afraid?”

“Very,” she said in the gravest voice she could manage.

But inside, she laughed with glee. She turned to Ashford who was clearly doing his best to feign a frown. He failed miserably though and eventually laughed instead. For just about the hundredth time since setting out that morning, Alexandra felt a disturbing attraction toward him. She would have to be careful, she reminded herself, or she might very well find herself falling for him, and that would be a most unfavorable outcome indeed, under the circumstances.

She watched now as Michael pulled a deck of cards from his coat pocket and selected the ace of spades. He pushed the top of it onto a nail protruding from one of the masts and stepped back to admire his work. “This will do,” he said, casting a sidelong glance in Alexandra’s direction before shouting a warning to the sailors on deck to stay out of the way. “The object of the game will be to hit the center of the spade with the tip of your blade, so it sticks. If your knife falls to the ground, you lose.

“We’ll start here.” He indicated the designated spot with the tip of his boot. “And move backward in one-yard increments.”

“Two-yard increments” she told him, her competitive spirit taking over.

“Are you quite certain?” Michael asked. “Two yards will make a huge difference in terms of—”

“Are you getting cold feet?” she asked.

“Certainly not. Two-yard increments it is then.”

Alexandra was the first to throw her blade. It hit its mark just as she’d known it would. So did Michael’s. Within twenty minutes they’d reached a distance of twenty-seven feet—about as far as they could go without falling over the railing. The sailors had long since paused in their duties and were either standing to one side or hanging from the roping in eager attempts to get a clear view of the ensuing competition. Alexandra lifted her blade, took aim and . . . the knife began to take flight just as Ryan called out her name, distracting her enough to make her hand flinch. All she could do was look helplessly on as her knife continued past its mark before landing on the deck with a loud thud.

A roar of cheers filled the air from those who’d been supporting Michael. “Too bad,” he told Alexandra with feigned remorse as he gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

She wanted to scream.

“What the hell did you have to do that for?” she yelled, her fury directed at none other than her brother. “I could have won!”

“Hm . . . I’m not so sure you would have,” Michael remarked. He tossed his knife with practiced ease before she could voice a response. It hit the spade, dead center. “There . . . see? It would have been a draw.”

Alexandra clenched her fists. She could practically feel the steam coming out of her ears. Not only did she have to suffer her brother’s stupidity but now she had to contend with Ashford’s arrogance as well.

“Except it wasn’t a draw of course,” Michael continued. “You obviously lost, and I won.”

Angry sparks ignited behind her eyes. “This is far from over,” she muttered in a low tone.

“Come on, Alex,” Ryan said as he sauntered toward her. “Try not to be such an addle plot. There’s no harm in losing every once in a while. As long as you do it with dignity.”

She glared at him. “I take it you speak from experience,” she snapped, before she could stop herself.

A fleeting look of pain swept over Ryan’s face, and she instantly regretted her words. How could she be so cold and unfeeling? She knew it couldn’t be easy for Ryan to acknowledge that even his sister always bested him whenever weapons and horses were involved, yet he never took it to heart and always voiced his pride in her. She wanted to pummel herself for being so insensitive. “Sorry,” she murmured, unable to meet her brother’s gaze.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

None of them knew what to say.

Eventually, Alexandra shrugged her shoulders and strode off. She paused before reaching the staircase, picked up her knife and then headed below deck in search of her cabin.

Michael and Ryan stared after her. “A bit of a sore loser, your brother,” Michael remarked.

“I do believe this is the first time he’s lost at anything in the past five years,” Ryan told him thoughtfully.

“You must be joking.”

Ryan shook his head. “No, he’s the best I’ve ever seen when it comes to such things—better than William even. Just wait until you see him brandishing a sword. You’ll never forget it, for it is truly a remarkable thing to watch. It’s the reason why my father insisted he join us.” He turned to look at Michael. “But he’s young, with a tendency to act rashly. That is why I’ve come—to keep him out of trouble.”

Michael grinned. “Well, I think he’s quite fortunate to have you around.” Then, in a more serious tone, “I have the feeling, though, he and I are unlikely to get along. A pity since I happen to quite like him.”

“Can you blame him? After all, you do pose a very real threat to our brother—you, the man who’ll bring him home to face charges . . . unless of course you find an excuse to kill him first.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “It seems even you are against me. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“I respect you, Ashford, and I understand you’re merely doing your job, but you and I are
not
friends. Whether we will be or not, will very likely be determined on how this whole affair plays out. William is family. How would you feel if you were in our position?”

Michael was quiet for a moment, as if he were giving Ryan’s question some serious thought. He eventually nodded, conceding the point. “Will you try to stop me from completing my assignment?”

“No,” Ryan said, with a shake of his head. “I won’t. But keep an eye on Alex. I can’t vouch for him.”

Michael nodded. “A game of whist before bed?” he asked hopefully.

Ryan chuckled. “Why not?” he said, then paused. “The stakes?”

“The same as what they were with your brother. If you win, I’ll promise not to harm as much as a hair on William’s head. He’ll be returned to England, unscathed.”

Ryan stopped, dead in his tracks. “No wonder she was so peeved,” he murmured.

“What was that?”

“Er . . . nothing . . . just that I now understand why Alex was so upset about losing.”

Perhaps he could right this wrong though. After all, whist was one of his favorite games and one of the few things he’d always been better at than his siblings. With a sudden smile on his face, he picked up his pace. It seemed as though there might still be hope.

A
couple of hours later, Alexandra awoke to the mad hammering of someone pounding furiously against her door. She leapt from her cot, threw her cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood down low to cover her eyes.

“Alex!” It was Ryan’s voice, hollering away at the top of his lungs. “Are you in there?”

“Maybe he jumped ship,” another voice said. It was Michael’s. “After such a heavy loss, I probably would have.”

“Do you sup . . . suppose he might be bobbing about The Chanel then?”

Some bawdy laughter followed. There were some scuffling sounds and then a loud thud against the wall, which told Alexandra that one of them had probably lost his footing.

They’re in their cups. Both of them.

Pulling her hood close against her face to mask as much of it as possible, she eased her door open.

“Ah, there he is,” Michael muttered as he swayed slightly from side to side. “You missed quite the game of whist, you know.”

Leaning forward, Alexandra glanced about in search of Ryan. She found him sitting on the floor, looking up at her with a loopy grin. “What the devil have you been up to?” she asked. “You’re both completely foxed. How will you manage tomorrow?”

“Do you know . . .” Michael responded. He closed his eyes as if to overcome the need to vomit. “Do you know . . . you . . . you often sound rather like a woman?”

Alexandra stared back at him in horror. How could she have been so clumsy to forget her female voice? “What do you mean?” she asked, lowering her voice another octave for good measure.

“Well,” he drawled. “You’re just as touchy and scarcely any fun at all, unless you get to have your way. All the men of my acquaintance are far more laid back. And they would
never
disapprove of all my conquests.”

Oh dear.

She hadn’t considered that her personality might interfere with her plan of deception. There was really nothing for it but to add another lie to the ever-increasing pile.

“What I disapprove of is the idea of having several mistresses all at once. I find it dishonorable. A gentleman ought to have either one mistress alone, or, a string of women left behind him in the wake. Women with whom one
never
forms an attachment. I for one prefer the latter.”

She could see Ryan’s eyes bulging out of his head as soon as she’d said her piece, but it had to be done. If Michael were really going to think her a man, she’d at least have to tell him she’d bedded a few ladies over the years, no matter how disgusting she found it. Was this really what men discussed with one another? How utterly base and vile.

Michael grinned. “Now that’s more like it, Summersby. For a second there, I thought you might be a backgammon player . . .”

Alexandra gave him a blank stare.

“I thought you might prefer men.”

This again.

“I already told you that I don’t,” she snapped. “I love a woman’s company just as much as you and my brothers.”

“That is . . .” Michael seemed to fumble about his brain for the correct word. “Quite reassuring.”

There was a moment’s pause, which was soon smothered by another bout of laughter from both men. Alexandra rolled her eyes. “If that’s all,” she said. “I should like to return to my bed.”

“Is that all?” Michael asked Ryan. “I could have sworn we had something more to say. My brain is so damn fogged I cannot seem to think straight.”

“I think it had something to do with a game of cards,” Ryan remarked.

Alexandra was even more confused now. “Cards?”

“Ah yes, so it did. Whist, to be precise.” Michael looked quite smug all of a sudden—as if he were the keeper of a great secret. “Your brother’s a remarkably good player. I dare say he won. Beat me fair and square.”

Alexandra’s gaze shifted to Ryan, who’d finally managed to gather himself up off the floor and was now giving her a toothy grin. “William shan’t be harmed. Ashford has given me his word on it.”

“Is that true?” Alexandra asked warily, returning her attention to Michael. She wasn’t quite ready to trust anything he said just yet.

“It is indeed,” he slurred, nodding his head in a less than elegant fashion.

“Thank you,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I’m much obliged. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some rest before we set out tomorrow. And judging from the state you two are in, I’d certainly advise you to do the same.”

“Duly noted,” Michael said, with an overstated salute. He then turned about somewhat awkwardly until he found Ryan. “Come along, Summersby. We have our orders.”

Alexandra stared after them as they wobbled away down the corridor. Remaining indifferent toward Michael was quite possibly the most difficult thing she’d ever had to do. As much as she was loathe to admit it, he occupied far too many of her thoughts. Her attraction to the man was starting to get annoying. It’s not as if they’d ever form an attachment.

Get a hold of yourself.

She was Alexandra Summersby after all—not some simple country girl about to be sucked in by a handsome face. Besides, he wasn’t even charming, but rather . . . ugh, she didn’t know what he was exactly, but he certainly wasn’t worth wasting precious hours of sleep over.

She and Ashford? Ha! It was impossible, hopeless, mad . . . indeed, the most awful notion that had ever entered into her head. Still, she couldn’t quite stop her wretched mind from wondering what it might be like to be held by those strong arms of his. She let out a sigh of undeniable frustration before closing her cabin door and slipping back into bed.

“I abhor him, I despise him, I . . .” she whispered to herself before drifting off to sleep, yet the very last image to drift through her treacherous mind before sleep claimed her, was that of a dark-haired rogue with a cheeky smile.