Page 11 of The Storybook Hero (Intrepid Heroines #2)

Eleven

A nother wave slapped against the side of the hull, sending an icy spray of salt water over the gentleman hanging over the leeward rail.

“The captain expects the weather to moderate by dawn,” announced Thomas Leigh as he picked his way past the rain-soaked crew at work on the ship’s deck. He stopped to regain his footing, then grimaced as another pelter of hail rattled against the canvas sails.

The man at the rail responded by casting up his breakfast into the churning waters.

“Come below, William,” urged Thomas. “Surely you will feel better if you lie down.”

“And be flung arse over tea kettle against an oak beam? I’m not sure which is bloody worse,” cursed the Marquess. “If Alex wished some revenge for my past actions, he may count himself well on the way to extracting his pound of flesh.”

Thomas regarded the leaden waves. “And perhaps a few more ounces on top of that,” he said dryly.

The ship plunged down into a trough, causing another heave of the marquess’s stomach. He groaned. “Remind me to avoid all future endeavors that require even so much as a rowboat.”

“If it’s any consolation, Uncle Ivor is feeling just as poorly. However, the indefatigable Squid claims he has a cure for this as well, so let me assist you to our cabin.”

Down below in the cramped quarters, Alex’s valet was indeed administering a draught to the groaning earl, accompanied by a dose of cheerful chatter, which had the older man turning even greener about the gills. “Oh, I’ve become quite a dab hand at remedying any sort of queasy stomach, like one caused by a bellyful of champagne, or brandy, or claret?—”

The marquess put a hand to his mouth.

“—especially when followed by several cigars, and?—”

“Ah, I think we need not go into the gruesome details, Squid,” said Thomas, as he dropped his elder brother onto one of the narrow berths.

“What—oh, er, sorry.” Squid poured another tumbler of a greenish liquid from the pitcher at his side and passed it to Thomas. “Here now, have His Lordship swill a bit of this. It’ll have him feeling top of the trees in no time.”

William croaked a feeble protest but his brother would have none of it. “If Squid says it will be effective, than you had best down the stuff, no matter how vile it looks. He has certainly proved to be a fellow of most interesting skills.”

Squid grinned at the compliment. “I daresay I’ve kept Mister Alex out of trouble. More times than I can count on me fingers or toes.”

“Well, I hope you have another digit saved, for I have a feeling my younger brother may need it.” Thomas wedged himself into the third berth, using his long legs and shoulders to keep from being tossed about.

The valet seemed to have no trouble keeping his feet, rolling effortlessly with the pitched rhythm of the ship’s motion while straightening up the small cabin. “Has the captain any notion of when we may arrive, sir?” he asked as he folded a rumpled linen shirt and put it away.

“Another two days, at least. Apparently, we must be on guard for a squadron of French frigates newly arrived in the Baltic, so our course may have us veer more to the north than we might wish.”

At that, the Marquess gave a low groan, though it was not clear whether it was due to this latest bit of news or his queasy stomach.

“Come now, William,” said Thomas. “At least you are not alone in your misery, while Alex is no doubt having to cope with even worse surroundings.” That is, he added to himself, assuming his brother was still alive.

“I’m happy to say that Alex’s usual behavior gives me cause—for once—to feel sanguine about his situation,” replied the marquess. “For to be honest, I think it unlikely that he ever left St. Petersburg. He probably encountered some attractive little bit of muslin, found a snug set of rooms along with a copious supply of the local spirits and is, as we speak, a good deal more comfortable than we are.” There was not a trace of rancor in his tone. “And I, for one, shall be more than delighted if all we have to is pry him, dead drunk, from between the sheets.”

“If he’s there,” piped up Squid, “I’ll find him in a flash, sir. Don’t you worry about that.”

The marquess propped himself up on one elbow, revealing that his face had regained some semblance of its natural color. “I have complete faith in your odd but useful abilities, my man. Already I am feeling more the thing,” he murmured. “Would you by any chance consider a change of employment on return to England—that is, if you can tie a cravat and polish a boot as well.”

The valet laughed. “Oh no, sir. Ye’d find me sadly disappointing in them sort of boring details. Besides, who would keep Mister Alex out of trouble?”

Thomas regarded his brother with a troubled look. “I think we may find that you are mistaken about Alex, William. Even as a boy, he was always the very soul of honor—and never cowardly or craven. Neither Uncle Ivor nor I believe he is so lost to his true self that he would abandon someone in need once he committed to the task.” A sigh slipped from his lips. “I doubt that our brother is enjoying the company of any female at the moment.”

Octavia pulled her hair back into a more severe style than usual. It only accentuated the dark circles under her eyes, but that hardly mattered, she thought, as she peered into the cracked mirror.

It was best that she recognized the harsh truth—she was an aging spinster with no family, no dowry and no prospects. Another hairpin jabbed into place. She was being more foolish than the children to let a sugary tale of heroes and happy endings have any effect on her own normally rational thoughts.

Determined to keep all such mutinous fantasies at bay, she thrust her brush into her reticule and marched downstairs. This morning she would drive and Mr. Leigh could sit inside and endure the trials and tribulations of Mrs. Radcliffe’s characters, Emily and Valancourt.

However, Alex appeared to have other ideas on the matter. “Start off the journey inside with the child—er, young people while you take the ribbons? Not likely.”

“Well, I don’t think I can tolerate another melodramatic chapter of the dratted book at this hour in the morning,” she muttered under her breath.

“What? I thought you a true romantic at heart.”

She colored, much to her dismay. “Hardly,” she snapped. “You know very well I am no such thing.”

“Hmm.” He took up her bag, along with his own. “The sleigh and horses are ready. We can continue what promises to be an interesting discussion on the driver’s box, if you truly don’t wish to avail yourself of the inside comforts.” His faint smile seemed no less than a challenge.

Octavia wasn’t sure which was more unsettling—submitting to the breathless narrative of Emma and Nicholas or sitting disturbingly close to Alex. However, her chin rose a fraction as she followed him through the door. After all, she now had full rein of her emotions. She could certainly manage converse with him without any more girlish flutters.

Emma and Nicholas took up their places without the least bit of protest. The book was immediately opened to the marked page, and a discussion arose as to who would read first. Octavia interrupted just long enough to pile in several of the extra blankets as well as the rest of their belongings, and then leaving them to settle the matter themselves, she shut the door and climbed up beside Alex.

“You are quite sure you want to miss the description of the castle dungeons?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Very well. But tie the flaps of your hat a bit tighter. The temperature is dropping fast.” With that, he gave a flick of the reins and the two horses plodded off.

Much to her relief, he steered the conversation back to literature rather than forcing any scrutiny of her personal views. His sly sense of humor had not completely deserted him, however, for he inquired whether she had ever read Cleland’s Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.

Once again she felt a blush steal to her cheeks. “Certainly not.”

“Ah, but I think you would appreciate Fanny Hill.” With that he began an entertaining description of the plot, which elicited a reluctant smile or two from Octavia despite her resolve to be cool.

“I see I shall have to expand my horizons in books,” she said as he finished. “It sounds like a most interesting work.”

“Yes, why not take a chance in venturing beyond what you are familiar with. It can be … exhilarating.”

“It can also be dangerous.”

He regarded her with a veiled expression. “You do not appear to be intimidated by the threat of danger, Miss Hadley.”

“How can you say so? You don’t know me very well.”

“Well enough.” Before she could reply, he pulled the sled to the side of the road. “And now, judging by the color of your cheeks, I think it is time you went inside for a while. If the story is too much to bear, you could simply toss the book out the window.”

“You may think that I don’t fear danger—but nor do I seek out my imminent demise.” Secretly relieved that he took the redness of her face as reaction to the cold, she kept her tone as dry as his.

He laughed. “Then perhaps you might insist on a break for other lessons. A long mathematical equation would silence them for a few hours.”

“I shall survive.” She shook out her skirts and began to climb down. “But I shall expect you to come inside yourself in a short while, and let me handle the reins.”

As soon as the door closed, Alex coaxed the horses into a leisurely trot. His smile remained as he thought about her reactions to his bawdy account of Fanny Hill’s adventures. He couldn’t resist sparking a flash of fire in her lovely green eyes with his teasings?—

A sudden movement caused his head to jerk up, then a low oath escaped his lips.

Four horsemen had materialized from out of the thick pine forest fringing the road and drew abreast to block the way.

Alex started to reach for the pistol in his pocket, but quickly thought better of it. The odds were simply too great, for each of the men ahead already had a weapon pointed straight at his chest.

“What is it you want?” he called loudly, as he drew the sled to a halt, hoping to give Octavia and the children some warning of the trouble brewing outside. “If you seek money, you have made a poor choice of victims. I have little to offer.”

The riders approached. One of them, a wiry Cossack with a drooping mustache nearly as greasy as his thick sheepskin coat, edged ahead. “We want Count Scherbatov,” he growled. The pistol in his hand didn’t waver. “Any trouble and your carcass will soon be feeding the ravens.”

Alex stared at him blankly for a moment, then gave a rough guffaw. “A Count? Oh, aye, he’s in the back, along with Tsar Alexander and Prince Golitsyn.”

The other man looked slightly taken aback and shifted in his saddle. “Take a look,” he ordered curtly, motioning to the two on his left.

Alex sought desperately to think of some way of escape, but the leader was no slowtop. The fellow had stationed the fourth man at the head of the horses, while keeping a close eye on him. There was nothing to do at the moment but sit by helplessly and pray that an opportunity would present itself.

“Who is inside?” demanded the leader as the two men circled around to the door.

“My family,” he said sullenly. Perhaps he could bluff his way out of this.

The door was yanked open and one of the swarthy men leaned inside.

Octavia shrunk back against the squabs and made a show of pulling Emma closer. “Leave my daughter alone, you ruffians!” she cried shrilly. “Alexei, make them go away!”

As if on cue, Emma let go with a piercing wail and buried her face in Octavia’s shoulder. Another loud sob followed, and another.

The man’s head jerked back instinctively, a harried expression on his face.

“What do you see.”

The man scratched at his beard. “A women, and a girl.”

The shrieks increased in volume.

“No one else?”

The shake of his head was confirmed by his companion, who took a quick peek inside. “Just the two of them.”

At that, Octavia began to cry as well, loud teary sobs that threatened to dissolve into outright hysteria.

The door slammed shut and the two men backed away.

“Please, like most women, my wife and daughter are easily frightened by strangers,” said Alex, still in a loud voice. He couldn’t resist adding, “My wife is also in a most delicate condition, which makes her even more prone to an attack of nerves. No doubt she will have a headache for days.”

The leader chewed on the edge of his mustache in some confusion. “Who are you? Where have you come from and where are you going?”

“Alexei Menshikov. A baker. From Moscow. We are fleeing the fighting and go to relatives in Novgorod.”

With his weapon still pointed at Alex’s chest, the leader gathered his men around for a hurried conference. After a few minutes, he broke away from the others and slowly circled the sled, stopping to examine the small storage boot at the rear of the sled and sweep his gaze over the roof. He even darted a quick look of his own into the interior, setting off yet another round of shrieks and tears.

Grudgingly satisfied, he tucked his pistol in his belt and motioned Alex on his way. “Be off with you, then. But breathe a word of this to anyone and you shall not survive to see your second born.” He shot a look at the closed door of the sled and muttered, “You should pray to the Almighty that he blesses you with a son.”

Alex needed no further encouragement. A shake of the reins sent the horses into a lurching trot, which he quickly whipped into as fast a gallop as he dared over the icy road. Several miles flew by before he dared stop to let the tired animals recover their wind. He leaped to the ground and flung open the door.

Octavia and Emma were still sitting side by side, skirts covered by a layering of blankets. There was no sign of Nicholas. Alex’s brows drew together until he noticed a slight twitch of the heavy wool at their feet. His face relaxed into a broad smile. “Well done, ladies. A ruse worthy of one of your gothic stories.”

A dark shock of hair poked out from under the edge of the coverings. “May I come out yet?” came a muffled voice. “It’s damned uncomfortable under here.”

“You can’t say ’damned’ in mixed company, Nicholas. You must say ‘deuced’.” cautioned Emma in a low voice.

“Alex says damned. I heard him. A pause. “Twice.”

“Grown-ups get away with more than we do.”

Alex repressed a laugh. “Yes, come on out.” To Octavia he added, “That was damned quick thinking, Miss Hadley. We are indebted to you.”

“I fear the trick would not have worked had Emma not thought to fall into a fit of vapors.”

“Yes, we men may meet pistols at dawn with nary a blink, but even the most hardened scoundrels quail before a female’s tears.”

“So it seems. I shall make note of that.”

“Pray, do not. I can’t imagine you turning truly missus under any conditions.” His expression sobered considerably as Nicholas extracted himself from the tangle of blankets. “They are gone, but not for long. As soon as they reach the inn, they will learn of their mistake and will be back with a vengeance.”

“What do you suggest we do?” asked Octavia softly.

Alex looked grim. “These nags will never outdistance their mounts. And there are few other roads to turn off on, so trying to elude them seems impossible.”

“But we can’t just sit here and wait for them to return,” replied Octavia.

“Of course not.” He paused for a moment. “We must abandon the sled and try to lose ourselves in the forest. If we each take up one of the children along with our supplies, I think we might be able to manage. You can ride, can you not?”

She nodded. “And if I didn’t, I should quickly learn.”

“That’s the spirit. Now all of you, pack up the as quickly as you can—and leave behind anything that is not truly necessary. I am going to lead the horses off the road to somewhere we can conceal the sleigh, at least for a bit. If we can delay pursuit for even a short while, it will help our chances.”

He found a small clearing and unharnessed the pair, cutting down the long reins to leave a makeshift arrangement for riding. After hacking off a number of pine boughs to help disguise the sleigh’s presence, he tossed a folded blanket over each horse to serve as a saddle and split up their supplies. Emma was put on his mount, while Nicholas went up with Octavia. Alex’s hand lingered on her knee after helping her arrange her skirts for riding astride.

“You show a pretty ankle,” he murmured.

“My ankle, Mr. Leigh, is encased in a felt boot the size of a small, furry animal.”

“Well, I have no doubt it would be a very pretty ankle if it were not.”

“We are wasting precious time off, sir. Let us be off,” she said, trying to sound stern.

“An excellent idea—” He stopped abruptly as a snowflake drifted down onto his cheek. Looking up at the ominous grey sky his lips compressed in a tight line.

“Damn.”

It was only a dusting, but the powdery flakes had been accompanied by a decided drop in temperature. The towering trees had, at least, provided a measure of protection from the gusting winds, though it was hard going through the slap of branches and tangle of undergrowth. It was difficult to see as well, the thick canopy of needles blocking out much of the pale light. Finally, when it was too dark to continue, Alex chose a spot by a large fallen tree to stop for the night.

Emma and Nicholas were sent to collect firewood while Octavia searched for a source of fresh water. In the meantime, Alex set to making some sort of shelter from the elements. A number of large pine boughs angled across the downed trunk created a tent-like structure that was actually quite snug inside, once a goodly pile of dead needles had been spread over the frozen ground.

A blazing fire at the narrow entrance also added a measure of warmth, enough that the blue tinge to Emma’s mouth slowly disappeared and she was able to move her lips. The lad had also been suffering from the cold, though he had tried manfully to suppress his chattering teeth. But they refrained from any complaints as they sat huddled under the extra blankets, even when supper turned out to be no more than a cup of weak tea and a meager portion of cold meat and bread. Nor did they argue when Octavia insisted that they take their blankets and retreat into the depths of the shelter. In fact, they appeared too exhausted to do much else than crawl inside and wrap themselves tightly in their coverings as bidden.

“You must lie close together,” called Alex. On catching the look on Octavia’s face, he dropped his voice. “Highly improper, I know, but shared bodily warmth will help stave off the cold.”

“Well, I suppose you know a thing or two about that,” she murmured under her breath.

His lips twitched. “I am glad to see the hardships of the day haven’t dulled your sharp claws, my tiger. The time you cease your cutting set-downs is the time I shall be truly worried that the strain has been too much.”

She leaned back against the rough bark and swirled the dregs of her cup. “I imagine my choice of words is the least of our worries. We are not in a terribly good position, are we, Mr. Leigh?”

His amused expression quickly disappeared. “No, we are not.” He added another branch to the fire and stared at the leaping flames. “We have only enough food for another day or two, our horses are nags and I doubt the children can endure too much exposure to the elements. And if it begins to snow in earnest….” He let his words trail off. After a moment he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to have involved you and Emma in this.”

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 church mice, no inheritance, no influential relatives, that sort of thing.”

“Nevertheless, I should like to hear it.”

She had never spoken to anyone about growing up an only child with a scholarly father who had little connection with the realities of the outside world and had been 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 unfortunate 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. “Was 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 a passion in a man?” 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 sure how to answer the complex questions she had raised. But what he did know in that instant was it was suddenly very important that she didn’t think 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 to rest on her shoulder. 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. Leigh. 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.

She moved to settle herself just inside the small shelter. “Why, Mr. Leigh, you have no blanket of your own,” she realized.

“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 slipped in beside her.

“Good night, Mr. Leigh,” she murmured.

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

“Good night then … Alex.”

“Good night, Octavia.”