Page 15 of The Storybook Hero (Intrepid Heroines #2)

Fifteen

I t was as if a gale force storm was raging in his head. His brow felt like it had been pounded by an ocean of angry waves, and there was a howling in his ears, like wind tearing through rigging, and the tempest wouldn’t seem to stop, no matter in which direction he rolled. Even now, he was being buffeted by….

“Mister Alex, come on now, it’s time you opened your eyes.” Squid gave him another brisk shake. “Look, I managed to bribe the cook’s mate to brew up a cup of your favorite hair of the hound.”

The dull roar sounded like his valet’s voice, but that was impossible. No doubt it was mere wishful thinking, for a swig of the fellow’s special concoction would have tasted nothing short of ambrosial at the moment. Another lurch of his queasy stomach caused him to emit a low groan.

“I think he’s finally coming around, milord.”

Alex finally managed to pry one bleary eye open. The mop of blond curls, the faint scar along the cheekbone—his valet appeared to be more than a figment of his imagination. “What the devil …”

Squid bent closer. “Feeling like a regiment of Boney’s soldiers tramped over your bonebox in their hobnail boots, eh?”

The other lid came up as Alex sought to bring his swaying surroundings into focus. “What in the name of Hades are you doing here in Russia?” he croaked. “And how the devil did you find us—arrgh, stop moving about while I am trying to speak to you! It is making me … seasick.”

A bark of laughter burst forth. “We ain’t in Russia anymore, Mister Alex. We are near half way out through the Gulf of Finland, with a fair wind toward Denmark.”

“Not in Russia!” Alex sat up so abruptly that he cracked his head on the overhanging bunk. “Bloody Hell! Where is?—”

“Calm yourself, Alex. You and young Nicholas are safely aboard one of His Majesty’s frigates, thanks to your courage and resourcefulness.”

Alex wondered whether the blow to his cranium had further addled his senses, for the voice that came from one of the blurry shapes behind his valet sounded exactly like that of his brother William. He closed his eyes and pressed his palms to his throbbing brow, hoping to force his brain into proper working order.

“Octavia,” he muttered hoarsely. “Octavia and Emma….”

There was a brief silence, save for the groaning of the ship’s timbers.

“Er, I believe he is referring to the governess.”

Hell’s Teeth! An excess of Russian vodka must induce not only a wicked intoxication but a number of strange hallucinations as well! Now it seemed to be his uncle Ivor who was speaking.

“Ah, yes. Miss … Hadley, wasn’t it?”

Alex’s lids snapped open at the mention of her name. The figure looming over him was no longer an amorphous shape, but now clearly bore the familiar features of his eldest brother, as well as his voice.

“As to that, she quite agreed that it was time to part ways, given the circumstances,” continued the marquess. “It would have been impossible to accommodate two females in these cramped quarters.”

“You left them in St. Petersburg?” Alex’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Why, yes, of course. Miss Hadley indicated that was what she had expected all along. She assured me that she had adequate funds and was quite capable of managing for herself.” William gave a harried chuckle. “Indeed, I don’t doubt it. An unusual female. One who is not easily intimidated?—”

With an inarticulate roar, Alex lowered his head and lunged at his brother, his shoulder catching the marquess square in the midriff. The force of the attack sent both of them crashing to the deck of the tiny cabin. It took the combined efforts of the earl and Squid to pull Alex’s fingers from his sibling’s neck and wrestle him back to the narrow bunk.

“Mister Alex, have you gone mad?” cried the startled valet, still trying to control his employer’s thrashing arms.

As the marquess rose to his feet rather shakily and began to finger the purpling bruise on his cheek, Chittenden regarded first one nephew, then the other with a look of grave concern. “Alex, we know what an extraordinary amount of strain you have had to bear lately?—”

Alex ceased his struggling and slumped back against the rough planking. “I haven’t lost my mind, Uncle Ivor.” He drew in a ragged breath. “Just whatever shred of self-respect I still possessed.”

His troubled gaze then turned on his older brother. “No doubt you are well pleased to see your low opinion of my character is so justified,” he said with a bitter sneer. “Once again I have left another person to founder.”

William’s brows drew together in consternation. “Why, surely you don’t think I meant to?—”

“Damn you! Get out—all of you!” Alex didn’t care that he was perilously close to shouting. “Except for Squid. And you, you traitorous little whelp of the sea, may take yourself off as soon as you have fetched enough brandy to keep me well under the hatches until we reach England.”

Squid’s remonstrance was cut short by a gruff snarl. “If you wish to remain in my employ, you’ll do as I say.” His lip then turned up in a sardonic curl. “But perhaps you have already decided to seek a more gentlemanly sort of company.”

The earl nudged the young valet and made a wordless sign for him to leave off any attempt at argument. Catching William’s eye as well, he motioned at the door. “Come, let us join Thomas and the lad up on the quarterdeck,” he said in a low murmur. “Perhaps later, when Alex has had a chance to recover from the shock of the news, he will be more willing to listen to reason.”

Squid nodded glumly, but the marquess’s features took on a stubborn set. “I abandoned Alex once before when he was in need. I’ll not do it again. This time, if he tells me to go to the devil, he will have to toss me into Hell with his own two hands.”

A faint smile softened Chittenden’s look of concern, but he refrained from any comment as he backed into the darkened passageway, drawing the valet along with him.

With a harried sigh, William turned toward his brother.

The violent outburst had left Alex utterly drained. He felt neither anger nor outrage, simply a yawing void within his breast. The spirits might fill it for a brief time, but he knew, with frightening certainty, that the emptiness would not be banished so easily. Oblivious to whether his rants and curses had been paid any heed, he leaned forward and buried his head in his hands.

“Alex,” said the marquess haltingly, not quite sure of how to begin.

A muffled groan was the only response.

He moved closer and, after a moment’s hesitation, lay a tentative hand on his brother’s shoulder, as if expecting it to be knocked away.

“Damnation, Alex,” he blurted out. “I should have realized that you would not wish to leave your … friends behind, not after all you had been through together.” A heavy sigh sounded. “It was not my intention to cause you any pain, but I see that I have. I’m—well, I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I was wrong to assume I, of all people, knew what was the right thing to do.”

Alex looked up slowly, an expression of disbelief replacing the remorse etched on his haggard face. Was he truly hallucinating now, or had his rigid martinet of a sibling just unbent enough to admit to an error in judgment?

“Good Lord, William. Don’t tell me that a Marquess of Wright actually thinks he might be capable of making a mistake.” His voice, though still sharp with irony, had lost a bit of its earlier razored edge.

“I suppose I deserve that.” The marquess crooked a grimace. “I have made more than few mistakes, Alex. The shame is not in being fallible, but in being too blind or too self-assured to recognize it. Or perhaps too afraid, thinking it a sign of weakness rather than of being merely human.”

A grimace. “The trouble is, we Leigh men had it drummed into us that mistakes were not allowed.” William squeezed his eyes shut for an instant. “How absurd. It was Father who made the biggest mistake of all, for which we have all paid very dearly.”

Alex felt his throat grow so tight that speech was impossible. What had it cost his brother to utter such sentiments aloud? Whatever the toll, the words were a priceless gift. He blinked several times, wondering if his own face betrayed the same poignant vulnerability that now shaded his brother’s lean features.

Slowly, still without a word, Alex leaned forward until his cheek came to rest on the marquess’s silk waistcoat.

The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip, and suddenly he was being held so hard up against his brother’s chest that it was difficult to breathe. A choked sob somehow escaped, but whether it came from his own lips or William’s was impossible to discern.

“D-do you remember the day Mama died, you found me hiding in a corner of the nursery?” he asked, once he had gained a modicum of control over his emotions. “I was afraid to let anyone know I had dared do something so unmanly as shed a tear.”

“Good Lord, you were seven years old,” murmured the marquess.

“You held me that day as well, William. And you never teased me about it or told anyone else.” A pause. “I—I have never thanked you for that.”

“That should not have been the only time I reached out to you, Alex.”

“The fault is more mine than yours. I did my damnedest to push you all away with my outrageous behavior. It is a wonder you didn’t wash your hands of me entirely.”

“Neither of us can change the past. But as to the future….” He paused to clear his throat. “For too long I have lived with the loss of two brothers. I should like to have one of them back from the dead.”

A wry expression pulled at Alex’s lips. “I think I am ready to come back, for I am tired of living in a Hell of my own making. But I am no saint, William. God knows, the climb will not be easy. No doubt I shall trip and stumble along the way.”

“Then reach out to me for help, instead of a bottle of brandy.” William managed a weak smile. “Only think of how much of your quarterly allowance you might save in the bargain—I am much cheaper than spirits, Alex. And I trust that I will leave you with less of a headache.”

A rumble of muffled laughter sounded against the slubbed silk. But as Alex sat up, the humor faded from his face. The mention of seeking solace in a bottle had brought back thoughts of his last encounter with Octavia. She must think him the worse sort of cravenly cad, and with good reason.

“The devil take it,” he mumbled. “I wish Squid would return with his promised elixir.” The throbbing at his temples had suddenly intensified with a vengeance. “Not that the brew will be able to assuage the real problem,” he added softly. “You may be willing to overlook my egregious sins, but I am afraid that there are others who may not be quite so … forgiving.”

His brother took a seat beside him. “Surely things are not quite so bleak. From what I have heard, er, most females find it hard to resist your charms.”

“Hah!” Alex’s mouth quirked in a rueful twist. “There is certainly one female who has no such trouble. Miss Hadley finds me odious, arrogant and overbearing. That is, of course, in addition to being a drunken scoundrel.”

“Is that all?” Wright repressed a twitch of a grin. “In that case, figuring out how to overcome such paltry obstacles should be child’s play.” He paused to clear his throat. “Er, is there a particular reason you wish the young lady to hold you in greater esteem?”

“I wish to … ensure that she is not left to fend for herself when she arrives back in England. Her family is a malicious pack of curs who have already thrown her to the wolves once. And she will not have any references from her current employers as she has unmasked their ill-treatment of their ward.”

Despite his aching head, Alex stood up and began to pace the narrow confines of the cabin. ”She and Emma were left to the mercies of the invading French army. She took it upon herself to save the child, daring to attempt the journey from Moscow to St. Petersburg by herself. If I hadn’t come upon them….” A flash of humor stole across his features. “Actually, she probably pulled my irons out of the fire as often as I helped her.”

“Miss Hadley sounds like quite a remarkable female,” murmured William.

“That is putting it mildly. Why, she is the most intelligent, caring, resourceful and courageous person I have ever met—man or woman.”

“Hmm.” The marquess regarded his brother’s agitation with a gleam of speculation, though his expression remained impassive. “Just how do you intend to see that she doesn’t have to fend for herself?”

“Why, er….” Alex felt his face turn rather warm as he stumbled for words. “I—I thought Olivia and Augusta might help me find a suitable position for her. One where she might be treated with the esteem she deserves.”

“Ah.” The marquess toyed with his cuff. “I am sure your sisters-in-law would be delighted to get involved. They are hopeless romantics—no doubt they will enjoy this tale far more than any of those published by Minerva Press.”

“This has nothing to do with romance, William. Good Lord, I have no illusions about being some storybook hero,” he muttered. Damnation, that was not true, he realized. He did wish to clasp the heroine in his arms at the end of the tale, but after the awful mull he had made of things, that seemed quite unlikely to happen, except in his dreams.

“It has to do with friendship and loyalty and….” His voice trailed off as he shoved his hands in his pockets and quickened the pace of his steps.

“And trust,” he finally added, ducking just in time to keep from cracking his head on one of the beams. “The devil take it! After what happened back there in St. Petersburg, I doubt she will ever speak to me again, much less trust me. Or allow me to help her. She is too proud to accept?—”

“Alex, sit down before you make yourself seasick by spinning in such circles. Just watching you is having a deleterious effect on my own insides.”

“Hell’s teeth!” The oath came out in a whoosh of air as he threw himself down on the hard bunk. “I don’t know how I am ever going to convince her that I am not a worthless wastrel.”

“Well, it is a long voyage home, and there are three married gentlemen willing to offer whatever advice we can. Surely if we all put our heads together we can devise some sort of strategy to soften her feelings.” He gave a slight chuckle. “Although, speaking from long experience, I am not sure that any of us can claim to fully understand the working of the female mind.”

“… three, and that makes four.”

Octavia stepped back and surveyed the corded boxes, satisfied that the porters had not left one behind. They had precious few belonging as it were, but a number of necessities had been purchased, including some much needed new clothing, and she didn’t wish to embark on the voyage without them.

“Come along, Emma. Mr. Twillings has promised to escort us to our cabin before he bids us good bye.” The young man from the embassy had proved enormously useful over the past week. Not only had he quickly settled any lingering objections the Renfrews might have had about relinquishing custody of Emma, but he had managed to arrange a comfortable cabin for her and the girl aboard a large merchant vessel attached to a naval convoy returning to London, much to the irritation of a number of important gentlemen who had also been awaiting passage home.

There was no doubt as to the reason for such preferential treatment, she admitted as she strolled up the gang plank. It was clear that the Leigh name inspired a good deal of awe among the diplomatic corps. Awe, however, was not exactly the sentiment she would use describe her own feelings about that august moniker.

Leigh. Just repeating the name in her head caused a wave of anger to well up inside her.

Her brow furrowed. No, the emotion was more complex than mere anger or loathing. It was … disappointment. A disappointment as fierce as a Baltic Sea storm, the depth of its turmoil made greater by the fact that it was so unexpected. She had thought that despite his outward show of sardonic detachment, Alexander Leigh had come to care for them—or at least for Emma, if not herself.

Hell’s bells, she must have listened to the reading of far too many chapters of that cursed novel to have succumbed to such sentimental fantasy. What a fool she had been to imagine a hardened rake would have any real feelings for an orphaned child and an aging governess! It was only his upbringing as a gentleman that had prevented him from abandoning them along the way.

Mere duty, rather than anything else, that had dictated his actions. And as soon as they had reached relative safety, he had announced just how onerous that duty had been by promptly drowning himself in …

Mr. Twilling’s discreet cough made Octavia realize she hadn’t been paying the least attention to what he had been saying. “Forgive me,” she sighed, forcing her eyes from the chunks of ice bobbing among the leaden waves. “I fear I was … letting my thoughts wander.”

“That is most understandable, Miss Hadley. You have had a great deal to think about over the last little while. I was merely inquiring whether there is anything else you might need before the ship weighs anchor?”

“You have done more than enough for us, sir. I am well aware that without your help we would be spending a long, cold winter in St. Petersburg.”

Twilling inclined a bow. “Well, then, I shall take my leave. Goodbye, Miss Hadley.” A quick wink was directed at the girl. “And Miss Emma as well. I wish you godspeed and good luck in London.”

Hah, thought Octavia. She was going to need more than luck in navigating her way through the coming weeks. As she didn’t know a soul in the city, she had no idea where she and Emma would stay while she arranged to consult with the trustees of the girl’s estate, or how long her funds would hold out….

Well, time enough to think of that during the voyage. She forced a smile. “Goodbye, Mr. Twilling. And thank you again.”

With another tip of his hat, the young man turned and hurried off, weaving his steps between the burly sailors carrying the last of the spruce spars and barrels of pine tar up from the docks.

“London,” murmured Emma, her mittened hands coming to rest on the varnished railing. For a moment she, too, seemed engrossed in studying the flock of gulls hovering over the frigid waters before she ventured another word. “Do—do you think Nicholas and Alex might be there to greet us when we arrive?”

Octavia bit her lip. “I would not count on it, Emma,” she answered, deciding it was best not to encourage such hopes.

“Oh.” The girl stared straight ahead. “But I thought they were our friends.”

“Of course they are. But they will have a great many other obligations, for Mr. Leigh’s family is very important?—”

“And we are not?”

How was she to answer that? wondered Octavia. She drew a deep breath. “It is not as simple as that,” she began. “I, that is, they….” There was an awkward pause while she searched for some way to explain what she meant. “They must begin a new chapter in their lives.”

“And we are not part of it?”

“No, we are not,” she said bluntly. “Emma, dear Mrs. Radcliffe may use artistic license to create all manner of trials and tribulations for her characters, and then blithely pen them a happy ending. It makes for entertaining fiction, but unfortunately real life does not often follow such a perfect plot.”

Emma kept her gaze locked on the swirling currents, but the tilt of her profile did not quite hide the quivering of her lips. “I think I understand what you mean.” She gave an exaggerated shrug of her shoulders. “Anyway, boys are nothing but a nuisance.”

Amen to that, thought Octavia to herself as she slipped her arm around the girl’s waist. “That’s right,” she said with a forced laugh. “Nothing but a nuisance. We are much better off without them, aren’t we?”

“Right.”

Tactfully ignoring the small sniff that followed the girl’s reply, Octavia leaned down to pick up the valise by her side. “Mr. Twilling was able to locate a copy of The Castle of Otranto . Perhaps you would like to go below and have a look at it. I believe you will like it, even though the author is a man”

“If you don’t mind, I think I will just lie down for a bit,” answered Emma in a small voice. “It has been an awfully busy day and I find I am not much in the mood for reading at the moment.”