Page 9 of The Storybook Hero (Intrepid Heroines #2)

Nine

A lex settled the fur blanket around his legs and set the horses in motion, grateful for a bit of solitude in which to order his thoughts. He should be cursing the heavens for the vagaries of Fate that had landed yet more responsibilities in his lap. But oddly enough, the only sound coming from his throat was a burble of rueful laughter. Their encounters with each other certainly didn’t lack for drama …

But it was he who had nearly swooned, rather than the intrepid Miss Hadley, on seeing her confronted by those three armed ruffians.

The sight of her brandishing a pistol at them had stirred a number of strange sensations. Chivalry had not exactly been his strong suit since longer than he cared to remember. And yet, on seeing her in danger, he would have launched himself barehanded at any number of assailants.

It made no sense. Miss Hadley wasn’t the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, nor were her charms such as to twine a man in a net of silky infatuation. At that thought, another laugh nearly burst forth. Seek to charm him? Ye gods, she could barely tolerate his presence! But somehow, she affected him like no other woman he had ever met.

Alex felt his brow furrow. Over the past ten years, he had allied with a number of willing partners. But the passion was always fleeting, the transient pleasure unable to keep at bay the dull ache that inevitably crept back to suffuse his very being.

What was it about the prim Miss Hadley that seemed … different? When he looked in her eyes, he saw no trace of artifice, only keen intelligence that she didn’t try to hide.. Her words, as well, were unadorned with fripperies. Alex realized with a start that she was the only female of his acquaintance with whom he felt he could have an interesting conversation, save perhaps for his sisters-in-law.

There was no denying that she had spirit and courage as well, qualities he was more used to attributing to his friends than his bedmates. Nothing seemed to quell her spark. Eyes blazing, she kept her chin up, as proud as her namesake in the face of adversity. Instead of screaming or fainting, she had relied on her own resources—quite credibly he might add.

A certain part of his anatomy had ached for some time after their first encounter.

But despite her outward actions, he had caught the stirrings of a hot passion lurking beneath the icy shell. He found himself wondering what it would be like to fan its fire again, to have its flames lick over him and …

The wheels of the carriage hit a frozen rut, jarring his thoughts back to frigid reality. The cold had deepened, forming his breath into ethereal white puffs, which the biting wind quickly swirled away. Alex watched as they disappeared, then tightened his grip on the reins.

Wishes and dreams were as chimerical as such clouds. He had learned that long ago. Just as he had learned not to probe too deeply into his feelings, for the pain was too searing. It was best not to begin now. No matter how intriguing he found Miss Hadley, the attraction would soon die away, just like everything else that had mattered in his life.

It was after dark before they approached a low split log structure set off from the thick forest by a wheat field. Smoke curling up from the single chimney was the only sign of life. The stable, barely larger than a hencoop, also appeared deserted, but the sound of the sleigh’s runners crunching over frozen puddles brought a figure swathed in a grimy wool shuffling from inside, his muttered curses exploding in small puffs of vapor like so many artillery shells.

Alex stumbled down from his seat, his feet so numb with cold that he might as well have been walking on blocks of wood. Somehow, he managed to undo the door latch and help the three occupants out from inside the inky interior.

“It’s not the most appealing of places, but I fear we have little choice. At least there is a fire and, with any luck, a hot meal,” he managed to say, though his words were badly slurred.

Octavia pursed her lips as she regarded the dusting of ice crystals on his cheeks, but merely nodded and hastened the children towards the inn. Behind her, Alex couldn’t keep from stumbling on the rutted snow and ice.

She paused, then turned back and took hold of his arm. “You only have to manage a few more paces, Mr. Leigh.”

Inside, the room was not nearly so bad as he expected. The dim oil lamps revealed that the place was moderately clean, and the tall tiled stove set in the corner cast enough of a warmth to make it almost cozy. Without a word, Octavia guided Alex close to its hissing bulk and slowly unwound the scarf from his neck. He started to fumble with the buttons of his coat, but somehow his fingers refused to cooperate. She pushed them gently aside and undid the fastenings herself, letting the garment slide off his shoulders and to the floor.

“Emma, bring a chair for Mr. Leigh.”

The girl obeyed with alacrity, dragging the heavy wooden legs across the uneven planks and nearly knocking over Nicholas in the process. He made a face, but the little kick he lashed out wasn’t quick enough to find its mark.

Though the action didn’t appear to escape her notice, Octavia chose to ignore it.

She reached up to take the thick wool hat from his head. “Sit down, sir.”

“I c-c-can …” To his chagrin he found his teeth were chattering uncontrollably.

“You will sit down like a sensible person so I can help you remove your boots. Or do you intend to be so stubborn that I will be compelled to use force?” Her eyes strayed to the floor. “The leather looks as stiff as a board.”

He sat down without further argument for she looked perfectly capable of carrying out her threat.

The proprietor approached, eyeing their modest attire with an ill-disguised frown.

“Tea. Right away, please,” said Octavia. “And something hot to eat.”

The man didn’t move.

Her head came up. “We are cold, and hungry. You do have food and drink here?” she demanded.

A rather rude grunt followed. “For those who can pay.”

“Be assured, you will be well rewarded for your trouble.” She withdrew several coins from her pocket and tossed them at the man’s feet.

The change in the fellow’s demeanor was instantaneous. “Yes, my lady,” he said as he bent to retrieve the money. “Right away.”

“Do you always find a way to make someone jump at your command?” murmured Alex, his face sufficiently thawed to manage coherent speech. “Perhaps you should have remained in Moscow to direct Kutusov in fending off the Frogs.”

“I have enough on my hands trying to deal with two young people intent on doing each other bodily harm ,and a tutor who seems to lack for common sense, if not for sarcasm,” she retorted.

He couldn’t repress a chuckle. “It was that bad inside the carriage?”

“Don’t ask.” Her tone softened considerably as she eased off the first boot and felt his foot. “But not as bad as what you have endured during the journey. Your feet are nearly frozen, Mr. Leigh. And your cheeks are only now beginning to lose their coating of frost.”

He cleared his throat as he leaned over to tug off the remaining boot. “Well, I daresay I’ll survive.” It slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor. A sigh of relief followed, though he sought to mask it with a cough.

“It’s not a laughing matter. I’ll not have you forced to drive hour after hour without relief. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

It had been so long since someone had voiced concern over his welfare that he was speechless for a moment. Then a faint smile came to his face. “I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Hadley, but there is little choice if we are to reach St. Petersburg.”

Her chin jutted forward. “I shall just have to learn to handle the ribbons, too. That way, we may spell each other. I have quite a lot of experience in driving my father’s gig. It can’t be that much more difficult to handle a team and sleigh.”

Alex nearly spilled the steaming cup of tea the proprietor had handed to him. But the urge to tell her she was utterly mad died on his lips on catching the glint of determination in her eye. He suddenly couldn’t help wondering how many of the soft, voluptuous ladies who had shared his bed would offer to share the hardships of driving a lumbering sleigh through a Russian winter.

Closing his eyes, he then found his thoughts drifting, drifting … and all he could think about was a soft bed and an eiderdown coverlet …

“Stop kicking me!” Emma’s voice drew Octavia’s attention away from Alex’s exhausted face.

“I’m not kicking you, I’m swinging my foot and you are in the way.”

“Emma and Nicholas, you must remember not to speak English in a public place,” she warned in a low voice. “We do not wish to call attention to ourselves.”

The girl lowered her head and gave a sniff. “Then tell him to leave me alone,” she whispered.

Nicholas crossed his arms and glowered.

The arrival of four bowls of an unidentifiable stew, along with a stale loaf of dark bread, forestalled the latest skirmish. The two young people were too tired to bicker and eat at the same time, so they applied themselves to the meal without further ado. Octavia ate in silence too, but noted with some concern that Alex hardly took a bite. Instead he ordered a bottle of spirits to go with his tea. Despite his earlier attempts at dry humor, he looked unusually serious as he poured a glass and drained it with one gulp.

As he quickly measured out a refill, she wondered whether he was roundly cursing the Fates that had thrust her and Emma in his path. He could hardly be blamed if he was, she admitted. His task had become infinitely more difficult with the addition of two more people to look after. And if he failed to convey the young count to St. Petersburg, he likely wouldn’t be paid a farthing for all his risks. She could well imagine what that would mean for an impecunious tutor—or whatever he was. Perhaps he wouldn’t be forced to the street, as she would be, because men had other options. But the future would no doubt be grim.

She stole another glance at his shadowed face. Judging by the deep lines etched at the corners of his eyes, the past had not been terribly kind either. On several occasions, Alex had allowed his mask of nonchalance to slip for just an instant, revealing the scars of pain and doubt. What kind of life had left such marks? wondered Octavia. That he drank too much she knew. That he looked to women for amusement she guessed.

His other vices she could only imagine.

Whatever his weaknesses and faults, she vowed that she would not be the cause of his failure in this endeavor. In spite of their obvious differences she felt a strange sort of kinship bound them together. After all, they were both friendless, penniless souls depending solely on their own wits and fortitude to make their way in an unfriendly world. So whether he liked it or not, she was determined to be a help rather than a hindrance.

The sound of a knife falling to the floor disturbed her reverie. Alex’s chin had sunk to his chest and a soft snoring rumbled in his throat.. Octavia laid aside her spoon and rose. It took little time to arrange for two rooms once another few coins had changed hands.

She returned and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Leigh.”

His eyes fluttered open and he stared at her in some consternation before he seemed to recall where he was.

“I’ve taken rooms for us,” she said. ”I daresay you will be a bit more comfortable sleeping there, though not much. I imagine we’ll all be flea-bitten by morning.”

“Ah, but when you are jug-bitten, you tend not to notice.” He signaled to the proprietor and called for another bottle of vodka to take with him.

“Surely you don’t mean to drink that with Nicolas present.” Even though she spoke softly her voice was full of reproach.

He gave a mocking smile. “Don’t worry. I don’t mean to share it.”

And to think she had just been feeling sorry for him! “You should be ashamed of yourself, setting such a bad example.”

His eyes narrowed. “Well, if it bothers you so much, put the children in together and share my room instead. After all, you are no stranger to my habits. I daresay you might even unbend enough to admit that you rather enjoyed your brief taste.”

“I see it was a mistake to get your blood heated,” she said coldly. “Apparently in such a state, you become so desperate you will grab at anything in a skirt, even a middle-aged spinster.”

His brows drew together.

“Now kindly remove your hand from my elbow and try not to make an unseemly spectacle in front of innocent eyes.”

His arm fell away and he took up the bottle. “Come along, Nicholas, let us find our beds. Good night, Miss Hadley and Miss Renfrew.” After a moment he added, “Sweet dreams.”

Hardly , thought Octavia sourly.

Gregori Bechusky, head steward to Vladimir Illyich Rabatov, regarded the deserted cottage with a snarl of frustration and stalked back to the copse of trees. The young count’s uncle had entrusted him with tracking down the boy, and given the fat purse that was promised for completion of the job, his mood took an evil swing on finding his quarry had somehow slipped through his fingers. Mounting his horse, he threaded his way through the needled boughs to rejoin the three other men hidden in the forest.

“They’ve left. Let us split up and make inquiries.” He tossed several gold Imperials to each of his cohorts. “Someone must have seen or heard something that will be of use to us. And be quick about it. We’ll meet back at the tavern in several hours.”

The others spurred off, while the steward considered his next move. It had been a fortuitous break, to overhear an idle comment about the young count’s nurse having recently retired to her old village. His instincts had told him the boy would be here, so the ensuing disappointment at finding the place empty was only the more galling. But he hadn’t been wrong. A careful inspection of the old woman’s dwelling had revealed traces of the boy’s presence, so a starting point had now been established. A trail, however well disguised, would lead from it. And he didn’t doubt for an instant that he would be able to uncover it.

His confidence was soon proved justified when he arrived at the tavern and heard the nugget of information one of his men pried out of the old woman’s nephew. A sled had been purchased only two days ago, along with two shambling nags. Bechusky gave a grim smile as he drained his flagon of kvass. His task was going to be that much easier with the young count on the run rather than holed up at Polyananovosk.

As his fingers drummed on the rough pine table, he considered where his quarry might be headed. The advance of the French army made Moscow, or points west, an unlikely choice. Routes south, too, were fraught with danger. East or north seemed more likely. It shouldn’t be difficult to pick up the trail.

Only nagging question remained unanswered. He had determined that the old nurse had left with Riasanov, heading back in the direction of the Scherbatov estate. So who was with the boy? The description of the tall, broad-shouldered driver of the young count’s vehicle matched up with none of the household servants his spies had reported were still loyal to the boy’s family.

After a few more minutes of contemplation, Bechusky slid his chair back and slapped a coin onto the table, signaling to the others it was time to be on their way. As he checked the pistol tucked inside the folds of his coat, he decided it was not worth worrying about the stranger. After all, it hardly mattered who the fellow was—he was not going to be alive much longer.

Alex woke with an aching head and a wooly mouth, an all too familiar condition that left him longing for Squid’s sympathetic ministrations, and the soothing draughts the resourceful valet could always be counted on to deliver to his bedside. There was, however, no magic elixir waiting to wash away the sour taste of the previous night. He winced as he shifted under the ragged blanket, not only from the stab of pain at his temples but on recalling his behavior. It had been bad.

No, it had been worse than bad.

Damnation! How was it that a prim, sharp-tongued governess had him in such a pelter? Her unexpected actions had so unnerved him that he had barely been able to touch his dinner. He was well aware of her intellect, her pluck, and even her prickly pride. It was her quiet kindness and compassion that had thrown him into such a state of confusion.

She had made it quite clear that she didn’t even like him, and yet, she had noticed his stumbling steps, and it had mattered to her that he had been cold and tired. Just as during that first night aboard the ship, she had somehow sensed his desperate need not to be abandoned—and she hadn’t walked away, though it was what he richly deserved.

Alex couldn’t remember the last person who had ever bothered to see him as anything other than a jaded libertine.

He swallowed hard. There had been compassion in her voice, gentleness in her fingers as they removed his boots. And when her ungloved hand had grazed his cheek while unwinding his muffler scarf, its touch had sparked embers inside him that he had thought were long since burned out.

In truth, the heat frightened him more than he cared to admit. He had grown so used to the cold, the thought of rekindling any flame was too threatening. Fire crackled, danced, licked and roared. It was something one couldn’t control. Having been so badly singed so long ago, he had vowed never to let it happen again.

Over the past ten years, he had fallen into bed with any number of willing ladies, always careful to let them touch nothing of him but the lithe planes of his flesh. Why was it that he suddenly appeared in danger of letting the prim, outspoken Miss Hadley get beneath his skin?

A low groan caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure he wanted to face the answer and so he had done his best to push her away. To keep his own fears at bay, he had deliberately sought for her to think the worst of him.

Well, he had certainly succeeded in doing that. In spades.

He rolled onto his side, causing the empty vodka bottle to fall to the floor.

“Alex?” ventured a small voice. “Are you … awake?”

A wave of guilt washed over him. Ye gods, he had nearly forgotten about Nicholas!

“Yes, lad.” He propped himself up on one elbow and ran a hand through his tangled hair. It was still quite dark outside, but by the faint stirrings below in the taproom, he figured it must be morning.

“Are you going to want to stay in bed all day?” asked Nicholas, the light from the single candle illuminating his pinched face.

“Why would you think that?”

There was a long pause. “Mr. Bolotnikov, my old tutor, kept spirits hidden in his desk. Whenever he claimed he was too ill to rise for my lessons, I could be sure of finding an empty bottle stashed somewhere in the schoolroom. It started to happen often enough that Mama found him out. She was very angry and sent him off.” His gaze fell to the floor. “She said it was a … a bad habit.”

“She was right.”

“Then why do you do it?”

Alex would never have imagined that a twelve-year-old was capable of making him blush, yet the simple question left him feeling more exposed than if he’d been caught running stark naked down Rotten Row.

He turned his head to find the boy was looking at him expectantly, which only increased his self-loathing. Indeed, he had to fight down the urge to throw the covers up over his head and, like the unfortunate tutor, claim he was too indisposed to face the day. Instead, he forced himself to a sitting position and cleared his throat—but the words remained stuck there.

Answers were proving elusive this morning.

“We had best hurry in dressing,” he finally mumbled. “It would not do to keep Miss Hadley and Miss Renfew waiting too long.”

To his relief, the statement managed to deflect the boy’s attention to another touchy subject.

“I don’t want to travel with them any longer,” replied Nicolas, his face scrunching into a scowl. “I hate girls. They are silly and helpless, and do nothing but whine and carry on in the most annoying manner.”

“I would be careful about voicing such an opinion within earshot of Miss Hadley,” replied Alex dryly. “And as for taking them along, I’ve already explained to you that as gentlemen, we simply cannot abandon them. Besides, Miss Renfrew has already proved herself to be a very brave and resourceful companion.”

Nicholas shot him a look of disbelief. “Hah! Miss Hadley told me how it was you who saved them from a band of ruffians.”

“Did she also tell you how it was she who was holding the three villains at bay with a pistol when I arrived?”

The boy’s eyes widened.

“Or how Miss Renfrew took up a bottle and flung it at the leader, just as he was about to stick his knife in my ribs?” he continued. “With quite credible aim I might add.”

“S-She did?” he said in a faint voice.

Alex nodded. “And she doesn’t appear to be making a whine or a squeak about being abandoned in a strange country by a selfish relative, with nary a soul to turn to, if not for the kindness of Miss Hadley, since both her parents are deceased.”

Nicholas was silent for several moments. Then, without further argument, he pushed back his covers and began to pull on his jacket.

“I hate boys. They are brainless and loud, and do nothing but think of stupid pranks to annoy those who are around them.” Emma pulled the blanket up to her chin, a black expression on her pinched features. “Can’t we hire some other coach to take us to St. Petersburg?”

“We have tried that, without a great deal of success,” reminded Octavia. “And even if we wished to try such a risky thing again, I doubt we could find a vehicle or driver willing to undertake such a journey. So we really have no choice but to continue on with Mr. Leigh.”

“Well, at least he is not in the least odious.”

Hah! thought Octavia, running a brush through her hair with a bit more force than necessary. However she left her private feelings on that score unsaid as she searched for some means to lessen the girl’s pique. Suddenly, an idea occurred.

“Emma, perhaps you would have a little more charity for the poor lad if you knew the real story.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I am sure Mr. Alex would agree that you are old enough to trust with the secret .”

Emma waited with bated breath.

“Did you know that Nicholas has recently lost both his parents?”

The girl bit her lip and shook her head.

“That is not the worst of it. His wicked uncle covets his title and fortune, and is determined to see that some ‘accident’ befalls Nicholas. So Mr. Leigh has been engaged by the boy’s English relatives to bring him safely to London.”

Emma’s eyes took on a decided shine. “Why, this is even more exciting than one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.”

Octavia repressed a smile. “I think it would be less than honorable if we were to abandon the two of them. There is a real chance that Nicholas may be in danger during this journey. And knowing men and the stupid things they are wont to do, he and Mr. Leigh are bound to need our help along the way.”

The girl was out of bed and dressed before Octavia had stuck the last hairpin into the bun coiled at the back of her neck.

After hurrying down the narrow stairs,. Octavia wheedled the promise of a decent breakfast out of the proprietor, then took him aside for a huddled conference. After a moment, he bobbed his head, his mercenary smile revealing a set of crooked yellow teeth, and moved off, leaving her to take a seat with a rather satisfied expression on her face.

It was not long before Alex appeared, trailed by Nicholas. Awkward greetings were exchanged, then the arrival of the tea and a platter of cold meats and bread made further words unnecessary. Alex took up his mug and walked to the window where he stood gazing out at the morning sky, which was smudged grey with the threat of storm. As he passed her, Octavia noted the haggard hollows of his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes. Drinking down a bottle of fiery spirits looked as though it had only exacerbated his fatigue.

Hell’s bells. He was the most exasperating person she had ever encountered—cool and courageous one moment, obnoxious and odious the next. He had wit and intelligence, and yet he took pains to hide them behind a mask of jaded indifference. Who was the true Mr. Leigh?

Octavia thought for a moment, deciding the answer was much more complex than she had first imagined. And for a fleeting instant, she had the oddest notion … perhaps he wasn’t sure either.

She had no idea of what past experiences had shaped his behavior, and yet she was quite sure that he wasn’t as dissolute as he pretended to be. Even his blatant attempts at seduction were softened by the look she had detected in his eyes—rather than a calculating coldness, it was something more akin to regret.

Shaking off such brooding, Octavia swallowed the last of her tea. Whether he was an unprincipled rogue or a storybook hero, Alexander Leigh was who they were all depending on to get them safely to St. Petersburg. And judging by his current appearance, they had better get moving.