The figure silhouetted in the door what not, however, that of the driver Fetisov, but rather a much taller, leaner man. Glancing quickly from the group of men brandishing knives to Octavia with her pistol outstretched in a slightly trembling arm, a faint smile stole to the newcomer's lips.
"Why, Miss Hadley. I am glad to see that in the face of three assailants you have the good sense not to count on your knee."
Chapter 8
"Mr. Sheffield! What on earth are you doing here?"
His lips quirked. "Come, Miss Hadley, I should have expected something a good deal more dramatic than that. You might say, 'Oh, thank the Lord my daring rescuer has arrived!' Or you might at least swoon."
She glared at him. "That's not funny. This is no time for joking."
"No, I can see that." His expression immediately turned serious. "You have done extremely well for yourself, but now, perhaps you would allow me to take that pistol from you. I fancy I have a good deal more experience with such things than you."
She started to turn.
"Pray, do not alter your aim, Miss Hadley," he said calmly as he stepped inside the inn. "I am going to move to your side, but I suggest neither of us take our eyes off of these fellows."
Ilya flung a particularly obscene curse at Alex, then kicked a chair over to punctuate to his mounting frustration. "Who is this son of a she-bitch? What in the name of the Devil are they saying?" he demanded in a querulous voice, for the last little exchange had taken place entirely in English.
"What we have been saying is that if you and those other two mangy curs don't take yourselves off instantly, I shall be forced to ram what few teeth you possess down your throat," answered Alex in Russian. "Which I may still do if you utter one more rude word in front of the ladies."
With a roar of fury, Ilya launched himself at new arrival, blade flashing in his outstretched hand. At the last moment, Alex twisted neatly aside. As he did so, his boot dealt a solid blow to the back of the other man's knee, drawing a scream of pain as the Russian sprawled to the floor. With uncanny quickness, however, Ilya rolled on his shoulder and sprung back to his feet. The knife was still in his hand, and with another angry curse he came at Alex again, this time a bit more warily.
Octavia bit her lip. The man was too close to Alex for her to risk a shot.
"What are you standing there for, like pigs stuck in mud?" he snarled at his companions as he feinted a slash at Alex's ribs. "He has no weapon. Grab him!" The knife darted forward again. "You miserable bastard, I'll roast your liver over the coals for interfering with me."
The two men glanced nervously at the pistol that quickly jerked around to point at them.
"One step and I assure you I shall pull the trigger!" warned Octavia. Her tone left little doubt as to her resolve. The two men melted back into the shadows, drawing a jeer from their leader.
"Cowards," grunted Ilya. "Running away like old women. I'll show you how to deal with these two." With a series of wild jabs of the blade, he forced Alex to retreat in the direction of the heavy pine bar. Despite his stocky build and a surfeit of alcohol, he moved with a cagey quickness. It was clear that this sort of situation was one he was well used to. A sneer smile curled on his thick lips as another flick of the knife caused Alex to back up again. In another few steps he would be trapped up against the long expanse of rough hewn wood.
"Mr. Sheffield, have a care! The bar is close behind you!" called Octavia. Her attention was riveted on Ilya's flashing blade. Things seemed quite dire for her would-be rescuer but he appeared unruffled by the danger.
"Thank you, Miss Hadley. I am aware of it." He flicked a chair in his attacker's way, causing him to stumble slightly. Spinning deftly around a second chair, Alex edged to one side, gaining a bit more space between the two of them.
Octavia squinted through the smoky haze. "I believe I have a shot, Mr. Sheffield. Shall I pull the trigger?"
He ducked around a small table. "Pray, not quite yet. I think I should rather risk a knife than your aim."
"Really! I am only trying to—"
"Miss Hadley! Watch out!" Emma tugged at Octavia's coat, just as an arm lunged at the pistol in her hand. She fell back with a cry of surprise, narrowly averting the man's grasp. As she did so, the weapon slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. In an instant, her assailant dropped to his knees and began pawing around under a table for where it had fallen.
Furious with herself for allowing such a thing to happen, Octavia was determined not to allow him to gain the upper hand. Her eyes fell on a nearby bottle, still half full with vodka. She grabbed hold of it, and when the man's head came up with a cry of triumph on his lips, her own hand came down.
There was a sickening thud. The gloat quickly turned into a groan as the man sunk to the floor in a lifeless heap.
"Miss Hadley! Over there!"
Octavia jerked around to where Emma was pointing. The third man, knife also in hand, had blocked Alex's line of retreat and they now appeared to have him trapped. Ilya feinted to his left, then whirled suddenly in the opposite direction, his blade snaking out in a lightning strike that cut across Alex's arm.
With a gasp of dismay, Octavia finally managed to pry the pistol out of the fallen man's fingers. Taking as best aim as she could, she closed her eyes, said a silent prayer and squeezed off a shot.
A resounding bang echoed through the dimly lit room.
Both Ilya and his cohort ducked instinctively, giving Alex just enough time to make his escape. Vaulting over one of the upturned tables, he hit the floor and, keeping low, slithered to where Octavia and Emma were crouching.
"I think it is time to make our exit," he drawled. "Kindly run to the door! Now!" he added as Octavia made to open her mouth.
Eschewing further argument, she took Emma's hand and did as she was told, the smoking pistol still in her hand. Alex grabbed up their two bags and followed on close on their heels. While the other man was still cowering behind a cluster of chairs, Ilya recovered his feet and came in pursuit, angling his attack to cut off Octavia.
This time it was Emma who made use of a handy bottle. Ilya was forced to duck as the wildly spinning object came flying through the air. Alex pushed ahead, then let go of one of the bags long enough to land a jarring left to the other man's jaw. He toppled backwards, onto the top of a round table, momentarily stunned.
"Go!" yelled Alex. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that fellow Octavia had hit was slowly getting his wits back while the third one was finally creeping out from his hiding place.
Octavia flung the door open and the three of them stumbled into the bracing fresh air.
"Over there!" Alex indicated the sturdy black sleigh pulled to one side of the yard. Under the startled gaze of the two ostlers, they crossed the rutted snow at a dead run. On reaching the vehicle, Alex tossed the bags up on the seat, then followed by taking first Emma, then Octavia by the waist and depositing them unceremoniously on top of them. Leaping up beside the ladies, he gave a slap of the reins, sending the horses hurtling off at a gallop just as the three men emerged from the inn, brandishing a musket they had wrenched from the terrified owner.
A bullet whistled over their heads, spurring the horses to even greater speed. The vehicle bounced over the narrow road, then disappeared into a copse of silvery birch trees. It continued on for a mile or two at the breakneck pace before Alex pulled the horses to a leisurely walk.
He turned to face Octavia, one brow raised in question. "Are you all right, Miss Hadley?"
She nodded.
"And your redoubtable companion?"
Emma was staring at him, eyes wide with admiration.
"Yes, we are both fine," answered Octavia slowly. "Thanks to your help, sir—even though it was a most foolhardy thing to do, facing off against three men with nary a means to defend yourself."
There was a flash of humor in his eyes. "Ah, but with you and that look of steely resolve on your face, I felt the odds were decidedly in our favor.
I know I was quaking in my boots at the thought of that pistol being pointed at me."
She caught her breath. "Oh, do you think... that my bullet.... "
"I believe the lantern on the far wall may have suffered a mortal wound, but no doubt the innkeeper will give it a hero's burial."
Despite herself, Octavia found she could not repress a laugh. "Do you never cease teasing, Mr. Sheffield—"
Emma's eyes grew even wider. "Is this the Mr. Sheffield who accompanied you on the journey from England?"
"Indeed it is." He grinned. "How heartening to know I have been the subject of Miss Hadley's conversation. I had feared I had not made much of an impression upon her—at least not one she might wish to recall."
A faint tinge rose to Octavia's cheeks. "Mr. Sheffield," she warned.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your charming companion, Miss Hadley?" he continued smoothly. "I should be honored to make the acquaintance of such a stalwart young female. Indeed, she appears to well on her way to matching the spirit you display in a pinch."
"Oh!" Octavia's color deepened on being reminded of her lapse in courtesy. "This is Emma Renfrew, sir. The young lady whom I was engaged to care for."
The girl blushed to her roots as Alex brought her gloved hand to his lips with a gallant flourish. "How do you do, Miss Renfrew. Alexander Sheffield at your service—though I doubt that either of you were really in need of much help back there."
The girl stammered some incoherent reply.
Alex's words caused Octavia to shudder. Until now, her emotions had still been in too much of a whirl to reflect on how narrowly they had escaped an unthinkable fate, thanks to his aid. She lowered her eyes, her hands clenching together in her lap. "That is hardly true, sir. Without your timely intervention, I don't know what would have...." She trailed off, not wanting Emma to know just how dire their situation had been. "I... I certainly owe you a debt of gratitude."
"Not at all," he said quietly. "I seem to remember that when I was in need of assistance, you did not turn your back on me."
Octavia was saved from having to make a reply by a series of loud bangings from inside the carriage. "Alex, Alex! Is something wrong?" called a muffled voice. "What happened to our tea?"
"Good Lord," muttered Alex under his breath. "I forgot all about Nicholas."
At Octavia's questioning look, his mouth crooked in a rueful smile. "You are not the only one traveling with a child." He jumped down from his perch and went to unlatch the door.
"I am not a child," piped up Emma in an injured voice. "I'll have you know I am thirteen. Well, almost."
His hand slapped up against his forehead. "Child? Did I say child? My English has become sadly rusty these past few weeks. I can only plead that all the commotion has sadly addled my faculties. I pray you will forgive me."
Emma's look of dismay disappeared. "Oh, of course, Mr. Sheffield It is entirely understandable—" Her nose wrinkled at the sight of the tousled dark head that poked out of the darkened interior. "Who is... that?"
"That, Miss Renfrew, is the young man whom I was... engaged to care for. Allow me to present Count Nicholas Alexander Scherbatov."
The two young people stared at each other.
Alex cleared his throat. "Nicholas, this is Miss Hadley and Miss Renfrew, our new traveling companions."
There was a prolonged silence before the boy spoke. "But Alex, I thought you said it would be best if there were only the two of us." He slanted another look at the newcomers, Emma in particular. "Can't we leave them off at the next coaching stop?"
"That would hardly be a gentlemanly thing to do," answered Alex. His voice dropped a notch. "And speaking of gentlemanly behavior, that is hardly the proper way to acknowledge an introduction, as I'm sure you have been taught."
The boy flushed slightly at the mild rebuke. "How do you do, Miss Hadley..." There was a slight pause. "...And Miss Renfrew." The words were hardly more than a mumble and the boy's eyes steadfastly refused to rise above ground level, but Alex chose to let it pass.
Octavia also ignored the less than perfect deportment, nodding politely at the young man. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Count Sherbatov."
Alex cleared his throat. "Just Nicholas, if you please, Miss Hadley. There are, er, reasons we do not wish to call attention to my young friend's identity."
The smile disappeared from Octavia's face. Good Lord, she thought. Had she escaped one set of criminals only to fall in with another? Had the impecunious tutor taken it into his head to do something rash—like make off with his young charge in order to demand a fat ransom? Or worse?
Her face must have betrayed the drift of her thoughts, for Alex gave a low chuckle. "I am aware that you have no great opinion of my character, but you needn't fear I am engaged in any nefarious schemes regarding the count, Miss Hadley. Perhaps if Miss Renfrew would consent to ride inside with Nicholas, and you would not mind enduring a bit more chill up on the box, I could explain things to you more fully."
Emma's lower lips jutted out. "I don't mind the cold, either."
"That may be so, but Mr. Sheffield wishes to discuss something with me. In private," chided Octavia gently.
The scowl became more pronounced. "Why can't I hear what Mr. Sheffield has to say, too?"
"Emma...."
The girl looked to speak again when Alex reached up and took her firmly by the waist. Her mouth froze in an "O" of surprise as he swung her down into his arms. Before she could recover her voice, he seated her beside an equally shocked Nicholas, then firmly shut the door in their mutinous faces.
"I imagine we shall hear some warning noises before blood is actually spilled," quipped Alex as he took up the reins once more.
Octavia couldn't help but return his grin. "I assure you, Emma is not normally so ill-mannered."
"Nor is Nicholas."
"It is strange." She shook her head. "For some odd reason, they seem to be bringing out the worst in each other—"
"Hmmm. Rather like us."
Her face twisted in some confusion. "I... I..."
There was a decided twinkle in his eye. "Well, you have to admit it is true. I do not normally behave in such an ungentlemanly manner to innocent females and you, I am sure, are not usually so rude as to deliberately avoid engaging in conversation with a fellow passenger for an entire voyage, no matter that the two of us were the only ones with anything of interest to say."
Octavia felt the heat rise to her face. "I...."
He saved her from having to go on by continuing himself. "But that is a matter for some other discussion. At present, you wish to know what in the deuce I am doing racketing across the country with young Count Scherbatov in tow, is that not so?"
Octavia had recovered enough of her composure to match his dry humor. "It does call to mind a number of questions."
"Yes, almost as many as why you are traveling unescorted with young Miss Renfrew."
"There is a very reasonable explanation to my predicament," she said quickly. "But I prefer to hear you out first."
"Very well." He paused as if to consider how to begin. "Nicholas has lost both of his parents in the last six months. His father, an officer on Kutusov's staff, was killed in Austria, while his mother died during an outbreak of influenza—"
"The poor lad," she interrupted. "But how is it that his English is so good? You cannot have spent more than a few weeks with him."
The faint smile reappeared. "No, I am not that good of a teacher. His mother was English, as was his grandmother." Then his expression sobered once again. "To put it simply, it appears Nicholas is now in grave danger from his Russian relatives. If the boy were to meet with an untimely accident, his father's considerable fortune, as well as the title, will pass to his uncle."
"I see." There was a slight hesitation. "I take it there has already been a questionable incidence."
"Several, actually."
Octavia didn't speak for several minutes. The sleigh glided past several snow
-covered fields, then entered another thick stand of fir and larch. It was considerably darker underneath the thick boughs and she pulled her heavy coat tighter to ward off the accompanying chill. A shiver ran down her spine, but somehow she sensed it was not entirely caused by the weather. Stealing a sideways glance at Alex's face, she noted the fine lines etched around his mouth and the dark shadows under his eyes. Despite his penchant for making light of things, he looked to be under a good deal of strain.
"Is this uncle pursuing you?"
He drew in a deep breath. "I am not sure," he admitted. "However, it would not be surprising. He is desperate for both the money and the title, and I do not doubt he will use every resource at his command to track us down."
"Just where are you going, that you believe the boy will be safe?"
"St. Petersburg."
Octavia started. "St. Petersburg! Why, that is where...." She bit her lip. "What makes you think he will be safe there? Has he relatives in the city who can be trusted?"
"Not exactly. But there are ships there heading for England."
There was another bit of silence before Octavia turned a penetrating gaze on him. "How is it you, a recently arrived tutor, have come to be involved in all of this?"
Alex kept his eyes leveled on the road ahead, though his mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. "I'll not waste time trying to fob you off with some made-up farrididdle. I have not been entirely forthcoming with you, Miss Hadley. I have been... engaged by Nicholas's English relatives not merely to teach the lad history and geography, but to see him safely to London."
"It seems a rather dangerous assignment. Why you?"
"I imagine that, based on my past, they assumed I might be willing to take the risk."
"I hope the reward is worth it."
His jaw set. "Oh, it is."
Ah, so he was doing this for money. Well, he must be getting quite a lot of it to venture losing his life. Her hands clasped even tighter in her lap. And just what did he mean by his comment about the past? No doubt there were any number of unsavory incidents that didn't bear asking about. She already knew he was prone to becoming thoroughly cupshot and had a penchant for chasing skirts. And he had handled the recent encounter with knives and fists with a cool aplomb that made it evident he was no stranger to back alley brawls—or worse.
Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] Page 11