Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03]

by The Storybook Hero

  He gave her a surreptitious wink and slipped it back in with her other belongings. "But of course The Mysteries of Udolpho are essential for this trip. I, for one, could not forgo seeing who overcomes the greatest of perils—us or them."

  * * *

  Octavia chose to walk rather than ride the plodding mount. Though the brambles and underbrush made progress difficult, it was better than being bounced like a sack of grain by the animal's uneven gait. The sky had become even darker, forcing her to keep an eye glued on the horse ahead to keep from getting lost. Alex, too, had opted to go on foot, though his arm remained curled around Emma's waist to steady her seat. The girl seemed quite recovered from her mishap. From what snatches of conversation drifted back to her, it appeared that Emma was deep into explaining the latest threat from the dastardly Montoni.

  That Alex tolerated such childish chatter without complaint caused her lips to quirk upward. He was providing no end of surprises. To think that only a few days ago she had thought him a rather shallow rake. A charming one to be sure, but not a man given to much of any thoughts save his own desires. How wrong she had been! Beneath the devil-may-care manner, he was not nearly as hardened as he wished the world to think. Last night he had shown himself capable of pain, of remorse and, perhaps most touching of all, of a fear of being alone in the world. In that, she mused, he was not so very different than Emma—or herself.

  And just now, he had revealed a gentle, compassionate side of his character. She would not have guessed he would be so good with children, but the flash in his eyes as Emma had wound her thin arms around his neck had been unfeigned. Why, she had almost felt jealous of the child! If a man had looked at her in such a manner, she would have found her insides melting into mush. Perhaps it was best that such a thing was nigh on impossible. Even if she hadn't warned him off in no uncertain terms, his mild flirtations were merely that—a game than men and women played, one in which both knew the rules, as well as the boundaries.

  So why did her mind keep straying beyond those confines?

  That he was devilishly attractive was undeniable. But it was more than his broad shoulders and chiseled features that had her emotions in a state of turmoil. Rather, it was the unexpected sensitivity, which along with a keen intelligence and quick wit had her... well, had her gushing like some flighty chit in a horrid novel. Her gaze couldn't help but linger on the tall figure up ahead. Even cloaked in the heavy coat and shaggy fur hat, he exuded a rampant strength and masculinity that caused her pulse to quicken.

  Good Lord, she chided herself, she was in danger of waxing even more sentimental than the worst of that sort of prose. Her cheeks tinged with color at the absurdity of entertaining such improper thoughts. Forcing a deep breath, she vowed to put them aside and concentrate on the problems at hand. It was well she did, for a hidden outcropping of rock nearly sent her sprawling.

  Alex whipped around at the sound of her stumble, his expression of concern softening into a smile of encouragement on seeing she was still on her feet. In fact, she thought she detected a wink before he turned back to guiding the tired horse through yet another thicket of densely knit boughs.

  Despite her resolve, she couldn't quite help wondering what it was he saw when he looked at her. An aging governess with the pinched features of a disapproving harridan? No, it was a tiger that he had compared her with. The thought of it made her feel rather low. Was she really all roar and sharp claws? For once in her life she found herself wishing she were somehow more like a kitten—softer, cuddlier, sweeter. In other words, all the things she abhorred in those of her sex. She might judge such qualities ridiculous, but men seemed to find them... irresistible.

  It would be nice to be found irresistible—

  A loud crack, like the snapping of a branch, jarred her back to her senses. She looked up, just in time to feel the whoosh of air on her cheek as a bullet whistled by not a foot from her head. Alex screamed a warning to get down as he grabbed Emma from atop her mount and thrust her into the cover of some underbrush. Heedless of her own safety, Octavia reached for Nicholas and jerked him from the makeshift saddle. Another shot rang out, causing the boy to cry out in terror.

  The gnarled roots of an old Sitka spruce offered some small measure of protection. She dragged him down behind their shelter, pausing a moment to catch her breath. There was no sound, save for the pounding of her heart, but she had no allusions that the danger was past. She eyed their old horse, who was still standing where she had left him, flanks quivering, too tired to bolt. Her reticule! she thought. She needed her reticule! Inside it was the pistol, their only chance at fighting back.

  "For God's sake, Octavia, stay where you are," cried Alex as she slithered away from the spruce and scrambled to her feet.

  A dark shape exploded from shadows, coming straight for her. Even in the faint light, she caught the glint of steel as the raised pistol of the rider arced up to take dead aim.

  "Damnation!" came the muffled shout. A smaller shape was moving with even greater speed toward her. Alex caught the shaggy stallion by its bridle and yanked its head to one side.

  The spooked animal tried to rear, throwing the man in the saddle off balance. Another curse, this one in Russian, pierced the air. Their assailant tried to spur forward, but Alex hung on and lunged for the man's hand. The shot aimed at Octavia went just wide. With a roar of anger, the man twisted and lashed out a vicious blow at Alex's head with the butt of his pistol.

  He ducked and with a hard flick of his wrist sent the weapon flying in the air. At the same time, he grabbed hold of the other man's sleeve and started to drag him off his mount. A flailing boot caught him square in the midriff, knocking him to his knees. Still, his grip never loosened and the two of them ended up locked in a furious struggle amid a churning of snow and pine needles.

  A second rider appeared among the trees. Octavia managed to shout a warning before she had to duck for cover. She saw, however, that Alex had gained the upper hand in his battle. In a flash, his fist drew back and landed a hard shot to the other man's jaw. The fellow's head snapped back and he fell backward, unconscious. Then, mindful of the new danger, Alex rolled quickly to his right, just as the impact of a bullet sent a spray of frozen dirt into the air.

  The new assailant, recognizable as the leader of the band by his distinctive drooping mustache, brought his skittish mount under control in the tight space and maneuvered with practiced skill for a better angle of attack on the unarmed Alex.

  Octavia spotted something jutting out from the fallen man's waistband. "Alex! In his belt! A second pistol!"

  Alex dodged to one side, then flung himself at the prostrate body. In one motion he drew the weapon, rolled, and squeezed off a shot.

  The leader's horse, suddenly riderless, whinnied in fright. Octavia took two steps forward, then her knees nearly buckled at the sight of the bloodied face, the top of his skull nearly blown clean away.

  Somewhere close by there was an agitated shout, then the snapping of branches and the dull thud of hoofbeats receding.

  "Don't look," snapped Alex as his arm came around her waist and spun her roughly away. "Catch hold of those horses. We shall need them." He took one glance at her wan face and gave her shoulders a shake. "Come, don't turn missuss on me now! It's best to be away from here as quickly as possible."

  In a near daze, she obeyed his curt order while he made a quick search of the dead man's pockets. He stuffed several items into his pockets, then gathered up the pistols and came back to her side. Octavia swallowed hard and tried to control the trembling of her hands. He looked furious, and with good reason, she supposed. Once again he had been forced to risk his neck for her—he must be getting heartily tired of it.

  "I..." she began.

  Ignoring her halting words, he shoved all but one of the weapons into the saddlebags of one of the horses. "Stay here while I get the children," he barked.

  He quickly returned with both of them in his arms. Emma was whimpering softly. Nichola
s, too, had steaks of tears on his dirty cheeks though he made no sound. Alex smoothed the tangle of hair off the girl's pale brow and whispered something in her ear before placing her in saddle. He took Nicholas around to the other mount, but before lifting him in place, he set the boy on the ground and squatted down so that their faces were only inches apart. A short exchange followed, ending with Nicholas nodding solemnly and essaying a brave smile. Then he, too, was made ready for the ride.

  Alex made one more trip to strip their belongings from the tired pack animals. When everything was fastened securely on their new mounts, he finally turned his attention back to Octavia. His eyes were narrowed, and she noted they were flooded not with the gentle compassion he had just displayed with the children but some other emotion—something, she imagined, between anger and exasperation.

  "Hell's teeth! What did you think you were doing?" he demanded, through gritted teeth.

  "My reticule," she stammered. "My pistol was in my reticule."

  "Good Lord, what did you think you were going to do with it? With your aim, only the trees would have been in danger."

  Her chin came up a fraction. "Well, you had no weapon yourself. I had to do something."

  "You did quite enough by braving those bullets to drag Nicholas to safety." His tone had softened somewhat. "In the future, kindly leave any sort dealings with firearms to me."

  She turned visibly paler at his words.

  Alex took hold of her shoulders, none too gently. "Are you are all right?"

  She nodded, averting her eyes from his. "What of... him?" she whispered, catching sight of the unconscious assailant.

  "He'll have a long walk back to the road during which to reflect whether to choose a new line of work." His breath came out in a harried sigh. "The children have had quite a shock. They need to recover with a rest and perhaps something hot. But not here. Are you sure you can manage?"

  She could have used a hug or murmured words of encouragement herself, but she merely set her jaw and nodded.

  "Then up you go." He boosted her up behind Nicholas. "And Octavia," he added softly.

  She looked at him expectantly. Perhaps now he might say something kind. After all, she thought, she had received just as big a shock as the children.

  "Don't ever do anything as damn foolish as that again," he growled.

  So much for being cuddly and irresistible.

  * * *

  Hell's teeth, repeated Alex to himself as he watched Octavia's head duck to avoid another drooping pine bough. His heart had nearly stopped on seeing the pistol aimed at her breast. Good Lord, she had nearly been killed because of her gritty courage! Why couldn't she be like other females and faint, or at least collapse in a fit of vapors, so he could protect her without having to resort to such melodramatic efforts?

  He gave a slight shake of his head. Really, this was beginning to outdo even the worst sort of horrid novel. His lips twitched at the notion that mayhap he should take up pen and paper himself—the tale would have the ladies of the ton swooning in droves, allowing him to supplement his quarterly allowance quite nicely. The only trouble was, any sensible person would dismiss the plot as ridiculous beyond belief.

  The ghost of a smile quickly disappeared as his thoughts turned back to what had just occurred. The children and Octavia were depending on him, and he had nearly brought them all to grief because he hadn't sensed the danger. He tried to take a deep breath but suddenly his chest felt as if it were encircled by an iron band, slowly, inexorably twisting tighter and tighter.

  What if he had failed once again to save those he cared for?

  His eyes pressed closed and the realization washed over him that if such a thing had happened, he might well go ahead and blow out his own brains because he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He stifled a groan as a wave of black despair threatened to engulf him, like it had so many other times—

  "Alex?" A small voice cut through the darkness.

  He forced his lids open. Emma had turned to regard him, her eyes wide in awestruck admiration. "That was the bravest thing I have ever seen, the way you knocked that horrible man down before he could hurt Miss Hadley."

  His jaw dropped slightly.

  "And then, how you laid him out without so much as a bat of your eye," she went on, in a reverent tone. "So you could blast that other villain to the Devil. Why, you are quite the best hero in the whole world."

  Octavia had reined in her horse at the crest of a small ridge so that the last of Emma's words drifted up to her and Nicholas. The boy was quick to add his own effusive praise.

  Alex looked rather dazed. Of their own accord, his eyes sought Octavia.

  "Hmm, "she murmured, her voice rich with a sly humor. "Yes, I suppose we must give him the edge over Valancourt."

  A rumble of a chuckle started in his throat as he found he could suddenly breathe again.

  "You were, you know," she added softly, her voice no longer teasing.

  When his brow rose in question, she went on. "Wonderful, that is. Quite wonderful."

  He swallowed hard as one bedragged governess and two dirt-streaked twelve-year-olds, leaves and pine needles clinging to their garments, regarded him with glowing smiles. Here they were, as good as lost in a vast wilderness, stuck in a foreign country with a murderous uncle on their trail and the entire French army not far behind.

  So why was he feeling like the luckiest man in the world?

  "But Alex—"

  His head jerked up.

  Octavia did her best to imitate his growl. "Don't ever do anything as damn foolish as that again."

  He had to choke down a burble of laughter as she gave him a wink and then set her mount into a brisk trot.

  Chapter 13

  Squid stomped his boots, trying to regain some measure of feeling in his icy feet, then slowly unwound the scarf from his neck.

  "Well?" demanded William.

  The valet chafed his hands together. "Colder 'n a witch's tit out—er, sorry m'lord." He swallowed hard as the marquess stopped his pacing in mid stride to stare at him. "I'm afraid I keep forgetting my place, and that it is not Mister Alex that I am conversing with," he continued, taking great care to place his vowels and consonants in the correct places. The result was a very credible-sounding King's English.

  From his seat near the fire, Thomas gave a chuckle. "Don't bother altering your speech, Squid. I find your descriptions more informative than most. Indeed, after your colorful way of putting things, my own valet's words will pale in comparison." He slanted a look at the marquess and was surprised to see that his brother's lips were also twitching. "But do tell us if you have found out anything."

  Squid grinned. "Aye, I have, sirs. Finally sussed out where Mister Alex dossed—"

  "Discovered where Alex stayed," translated Thomas in a low voice.

  The marquess took on an injured expression. "I am not quite so featherheaded as you imagine, Thomas." He signaled to the young valet to go on.

  "Er, well, he was looking shabby and such, so he's sticking to the plan of masquerading as a poor tutor, I reckon. Made inquires the about coach travel to the south. Sent me haring off across the city, the clerk did, but I found the place." He paused to deliver the most important bit of news he had learned so far. "One thing we can be sure of is he ain't here in St. P. anymore. He left nigh on five weeks ago."

  There was a moment of silence as the two men digested the news. "Well done, Squid," said Thomas.

  William's lips pressed together in a tight line. "Hell's teeth, then he could be anywhere in this cursed land."

  Thomas nodded grimly.

  "'Corse I left instructions—along with a bit of incentive—to send word here if Mister Alex reappears."

  "Good Lord, I hope Alex has had the sense to keep his wits about him—this is not one of his reckless games, like venturing into the stews of London on a wager, where a mistake might only result in a blackened eye or a broken bone."

  "Oh, even when deep in his cups,
Mister Alex has extricated himself from situations way worse than this," said Squid loyally, though the crease of worry on his smooth brow belied the jaunty confidence of his words. The dark smudges under his eyes also indicated he was far from unconcerned about his employer's situation. "Is there aught else you can think of for me to do?"

  "You've done all you can for now," answered the marquess. He resumed his pacing up and down the narrow sitting room. "Get some rest. Perhaps Lord Chittenden will have some more recent news for us when he returns from the Embassy."

  Squid gave a reluctant nod and slipped from the room.

  With a sigh, Thomas picked up a copy of the latest dispatches from the front while William continued to wear a path across the faded Oriental carpet. Suddenly he stopped, and a faint chuckle escaped his lips.

  Thomas's head snapped up.

  "Witch's tit, indeed," repeated the marquess with a dash of amusement. "I have to admit, dressing for the evening would prove quite entertaining with a fellow like that knotting one's cravat. Poor Syms seems rather tame in comparison." He gave a ghost of smile. "Perhaps Alex is not, as Squid would put it, as addled in the nodcock as I thought."

  Thomas regarded his older brother thoughtfully for a moment. "Why, William," he murmured. "You actually still have a sense of humor. Thank God."

  The marquess's jaw tightened. "I know you—all of you—think me a stiff-rumped bore, but I must be serious. It is a great responsibility to be head of the family. And one that I had not ever expected to shoulder. Father made it quite clear on Jack's death that I must not fail in my duty to uphold the standards of the Sheffields." He hesitated a fraction, then went on in a voice barely above a whisper. "At times, it is an almost overwhelming burden, trying not to make a mistake."

  "No one is perfect, William. Not Jack. Not me. Not any of us. And especially not Father. I, for one, have come to see he was wrong about many things. His own rigid expectations caused more harm than good. Because Jack was the heir, Father refused to admit he could have any faults. Believe me, Jack suffered the burden of such unrealistic demands, but it was Alex who truly bore the brunt of it." Thomas shook his head. "Do not try to imitate Father's ways. I daresay the Sheffield honor is not quite so fragile as he would have had us believe. Surely we may be mere mortals rather than gods, without any censure from the heavens."