Alex gulped down the soup. "If the lady were my wife, I doubt I should have even a shred of my sanity left." He tossed aside the empty bowl and took hold of the officer's coat, pulling him out of Octavia's line of fire. "Come along with me."
Octavia thought she heard a whispered prayer of thanks. Stifling an indignant retort, she hustled the children into the interior of the cab. How dare the two men claim the workings of the female mind were incomprehensible! What had she done—other than secure transport and supplies—to provoke the mercurial Mr. Sheffield's odious temper? It would serve him right if she—
Catching sight of two pairs of eyes regarding her with a mixture of awe and curiosity, she moderated her black scowl somewhat. "Try to get some sleep," she counseled, arranging yet another blanket around their slight forms. "We still have a long journey ahead, but perhaps the worst is behind us."
* * *
Her words proved true enough. Several times during the night, the sleigh was slowed by sentries patrolling the roads, but a vague mutter, accompanied by much pointing and gesturing caused the soldiers to wave them on. By the time dawn glimmered on the horizon, they had not sighted a soul for several hours.
Octavia insisted on taking over the reins, sending Alex inside to grab a bit of rest. No doubt the only reason he agreed, she told herself on climbing up to the driver's seat, was because his jaw was too frozen to voice a protest. There was silence all around, save for the swoosh of the iron runners through the powdery drifts. The miles continued to slide by and as the sun stole out from behind the thick clouds, the snow-covered landscape took on an ethereal beauty, the sharp northern light setting the vast expanse of white to winking and glittering as if it were covered with diamonds.
Precious indeed was each step closer to St. Petersburg, mused Octavia. Once there, she and Alex could each feel a well-deserved measure of satisfaction in having succeeded against overwhelming odds. And what of their odd little group?
Of course they would go their separate ways.
He would be eager to catch the first ship back to England and deliver the young count to his relatives. She, too, was determined to go on to London, though it might take a little longer to arrange. However, she doubted the Renfrews would dare raise much of an objection when she threatened to expose their misuse of Emma's funds. Once she had made sure the girl was comfortably settled in a proper household, she could begin to think about what might lay ahead for her.
Right now the future did not seem nearly as bright as the sparkling snow. With no references, the chances of securing any respectable position did not seem overly good. Her mouth scrunched up in a strange grimace. Well, one thing was sure—whatever the future might hold, it did not include a certain ill-tempered, impecunious tutor. She should be glad of it, she assured herself, for he was the most aggravating, arrogant and sardonic man she had ever met.
So why was she feeling a strange little lurch of her insides at the thought of never seeing Mr. Sheffield after they reached their destination?
She was merely... hungry, she told herself. Besides, she could be sure that he was feeling no such qualms at the prospects of being parted from his traveling companion. It was clear he thought her a managing, overbearing shrew! Why, the wretch had had the nerve to imply that any man would have to dicked in the nob to find her—
Such lowering thoughts were interrupted by the sight of movement up head. She slowed the horses to a walk, and made ready to grab for the pistol tucked away in her pocket. It was, however, only an elderly peasant shuffling along with a large sack of firewood slung over his back. A few hurried inquires revealed that the fighting lay well to the south. Further questioning caused the fellow pause and tug at his long beard.
When it finally came, the answer brought a smile to Octavia's lips.
"What's the matter," demanded Alex, his stubbled face finally making an appearance from inside the cab. "Why are you stopping?"
She gestured at the old man. "He says his wife would be happy to cook a hot meal for us at a reasonable price, and that we might also take a few hour's rest in his barn. But there is even better news...."
He blinked.
"We are some miles to the northwest of Novgorad. That means we should reach St. Petersburg in two days."
Chapter 14
The journey was completed without further adventure. It remained arctic in temperature, but the main roads were well traveled and afforded a number of decent taverns where they were able stop for hot tea laced with sugar and the opportunity to thaw out from the biting cold.
Would that he could dispel the unaccountable chill that had developed between himself and Miss Hadley, thought Alex glumly, as the sleigh drew near the outskirts of the city. Ever since the night of their encounter with the French troops, they had treated each other with excruciating politeness, but an underlying tension had robbed their exchanges of any real warmth. Emma and Nicholas had not missed the subtle change, and their own behavior had become more and more subdued. The animated readings of Mrs. Radcliffe's novel and the spirited debates over the foibles of the various characters had given way to long silences and searching looks. He had avoided the unspoken questions in their eyes, for in truth he was not sure he understood what had happened any more than they did.
Did Octavia think him a lout for daring to kiss her with such fiery abandon? He would never have given in to such emotion if she hadn't been so resolutely determined to march headlong into the jaws of danger with nary a care for herself. Good Lord, he had wanted to shake her, to scold her, to smother her with kisses, all at the same time.
Kisses be damned—what he had really wanted to do was to strip the travelworn clothing from both of their bodies and mold his heated flesh to every delicious curve of her form. He had wanted to make slow, sensuous love to her, and hear her cry out his name as their passion exploded in a shower of white hot sparks.
Ha! When she had spoken to him, it was to call him an obstinate ass! His hands gave an involuntary jerk on the reins. So much for imagining that flowery romance existed outside the pages of a dratted book! In reality, it seemed she was counting the minutes until they reached St. Petersburg, so anxious was she to be rid of his odious presence.
After all, she had made it clear from their first meeting that she thought him no more than a debauched wastrel. The brief interlude of what had appeared to be a more... intimate friendship had no doubt been engendered by mere expediency. There had been precious little choice but to get along with each other in order to survive.
And now? He would be off to London with Nicholas and Octavia would set herself to finding a caring guardian for Emma. A sharp twinge knifed through him at the thought of the impending separation, causing his mouth to twist in a odd grimace. Surely a hardened rake such as himself was not going to miss a shrewish spinster and a pigtailed twelve-year old? But somehow the idea of their intrepid little family breaking up had his spirits sinking to a low ebb.
A family. Perhaps he had thought of them as such because he had none other to call his own.
Perhaps he didn't deserve any.
After all, he would only disappoint anyone who was foolish enough to trust in him. How could it be otherwise, when even he didn't trust in himself.
A string of shouted curses caused his head to jerk up, just in time to avoid collision with a cart loaded with turnips. Several other drivers contributed their own rude comments on his prowess with the reins, and Alex found he had no alternative but to devote his full attention to the crowded streets. Progress slowed as the sleigh made its way toward the snaking Neva River, lumbering at a snail's pace past the pastel-colored buildings and long canals that had earned the city its other moniker of "Venice of the North."
After what seemed like an age, he turned the horses into a narrow side street and pulled to halt in front of the seedy boarding house he had used during his first visit to St. Petersburg. Although it seemed highly unlikely that Nicholas's uncle would dare try any desperate acts at this late stage, Ale
x decided there was no harm in being cautious. Until he could establish contact with the embassy, they would remain hidden among the anonymous dockyard workers and shopgirls of the rough waterfront neighborhood.
He climbed down from his perch and cracked open the door to the cab. "Wait here while I arrange for a room."
"Two rooms," replied Octavia, rather too quickly for his liking.
His jaw tightened. "Until we can move you to a more genteel part of town, it would be wise to continue the masquerade of traveling together. You would find the men here no more apt to respect your person than those you encountered back in the inn."
She made a face but nodded a reluctant assent.
He returned shortly and led them up three flights of rickety stairs to a large room with two smaller bedchambers overlooking a shadowed alleyway. The furnishings were cheap and well used, but at least the place was moderately clean and possessed a small cast iron stove in the far corner. "I've paid for some wood and a jug of water to be brought up," he informed Octavia. "As we have no further need of them, I had better go down and see to disposing of the horses and sleigh."
"While you are out, perhaps you should also see to purchasing some staples for our supper."
He gave a curt nod. "Anything else?"
Eyes averted, she toyed with the strap of her valise. "D—do you intend to stop by the embassy?"
"Time enough for that in the morning," he growled.
The Devil take it! Was she that anxious to be rid of him? The cold realization caused an icy knot to form in the pit of his stomach. Without further words, he turned and stalked out the door.
Biting her lip, Octavia fell to helping the children out of their heavy coats and boots, then settled them at the scarred pine table, along with their book. They raised no complaint but it was clear from the half-hearted murmurs that their minds were engaged with something other than concern for the fate of Emily and Valancourt.
She was unpacking a few of their meager possessions when Emma suddenly closed the pages and looked up. "Are you and Alex... angry with us? Have we done something wrong?" The girl's voice was hardly more than a tentative whisper, and from the look of concern on the boy's pinched face, it was clear she was speaking for both of them.
Octavia brushed a lock of hair from her pale cheek. "Oh no, my dear. We couldn't be more proud of both of you. No hero or heroine from a book could have been faced such dangers with half of your courage and grit."
"Then why does Alex look... like a bear with a thorn in his paw?" ventured Nicholas.
Because he has a thorn in his side—me, to be precise.
Although it was the unfortunate truth, she kept it to herself, searching instead for a reason the children might understand more readily. "It has been a long and difficult journey," she answered after some consideration. "And one that is still far from over. What you see in him is not anger, but worry. No doubt his nerves are much frayed from the constant concern for your safety. H—he cares very much for both of you." A slight tremor had crept into her voice. "Does that answer your question?"
They nodded, but a certain doubt remained etched on their faces.
"Come, let us start the stove and put on a kettle for hot water. I am sure Alex will be ready for a hot cup of tea when he returns."
But when the door flung open some time later, it appeared that tea was not what Alex had in mind to chase the chill from his bones. As he stomped the snow from his boots and headed for the small table, his unsteady steps revealed that he had already had more than a glass of vodka. Quite a few more. And to Octavia's dismay, she spotted the corked tip of a bottle sticking out from his coat pocket.
"Alex! I've kept the water hot for you." Emma was out of her chair and half way to the stove. "Shall I fix you some tea?"
He let the packages in his arms fall to the table in a heap. "Don't want any tea," he growled. "Just want to be left alone for a bit, without a pack of plaguey women and children pulling at my coattails."
It was the first time he had ever spoken harshly to the children. Emma recoiled as if struck and her lower lip began to quiver.
Oblivious to her wounded feelings, Alex took up one of the blankets from the neatly folded pile on the floor and stalked toward the near bedchamber. "I'm devilishly tired. Perhaps I shall be allowed some peace and quiet." With that, the door was kicked closed.
Octavia was too shocked to do anything but stare, mouth agape, at the rough-hewn pine boards. It was Nicholas who slid from his seat and went to put an arm around the girl's quaking shoulders. "Don't be upset. Sometimes men act very badly," he counseled, his adolescent voice so grave that Octavia nearly smiled in spite of her. "Alex isn't... quite himself at the moment. In the morning, I am sure everything will be fine and he will make a very handsome apology to you."
A watery sniff was the only response.
"Come on, let's finish the end of the chapter. We cannot leave off with Emily in such a perilous position."
Emma allowed him to guide her back to the table, where he took the book onto his lap and began to read with a forced cheerfulness. After a moment, Octavia sat down as well. Rummaging her in valise, she extracted a needle and thread and began mending a small tear in her cloak.
The parcels of food lay untouched. No one seemed to be the least hungry.
* * *
"We may be in luck, sirs!" In his haste to convey the news, Squid burst into the sitting room of the rented quarters without so much as a knock.
The marquess dropped the papers he had been reading, while his uncle nearly sloshed half of his tea over his waistcoat. Thomas, who had been searching for an atlas among his belongings, stuck his head out from one of the bedchambers.
"A lad just appeared downstairs with word that man answering to Mister Alex's description has taken a room near the waterfront, in the same place as he stayed before." The valet's eyes were alight with excitement. "And there's a nipper with him. I shall go at once—"
Ivor rose. "We all shall go."
"Indeed we shall." The marquess held up a note from the embassy. "As luck would have it, there is a convoy leaving for London on the ebb tide this evening. If it is really Alex, perhaps..." He looked expectantly at his uncle and then his brother. "I, for one, would not be adverse to quitting this land of snow and ice as soon as possible. Surely Alex will be just as eager to be on his way back to England."
His uncle stroked his chin. "Hmm. I suppose it would do no harm to have the trunks taken around to the docks and the naval attaché ready to make room for us on one of the ships."
Thomas had already gathered up their overcoats and hats. "Let's be off, then."
Squid flagged down a passing hackney and managed to convey to the driver where they wished to be taken. The man's shaggy brows waggled in surprise as he eyed the elegant dress of the three gentlemen standing behind the valet, but he merely shrugged and gestured for them to climb inside.
A few coins pressed into the landlady's gnarled hand convinced her to divulge exactly which room the tall stranger had been given. Unable to contain his impatience, Squid took the narrow stairs two at a time and was already rapping on the door as the three gentlemen reached the landing.
* * *
"Ssssh. Not a sound," cautioned Octavia in a low whisper. Another flurry of knocks shook the door, with even more urgency than before. "Both of you—go into the bedchamber and close the door." Nicholas began to mouth a protest, but Emma tugged on his sleeve and led him away.
Tossing her mending aside, she groped for one of the pistols hidden among the folded blankets. There was no time to rouse Alex—if indeed, he was in any state to be roused. Given the fact that the bottle in his coat pocket had been quite full, she decided her aim would be better than his at this point.
The flint and priming looked to be in order, so she moved to the door. "Who is there," she demanded in a low, raspy growl she hoped would pass for a man's voice.
"A-Alex? Is that you?"
The question had been spoken in
English, but she hesitated, thinking it might only be a ruse.
"It's me, Squid!"
Squid? It was quite unlikely any Russian would come up with such a name. Tightening her grip on the weapon, Octavia opened the door a crack. A slightly build young man with a thatch of golden curls peeking out from under his fur hat stood only inches from her, his fist poised to deliver yet another knock.
For an instant it was difficult to tell who was more surprised by the encounter.
The young man's arm hovered in mid air, then a wide grin spread across his face as he turned to speak to the others behind him. "Leave it to Mister Alex to have a pretty wench willing to warm his sheets."
"Let us hope he has had as much success in locating our nephew as he has had in finding a doxy for his bed," remarked William, his eyes raking over Octavia's rumpled gown and the tumble of errant curls that had escaped her hairpins. "Ivor, have you some money to give this... female for her services?"
"But we still do not know if it is really Alex who is inside," pointed out Thomas. "Squid, can you ask he if—"
"If you are looking for Mr. Alex Sheffield, he is here. As is young Count Scherbatov." Recovering from her initial shock, Octavia responded rather loudly in English, her speech clearly mirroring the same cultured tones as those of the marquess and his brother.
Squid gave a strangled cough and the three gentlemen each turned a different shade of pink.
"Y—you are English?" exclaimed the marquess.
She nodded, only then remembering to lower the barrel of the pistol.
"Er, I beg your pardon, ma'am, for voicing such inappropriate speculation," began William. "We had no idea you were, er, not one of the local—"
"You can hardly be blamed for assuming the worst, sir." Her chin rose a fraction as she regarded the group before her. It was most peculiar, but for an instant she couldn't help but feel there was something strangely familiar about the two dark haired gentlemen...
Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] Page 19