Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] (25 page)

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."

The marquess's hands clasped behind his back and he turned to stare into the fire. After a lengthy silence, his mouth tugged into a rueful grimace. "To think I used to box your ears when we were pups, and now it is you who are teaching me a well-deserved lesson. I shall try not to be such a... pompous ass in the future."

His words caused his brother to gin. "Well, let us not expect miracles."

"Jackanape." But William was grinning as well. His steps picked up again, and he moved alongside the leather armchair. Gazing down at the papers in Thomas's lap, his mien sobered considerably as he took out his spectacles. "Any news that may be of use?"

His brother handed him a number of the pages. "You may have a look at these, but as of yet, the news is nothing but grim. The Russians were defeated in a bloody battle at Borodino, and Boney's troops marched into Moscow soon after." He heaved an exasperated sigh. "The city is flames, Kutusov's army is in full retreat, and to top it off, the snows have begun early, even for this land of ice and wind. Somewhere in the middle of such madness is Alex. That is, if he is still alive."

The marquess took the dispatches and sat down. "Perhaps Uncle Ivor will have some news when he returns from the embassy." At the look of doubt that flashed in Thomas's eyes, he cleared his throat. "No, I suppose there is no use pretending that Alex will get help from any quarter. God help him—he is going to need it."

* * *

"Keep your head down," growled Alex as his hand forced Octavia's shoulders to the ground.

"You needn't manhandle me. I am quite aware that we do not wish them to see us," she retorted, though her voice remained a whisper. She brushed away some flakes of snow from her cheek and raised her chin just a fraction, so she could once again regard the column of soldiers marching down the narrow road.

"French," he muttered, running his eyes over the sky blue coats and frogged braid of the uniforms. "Damnation. I hadn't imagined they—" He broke off his words as a rattle of musket fire exploded from the far side of the road. This time his hand shoved Octavia down with even more force as the troop of soldiers below them scattered for cover.