Page 35 of The Storybook Hero
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, I assume that you wish to know what in the deuce I am doing racketing across the country with young Count Scherbatov in tow?”
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.”
His expression then turned serious. “To continue my explanation, it appears Nicholas is 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?”
Alex drew in a deep breath. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “However, it would not be surprising. He is desperate for both the money and the title, and I don’t doubt that he will use every resource at his command to track us down.”
“Where are you taking the boy?”
“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 risk 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.
Alex slanted a faintly amused look at her. “Debating whether you have jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire?”
How was it that he seemed able to read her thoughts? A flush stole over her face as she fumbled to turn the collar of her coat up to cover her cheeks. “I imagine I am better off being roasted with you than being burned by that lot back there.”
He laughed. “I shall take that as a compliment, for it will no doubt be the closest to one that I shall ever wrest from your lips.”
There was a slow intake of breath. “Mr. Leigh, I have no allusions as to your faults—and I am sure they are many?—”
“Too numerous to recite,” he murmured in interruption.
