Page 45 of The Storybook Hero
Alex chuckled. “Ye heavens, what a day you have had of it. A fine choice—faced with either the exuberance of the innocent or the cynicism of the jaded.”
She took a sip of her soup. “Is that how you see yourself?”
There was a slight pause. “That is how others see me.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He looked away, to where the innkeeper had set down the bottle of vodka he had ordered along with the meal. Instinctively, his hand reached out and filled the glass sitting next to it. As he brought it to his lips, he caught sight of her expression. Had it been one of simple disapproval, he would have drained the contents and poured another. But it was more a mixture of concern, tinged with ... disappointment?
Suddenly the clear liquid felt like hot coals in his mouth. After a small swallow, he placed the glass aside.
“Emma?” said Octavia softly
The girl’s head had sunk perilously close to her half-finished bowl of soup. At the sound of her name, she started in her chair, nearly sending the book and the rest of her supper crashing to the floor.
Alex pushed one of the stubby tallow candles across the table to Nicholas. “Perhaps you might take Miss Emma’s bag and see her to her room while I assist Miss Hadley with the rest of our things.”
No grimace or yelp of protest followed the request. Instead, the lad jumped to attention and tucked the small valise under one arm, then reached out to take the open book from Emma’s lap. He closed it carefully and offered it back to her.
Emma hesitated. “You may keep it for tonight, if you like. But only if you promise not to peek ahead!”
Nicholas looked suitably awed with the treasure being entrusted to him. “I promise.”
The two young people made their way through the shadows to a set of narrow stairs as Octavia and Alex gathered the rest of their meager belongings. “Isn’t is amazing how quickly sworn enemies can become allies?” she remarked, watching the lad stop to free the hem of Emma’s dress from where it had caught on a rusty nail.
“Yes, isn’t it,” murmured Alex. He took up the remaining candle. For an instant, his gaze lingered on the nearly full bottle of spirits, but then turned and forced his steps in the opposite direction. Octavia followed several paces behind.
The hallwayat the top of the stairs was nearly pitch black, save for a faint sliver of moonlight coming through a tinywindow. He paused by the door to her room and moved the light to shine on the flimsy iron latch.
“Good night, Mr. Leigh,” murmured Octavia. “At this rate it appears we shall soon be in St. Petersburg without further incident.”
The shadows cast by the taper danced and flickered, hiding a good part of his face. “Yes, it seems the danger was exaggerated.”
Octavia’s pulse quickened. He was very wrong, she thought. The journey was proving more dangerous than she had ever imagined. Attacks on her person, the threat of poverty, the callous indifference of the outside world—these were all assaults she could stand up to without flinching. But all of a sudden, the carefully constructed wall around her feelings, one which she had thought quite impenetrable, was in dire peril of crumbling in the face of a charming rogue. Those quixotic blue eyes, hardened one moment, vulnerable the next, were threatening to leave her utterly defenseless.
What a fool!Likely he would hardly notice her existence if there was another lady present—one far more attractive and schooled in the wiles of stirring a man’s interest than she was.
Octavia raised her eyes enough to catch a glimpse of the dark and light playing over his lean features. His character, too, was a study in contrasts. Wit and intelligence warred with the forces of reckless abandon. A keen sense of honor sought to keep jaded cynicism at bay.
But enough! It was ridiculous that she, a mature female, was mooning on as if she was an impressionable miss still in the schoolroom. Or even worse, a flighty heroine in a Radcliffe novel!
His hand came over hers as she fumbled with the door. “Take the candle with you.” He opened her palm to receive the holder, bending slightly so that his face was mere inches from hers. “Good night, Miss Hadley. It has been a most interestingafternoon. I look forward to exploring ... other subjects with you.”
Octavia swallowed hard. “Mr. Leigh, must I remind you about?—”
“Playing games?” Alex drew back slightly, throwing his face in darkness. “No, you do not.”
There was another slight movement, and her heart skipped a beat as she thought he might attempt to kiss her. When he simply straightened and moved away to the room he was sharing with Nicolas, she wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed.
Eleven
Another wave slapped against the side of the hull, sending an icy spray of salt water over the gentleman hanging over the leeward rail.
“The captain expects the weather to moderate by dawn,” announced Thomas Leigh as he picked his way past the rain-soaked crew at work on the ship’s deck. He stopped to regain his footing, then grimaced as another pelter of hail rattled against the canvas sails.
The man at the rail responded by casting up his breakfast into the churning waters.
“Come below, William,” urged Thomas. “Surely you will feel better if you lie down.”
