Page 9 of The Storybook Hero
“The hell I have,” he said softly.
She hesitated for a moment, then handed him the spirits with an exaggerated shrug. “Go ahead then, drown whatever it is that you are running from—and yourself along with it. Good night, sir.”
Whether it was the lurch of the ship or his own willful steps, his broad chest was suddenly between her and the door. “Good night, Miss,” he murmured, his head bending closer to hers. “And … thank you.”
Octavia swallowed hard. “Sir, I warn you, I’ll not stand for any more of your nonsense. If you try to kiss me again?—”
There was a low rumble of amusement in his throat. “Kiss you? That was not a kiss back there, my dear.Thisis a kiss.”
His lips came down on hers, firm but gentle, sending both shivers and sparks down her spine. They parted and his tongue brushed against her tightly shut mouth, urging her to open to him. Octavia made to protest, but no words came forth as its tip teased inside her. He tasted of fiery brandy and the salty tang of the sea. It was like nothing she had ever imagined—and certainly nothing like the fumbling advances of her cousin. For a moment, she found herself responding to the heat of his embrace. She melted into his chest and tilted her head back, allowing him to deepen the embrace, if only for a brief instant.
Suddenly, she came to her senses and pushed away from him with a small cry of outrage. “How dare you!”
“I warned you that you might enjoy it,” he murmured with a roguish grin.
Octavia pushed past him and flung the door open, heedless of who might see her.
“Conceited rake,” she muttered under her breath as she hurried towards her own cabin. A damnable drunken lout—and a most ill-mannered one at that!
How in heavens had she been gulled into thinking he had any need of her sympathy, she thought angrily, though in truth she was not sure with whom she was more upset—her accoster or herself.
The sun was bright,even though it rose no more than thirty degrees above the horizon at the noon hour. They had tacked into the Gulf of Finland earlier that morning and were in the final leg of their journey. The Baltic waters were as blue as the sky, and just as calm. A brisk wind had the ship running under full sail, its hull leaving a foaming wake as it raced along at eight knots. Octavia watched the gulls circling overhead, feeling just a slight pang of envy at their total freedom. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be able to chart one’s course in life, to have choices….
A movement near the galley caught her eye and brought her thoughts back down to earth.
Well, at least one choice she could make was to avoid the odious Mr. Leigh!
She had quickly learned his name was Alexander Leigh. But since that initial meeting during the storm, she had taken great pains to stay out of his presence—no easy task given the cramped quarters of the ship. There was no way to get around his company at mealtimes, but she had studiously refrained from any more that the barest conversation that civility allowed. At least he had shown a modicum of tact by not forcing his attentions upon her, or making any sort of reference tothe fact that they were acquainted with each other. On being formally introduced, he had kept his expression a mask of bland politeness. But as he bowed over her hand, the rogue had actually winked at her!
And he kept following her around, popping up at the most inopportune moments, like these, when she was alone and looking forward to some quiet time for reflection. On any number of occasion she had been forced to be rather rude, but he didn’t seem to take the hint.
Drat the man.
She looked aft, with the thought of slipping up towards the quarterdeck, only to see her retreat cut off by the formidable bulk of Mrs. Phillips. Hell’s bells, was nothing to go right this afternoon?
“Ah, Miss Hadley, a lovely afternoon, isn’t it?” exclaimed her cabinmate.
Ithadbeen, she thought.
“Indeed it is.” After sauntering over, the rogue leaned nonchalantly against rail and fixed both ladies with a brilliant smile. He seemed to repress a chuckle at the scowl his approach brought to Octavia’s face. “We look to have clear weather for the rest of our journey to St. Petersburg.”
“I’m sure that is a great relief to some,” replied Octavia a bit acidly.
“Yes, I imagine there are those who take great exception to being tossed and tumbled around.”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes, and the man had the nerve to wink again.
“Oh, I couldn’t agree with you more, Mr. Leigh,” said Mrs. Phillips.
“Given that shipboard life is informal, do call me Alex,” he said
Mrs. Phillips tittered, clearly pleased by his charm, and then continued “Storms are most uncomfortable things.” She paused to readjust her bonnet. “Leigh … Leigh. Tell me, you’re not by any chance related to the Marquess of Wright?”
He raised one dark eyebrow. “Madam, do you imagine I would be on a ship bound for the wilds of Russia if I was?”
She gave a laugh. “How silly of me. Whyareyou on your way to Russia, if I might be so bold as to inquire?”
Bold? Hah! Brazen was more like it, thought Octavia to herself. The lady had done nothing but try to pump information out of anyone she could corner. However, for once it might be interesting to hear the results. She, too, had wondered just what brought Alex on board.
