Page 12 of The Storybook Hero
“Oh, a word or two.”
“I fear you will need more than a word or two, Mr. Leigh. It is a very large and very wild country. Perhaps it would be best to hire someone who knows the customs to travel with you.”
“Hardly an option on my salary,” he answered dryly. “Don’t give it a thought. I shall manage.”
“Well, you must promise that you will be careful.” Octavia bit her lip as she watched a team of stevedores unloading a cargo of sugar beets from a small coastal schooner. The man might be rather encroaching and prone to drink to excess, but he did have a certain keen wit and roguish charm. And beneath the veneer of self-assurance was a hint of vulnerability that softened the sharp edges. She didn’t like to think of him ending up frozen in some icy snowbank. “Perhaps I could inquire as to whether you might travel with us for a way.” Even as she spoke, she couldn’t quite believe she was offering such a thing.
His eyes took on an even richer glow of humor. “I know you are extremely loath to part with my company, Miss Hadley. But much as I appreciate the offer, I assure you I will be fine on my own.” To forestall any further discussion on the subject, he turned and pointed at the magnificent building that stretched out seemingly forever along the banks of the Neva River. “That is the Winter Palace,” he informed her. “It was built by the famous architect Rastrelli for the Empress Elizabeth and is said to have 1,100 rooms.” Another gesture. “And that building there is the Admiralty, created by Hadrian Zakharov. The church looming up in the distance is St. Isaac’s Cathedral….” For the next several minutes, he continued to regal her with a knowledgeable commentary on the sights that surrounded them.
“I had no idea you were quite so conversant with Russian history,” she said after a moment. “Where did you learn so much about the country?”
He shrugged. “I picked up bits here and there.”
So, he was as good at avoiding questions as she was.
Another group of laborers approached, hard at work trying to maneuver an overloaded farm cart to the edge of the dock. The foreman began to yell in an agitated voice at several of the men, only to earn an equally heated retort. Octavia choked back a laugh, causing Alex to cock a brow in question.
“That fellow just gave a rather colorful description of the other man’s genealogy,” she explained.
“You speak Russian?”
She nodded. “A smattering. My father had quite a scholarly bent. There were just the two of us as my mother passed away when I was quite small, so I’m afraid I received a rather unorthodox education for a female.” After a fraction of a pause, she sighed and added, “It’s a shame I’m not a man so that I might be able to put to use what I have learned.”
“I don’t think it’s a shame at all,” he murmured. “That you are not a man, I mean.”
She gave a tug at her cloak. “Mr. Leigh, you may stop with your frivolous flirtations. At my stage in life, I’m quite immune to such flummery. Besides, you are much more interesting to be around when you choose to use your brain rather than other parts of your anatomy.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, so I have finally discovered the way to your good graces—unfortunately a trifle too late. However,” he added in an exaggerated whisper, “I’m devastated to find that my charms have no effect on your lovely person.”
“Really, sir, you are most ridiculous. I am well aware that I am hardly a paragon of female beauty. I am too tall. My hair is too mousy and my figure is….” She stopped in some embarrassment.
“Yes?” he encouraged.
To her dismay, Octavia felt her face turning a warm shade of red. “… And I am too old to be considered anything but an antidote.”
“Miss Hadley!” came a shrill cry from across the cobbled way.
“Ah, there is Mr. Heron now,” she said quickly, relieved to be able to change the subject.
Alex eyed the thin figure, head bobbing nervously in all directions as he surveyed the bustle around him. “Tell me you are jesting.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Poor fellow. Well I hope you fly along to Moscow with no trouble.” He thrust out his hand. “Shall we cry friends then, and take our leave from each other with no hard feelings over the past?”
Octavia smiled and accepted it. “Indeed, Mr. Leigh, let us part as friends. I wish you good luck in your new position.”
Instead of releasing her hand, he pulled her close and pressed a firm kiss on her surprised lips.
“Mr. Leigh!” she sputtered, when he allowed her to step back.
“For luck.” He grinned and winked, then disappeared among a group of sailors tramping back towards their ship.
Hell’s bells.Octavia shifted on the worn leather seat. She had quite enough on her mind without being troubled by thoughts of the maddening Mr. Leigh. Why was it that she couldn’t seem to banish the picture of those mocking blue eyes and sensuous smile? She was acting like a flighty schoolroom miss, mooning over some handsome face as if anything could come of it. He was nothing but a scoundrel and a rake. A charming one, but Octavia imagined that sort of man had to be, else he wouldn’t be successful at seduction—or whatever it was that scoundrels and rakes did.
She stared out of the window of the lumbering coach as it wound its way through a thick forest of towering spruce and fir. A flock of ravens landed in one of the trees up ahead and filled the air with a raucous cawing. She shivered slightly and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The sound, like the dark, unfamiliar landscape, was slightly forbidding and caused her to wonder just what lay ahead for her.
Well, whatever the Fates had in store, it did not include a penniless tutor given to scandalous behavior, no matter that his stolen kisses aroused in her a certain … curiosity. No doubt he tossed out his smiles and winks as easily as a boy skipped stones across the water, and with the same careless nonchalance, unmindful of what the ripples might disturb. It was all toolikely that he had left a string of broken-hearted maids and governesses in his wake.
