Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] Read online

  "That is hardly any of your concern," She knew it was a churlish reply, but her patience had been sorely stretched.

  He accepted the set down with his usual enigmatic smile and a slight incline of his head.

  "And you, Mister Sheffield, where do you go, and for whom are you working?"

  The woman truly left no stone unturned. No wonder she had mined such a wealth of gossip and trivia to inflict upon captive ears.

  "I am off to some estate with an unpronounceable name, somewhere to the east of Dzerzhinsk."

  Octavia had not a clue as to where that was.

  "As for my employers, I am to be tutor to the only son of a Russian nobleman and his English wife."

  Mrs. Phillips clucked in sympathy. "Oh dear, you must have been rather desperate to take on such a position. It sounds like an awfully daunting prospect."

  He merely smiled. "Challenges are what make life interesting. Don't you agree, Miss Hadley?"

  Octavia had had quite enough of his company. "If you two will excuse me, I should like to finish the chapter of the book I am reading before supper."

  "And I think I shall see if I might find a cup of tea," announced Mrs. Phillips, clearly feeling she had learned as much as she was going to learn.

  "Good day, Mrs. Phillips." He made a polite bow to the older lady. "And good day, Miss Hadley. A pleasure conversing with you." There was a twinkle in those cursed blue eyes. "Perhaps, given our mutual interests, we will run into each other during the course of our stay in Russia."

  Not bloody likely. Not if she had any say in the matter.

  * * *

  Alex watched the sway of Octavia's shapely hips as she retreated towards the main hatchway. He was quite aware that certain other parts of her anatomy were just as attractive. Despite being thoroughly cupshot, he had not failed to notice the feel of her firm, rounded breasts crushed against his chest, or the lush softness of that expressive mouth—that is, when it wasn't too occupied hurling some scathing setdown at him.

  He could hardly blame her. To put it mildly, he had not exactly made the best of first impressions. His lips curled in a rueful grimace as he recalled his appalling behavior. He truly wasn't in the habit of groping unwilling females, especially innocent ones, even in his most intoxicated state. It was the storm. He hadn't been on a boat in ten years, not since that day with Jack. The crash of the first wave had brought a flood of terrible memories. No amount of brandy had been able to drown them out. He didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't been able to touch someone real, someone warm.

  She had, however unwitting, helped keep his personal demons at bay, and for that he was grateful.

  Actually, he was more than grateful. He was curious.

  If truth be told, he intrigued him. Sweet, biddable chits bored him to tears. He had the distinct feeling that those two adjectives were not ones that would come to mind when speaking of Miss Octavia Hadley. It was clear from his own dealing with her, as well as snatches of other conversations that he had managed to overhear, that she possessed a sharp intellect. Equally clear was the fact that she wasn't afraid to use it. Several pompous merchants had stalked away from an argument with her muttering darkly about damned bluestockings and unnatural females. What they had meant was, she was smarter than they were.

  And she had courage and spirit to go along with her brains. Instead of falling into a fit of hysterics at finding herself in the clutches of a very large, very strong and very drunk stranger, she had not hesitated to defend herself. Quite credibly, he might add.

  Brains. Courage. Spirit. Definitely not a good combination for a female who wanted to stay out of trouble. No wonder she had landed herself in the suds. He would dearly love to have heard just what incident had caused her exile to a merchant ship bound for St. Petersburg. He imagined she did not resort to the knee trick without extreme provocation.

  However, not only had he not had a chance to pursue that topic, he had scarcely been able to exchange a civil greeting with her this entire week. She had avoided him like the plague. It was a damn shame. He would probably never see her again once the ship dropped anchor, and somehow, the thought affected his spirits more than he cared to admit.

  Pushing away from the varnished wood railing, he began to pace the deck. Ah, well, the pursuit of a female, no matter how interesting, was not why he was here. It was time to put her out of his mind.

  But he wished her luck. He had a feeling she was going to need it.

  Chapter 3

  "Miss Hadley?"

  Octavia looked around the crowded wharf for whoever had called her name. The air was redolent with the scent of pitch from the piles of spruce logs destined for spars for the British navy. Sacks of grain were stacked hard up against bales of tanned hides and thick pelts of fox and sable. Around her was a crush of people and cultures, the long beards and embroidered robes of the Russians boyars mixing in with the felt boots and smocks of the country serfs and the European dress of the foreigners.

  "Miss Hadley! Over here." A young man with a long, thin face raised a gangly arm and waved once again with a bird-like twitter. "I am Mr. Heron. I've been sent by the minister to collect you and your things. Several other members of our Mission, due to arrive later this morning on the ship from Stockholm, will be travelling to Moscow with us."

  Octavia managed to keep a straight face. The poor man. He probably suffered no end of teasing without her also cracking a smile at the joke the Fates had played upon him. She returned his wave as he squeezed through a group of burly sailors and stepped with exaggerated care over a crate of live chickens.

  "Have your belongings been brought off yet?" he inquired, brushing his hand across his high forehead. Despite the chill air, there was a sheen of perspiration on his pale skin and a nervous twitch to his left cheek.

  Octavia pointed to the lone, battered trunk at her feet that held all her worldly possessions.

  "Excellent." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll send a porter for it right away. Would you mind terribly if I left you alone for just a short time while I fetch the bag of dispatches from London?" He pointed to the sleek Royal Navy corvette that had just dropped anchor in the harbor. Already a gig was being swung out from its davits, with a crew ready to row ashore.

  "Of course. I shall be fine."

  He bobbed his head in thanks and rushed off, the movement of his long legs conjuring up the unfortunate image of large bird picking his way through a boggy marsh.

  The cacophony of languages was astounding. She could pick out some Russian, along with a smattering of German and English. The rest she could only begin to guess at. Was the improbably tall blond gentleman with shoulders as broad as an ox babbling in Swedish? Perhaps the two merchants haggling over a several bolts of silk were screaming at each other in Polish. Or—

  Someone jostled her elbow. "Not abandoned already, I trust?"

  Octavia turned around at the sound of the familiar voice and glared at the speaker. "Must you always be intruding on my peace?"

  Alex's brow came up in amusement. "Peace? Forgive me, Slowtop that I am, I hadn't realized how conducive this atmosphere is to peaceful contemplation."

  She gave a reluctant smile. "I was caught up in just watching everything. I didn't mean to snap at you, Mr. Sheffield. And no, I have not been abandoned. The gentleman from the Mission had to collect the diplomatic bag from London and will return shortly."

  "Fascinating, is it not?"

  "Oh yes!" She didn't trouble to hide her enthusiasm. "I have always wanted to travel."

  He eyed her thoughtfully. "Most lone females would be quaking in terror at being in a foreign country, with no family, no friends. Or falling into a swoon."

  "I can't afford to quake. I must work for my living," she replied. "Swooning is out, too. I forgot to pack my vinaigrette."

  His blue eyes danced with laughter.

  "What about you? Is someone being sent to escort you to your new home?"

  "No. They didn't know quite when
to expect me. I shall just have to get there on my own."

  Her brow furrowed. "Do you speak Russian?"

  "Oh, a word or two."

  "I fear you will need more than a word or two, Mr. Sheffield. 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 may 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 might inquire 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. "That is the Winter Palace," he informed her. "Built by Rastrelli for the Empress Elizabeth. It is said to have 1,100 rooms. And that building there is the Admiralty, created by Hadrian Zakharov. The church looming up in the distance is St. Issac'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 since 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 am 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. Sheffield, you may stop with your silly flirtations. At my stage in life, I am quite immune to such games. 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 joking."

  "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 feeling for the past?"

  Octavia smiled and accepted it. "Indeed, Mr. Sheffield, let us part as friends. I wish you good luck in your new position."

  Instead of releasing her hand, he pulled her hard to his chest and pressed a firm kiss on her surprised lips.

  "Mr. Sheffield!" 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.

  * * *

  Bloody hell. She had quite enough on her mind without being troubled by thoughts of the maddening Mr. Sheffield. Why was it she couldn't seem to banish the picture of those mocking blue eyes and sensuous smile? Really, she was acting like a 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 she imagined that sort of man had to be, else he wouldn't be successful at seduction—or whatever it was 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 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. Why, she bet 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. No doubt he had left a string of broken-hearted maids and governesses in his wake.

  She, on the other hand, was much too sensible to give such a man a second thought.

  "Miss Hadley?" Mr. Heron coughed hesitantly. "Is something not to your liking? You are not too chilly, or in need of a stop to stretch your legs?"

  Octavia started. "Why no, I am quite comfortable, thank you. Why do you ask?"

  He swallowed hard. "Well, you seemed to be, er, frowning."

  "Was I?" She made a concerted effort to lighten her expression. "Forgive me. I fear I was letting my thoughts stray back to the voyage from London."

  "A rough passage?" inquired one of the arrivals from Stockholm, a portly gentleman attached to the office of the Secretary.

  "Unpredictable," she murmured.

  "I quite abhor sea trips," piped up the gentleman's wife. "On is so apt to take ill. Once you have traveled as much as I have, you will realize that the best thing in general is to quickly put any unpleasant occurrences behind you and look only to the future."

  Octavia forced a smile. "Very sage advice, ma'am. I shall do my best to heed it."

  The conversation turned to talk of Tsar Alexander's growing rift with Napoleon, and what the odds were that the French army would march on Russia. Putting aside all thoughts of a certain individual, Octavia joined in the lively discussion, resolved not to allow any such lapse of girlish nonsense happen again.

  * * *

  Alex turned and watched the flappable Mr. Heron lead Octavia away from the docks towards the cluster of carriages waiting along the Nevsky Prospect. The faint taste of her was still on his lips, a honeyed tang that ebbed to bittersweet as it struck him that it was most unlikely he would ever tease her with such outrageous attentions again.

  His mouth quirked in a slight smile, recalling her shocked expression. It was hard to resist stirring up the sparks in those flashing eyes, perhaps because she laid into him with such spirit, unintimadated in the least by standing up for herself. No biddable young milk and water miss was she! He could well imagine how her strong opinions and quick tongue had landed her in trouble. Most men could not abide being challenged—especially by a female.
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  He, on the other hand, found it intriguing. Their snatches of conversation had hinted at a mind of sharp intelligence and unconventional ideas. There had also been a hint of something else. Beneath the icy mien of disapproval had flared, if only for an instant, a passion that surprised him. She had responded that night in his cabin to his thorough kiss. He hadn't been so far in his cups not to feel the heat course through her as she responded to his embrace. She might speak as if all men could go to the Devil, but her body betrayed her.

  A most interesting body it was, too. The dowdy gowns, cut high enough to choke a cleric, could not disguise the long legs and willowy curves, while the prim hairstyle did not fully tame a mass of glorious curls the color of wild heather honey. Did she really believe that nonsense she spouted about having little to attract the opposite sex? If so, it was the rare time where he might judge her opinion to be utter fustian. It was a shame there was no further chance to explore the many facets of Miss Hadley—somehow, he felt he would not be disappointed in any respect.

  A farmer knocked into Alex's leg as he tried to maneuver a barrow loaded with sack of grain over the rough cobblestones. With a few choice words in Russian, he motioned for the young Englishman to step aside. Alex complied, but his reply brought a spasm of surprise to the man's bearded face. His hand came up to tug at his forelock.

  "I'm sorry, sir, " he mumbled. "I didn't expect you to speak our language."

  "Just enough to know when I have been insulted," replied Alex with a faint smile.

  A quirk of humor pulled at the farmer's lips before his face regained its stoic mien. "You are far from home?" He paused to cross himself in the Orthodox fashion. "No amount of rubles could tempt me to leave my motherland."

  "Every man has his price." Alex then gave a small shrug. "I wonder, can you tell a stranger where one might I find...."

  In a matter of minutes, he had managed to learn where he might purchase the sort of clothing he needed, as well as where a gentleman of limited means might procure reasonable lodging. Things were going along as well as he could have hoped for, yet he couldn't help but feel a bit emptier than usual as he turned to embark in earnest on the task of finding his young relative.