The Counterfeit Count (16 page)

He shook his head. “Do you use such tales to seduce another generation into believing war is glorious when it is nothing but degrading and filthy and hideous?”

“We use them to teach that Russia has had many brave sons who were willing to defend her borders.”

“And brave daughters?”

She glanced around. “Be careful what you say.”

“I merely ask a question about your history. Are all your heroes men?”

“Most of them.”

“Now there shall be a heroine among them.” He reached beneath his coat and said, “Here. I want you to have this.”

She took the leather sheath he held out to her. Her mouth became as round as her eyes when she drew the hunting blade out and tilted it so the honed edge caught the light. When she saw the design engraved into the fancily carved handle, she gasped, “Isn't this your family crest?”

“Yes.”

She slipped the knife back into its sheath. “Is it yours?”

“It belonged to my brother.” He sighed and looked past her. “I think he would have liked a brave war hero using it.”

“Your brother? I didn't know you have a brother.”

“I
had
a brother. Like your brother, Napoleon's imperial dreams stole him from his family.”

“He died in battle?”

“He was wounded in battle. He died in my arms.”

She pressed her hand to her lips as she stared at him, not sure what to say. So many men she had seen die. A few she had been able to offer comfort by telling them she would share tales of their valiant sacrifice with their families. But to imagine watching Demi or any of her siblings die as she prayed for them to live … Tears filled her eyes.

“I did not know,” she whispered.

“How could you?” He took in a deep breath and released it slowly as if it could cleanse his soul of pain. “It is not a memory I have shared with anyone else.”

“Now I understand why you hate the war.”

“No, you don't!” He gripped her chin in his hand, twisting her to face him. “You have no idea, Natalya! You think I hate the war simply because it stole my brother from me.”

“But don't you?”

“I hate it more for all those people who lauded Kenneth as a hero and then will forget him until they need to parade his name out to find volunteers for the next war.” He shook his head. “Of all I do not understand about you, Natalya, I understand least how you can love war.”

“I do not love it.”

He laughed tersely. “You speak of it endlessly, and you proudly wear that uniform every day.”

“I wear this as a reminder of what has been lost and what must be recovered.” She blinked back tears. “And I would gladly trade it all to bring my family back to life. It is easy to be a hero when you have nothing to lose but grief.”

She rose as far as her knees, then halted as he grasped her arms. Slowly, his hand slid along her right shoulder. She could not mute the heated shiver as his cool fingers glided up her neck. As he cupped her nape, teasing her curls with a gentle caress, her hands settled on his arms. Her anguish melted in the sweet fires burning in his eyes.

“Creighton—”

“Don't speak,” he murmured. “I know all the perils of touching you. I know you could lose everything you have fought to hold on to, but I still profess to being curious.”

“Curious? About what?”

His lips brushed her ear when he murmured, “How does a mouth that is more familiar with vodka than madeira taste against my mouth?”

“I do not drink vodka, but Petr does.” She put her hands up against his chest and pushed him away. Jumping to her feet, she said, “Mayhap he would be willing to help you satisfy your curiosity.”

He laughed as he set himself on his feet. Closing the distance between them again, he herded her back against the tree. “Yet it is not his lips I am curious about.” Twisting his finger in some of the gold braid dripping from her shoulder, he said, “'Tis your lips.”

“I am afraid my lips would not help you satisfy your curiosity.”

“My curiosity is not the only thing I wish to satisfy.”

She tried to slide away from him, but the rough bark caught at the braid on the back of her coat. From the moment he had come into her bedchamber and learned the truth, she would have had to be dull-witted not to see the desire in his eyes. She knew the ways of men, for she had lived with them for the past two years. She had heard their tales and seen the women who waited upon their favor. It would seem Creighton Marshall, whether he claimed the title captain or lord, was much the same. A woman was a challenge to be conquered.
She
would not be forced into surrender.

“That you shall not satisfy with me either,” she said, but her voice grew soft as his fingers moved aimlessly across her cheek.

“That? Of what do you speak?”

“You know as well as I.”

“There would be no need to ask if I did.”

“I shall not be seduced by you, Creighton Marshall.”

He smiled. “Such words, my dear count, when I speak only of a friendly kiss.”

“Really?”

“No.” He put his hands on the tree. “You are so wondrously naïve in so many ways. I would gladly teach you of maneuvers you never learned on the battlefield.”

“I need not learn them.”

“So you are as expert in the ways of love as in the ways of war?” When she faltered, he demanded, “What do you know of passions shared by a man and a woman?”

“Much.”

He leaned toward her, and she wished she had had the good sense to insist Petr ride with them. “Is that so? What vast experiences do you have, Natalya?”

“One cannot spend more than a few minutes around a campfire before one is regaled with all sorts of stories, most of them false, about men's conquests of women.” She brushed the hem of her coat in an effort to hide her trembling fingers. This topic was too uncomfortable, and she had been successful in avoiding such prattle as the Russian army chased Napoleon across Europe.

“What of a woman's conquest of a man?” he asked softly. “Did they speak of lustrous blue eyes which promise more than a woman could guess?”

She ducked beneath his arms and scooped up her gun. Holding it across her chest, she backed away as she said, “I think we have done enough hunting today.”

Creighton laughed lowly as he watched her rush down the hillside as if half the French army were at her heels. Clasping his hands behind his back, he said, “My dear count, the hunt has only begun.”

Fourteen

Natalya wandered about the grand ballroom of Carruthers' house. She did not pause anywhere, for she did not wish to be caught up in another conversation with a young miss who was intent on making a match with a foreign officer.

She smiled when she saw Creighton surrounded by Tatiana and several of the Englishwomen who had decided they must have the Russian woman as their bosom bow. Creighton wore the expression of a man who had been told he would have the dawn watch on a freezing night.

“My dear count,” purred a too familiar voice as a slender arm slipped through Natalya's.

Her smile threatened to abandon her as she turned to face Maeve Wilton. What was
she
doing here? No doubt Colonel Carruthers thought he was doing Count Dmitrieff a great favor by inviting Miss Wilton to this gathering.

“Good evening,” Natalya said with a stiff bow.

“I heard you were the best hunter of all who went out today.” She fluttered her gold fan, which matched her elegant gown. “Not that I am surprised by such tidings. I am sure you could capture anything you wished—whether it be the fox or a duck or …” Her voice softened to a husky whisper. “Or a woman's heart.”

“Well, well, who is this, Dmitrieff?” rumbled a deep voice.

Natalya was certain she would be forever grateful to General Miloradovich for giving her an excuse not to have to answer Miss Wilton. Smiling, she said, “General Miloradovich, allow me to present Miss Maeve Wilton.”

The general smirked at Maeve and said, “I have seen you often in the company of my aide-de-camp. My greatest regret when I leave England will be that the count caught your eye first.”

“How kind of you, General!” cooed Maeve.

“I only speak the truth.”

“And so beautifully. Your English is excellent, sir.”

Natalya locked her hands behind her back as Miss Wilton continued spewing compliments on the general. She watched as General Miloradovich ogled Miss Wilton openly. This might be the solution to her problem. The general was not accustomed to being alone, and he might be willing to invite Miss Wilton to Vienna with them. What a peculiar turn of events that would be!

Her hopes were dashed when Miss Wilton possessively slipped her arm through Natalya's again. “Pardon me for being bold, Count Dmitrieff,” she said with the same coo she had used to flatter the general. “I hear the music beginning. Do stand up with me.”

She shook her head. “I do not waltz, Miss Wilton.”

“A war injury?”

Lies were bitter on her tongue. She decided to speak the truth. “As lief you should say, the war kept me more involved with the need to have a fencing master than a dancing master.”

“I would gladly teach you.”

“I doubt if your lovely slippers could endure the number of times my boots would stamp them.”

Miss Wilton said, “We are in luck. It is not a waltz but a quadrille.”

“Go, go, Dmitrieff,” ordered the general. “Go and keep a watchful eye on my niece.” He gestured toward where Miss Suvorov was facing Creighton as the line of the dance formed. “Go and then come back with Miss Wilton. I would get to know her better.”

“Why, General, how charming you are,” murmured Miss Wilton. “I await that moment with delight.”

Natalya was sure every eye in the room was centered on her as she walked with Miss Wilton onto the dance floor. Barclay's words echoed in her ears. Everyone was eager to see if Count Dmitrieff stole the heart of the woman who had broken his host's heart.

Or had Miss Wilton hurt him so badly? Natalya was not so sure when Creighton raised a single brow as Natalya came to stand beside him. “I thought you did not dance,” he said.

Before she could answer, Miss Wilton intruded to say, “You should listen to poker-talk more carefully, Creighton. Count Dmitrieff does not waltz.”

“I stand corrected.” He bowed his head to her, then to his own partner. So lowly only Natalya could hear him, he said, “This should be most interesting.”

Natalya doubted that, and she was more sure as she watched Miss Suvorov, who gaily urged Creighton to call her Tatiana, flirt with him. Even more astounding was Miss Wilton's smile, which became more strained as the dance progressed through its intricate pattern. Shock riveted Natalya, nearly tripping her up, as she realized Maeve Wilton was furious at Tatiana. That made no sense unless … Could it be possible Miss Wilton regretted her hasty decision in putting an end to her betrothal to Creighton?

She could not ask, although the question burned on her tongue. When Creighton caught her eyes during the dance, his lazy wink added to her confusion. Was he oblivious to the tension between the two women or simply enjoying the silent battle for his attention?

Natalya was no closer to an answer when the dance came to an end. Hiding her amazement that Creighton followed her and Miss Wilton back to the general, she understood when he bowed over the general's niece's hand and said, “Thank you for the dance, Tatiana. If you will excuse me, my friends, I promised Count Dmitrieff I would show him my colonel's collection of art.”

“I would love to see it,” Tatiana answered, her soft purr remarkably like Miss Wilton's.

“I would be delighted to guide you about the house later,” he answered so smoothly Natalya could not keep from regarding him with astonishment. This rakish side of him was one she had never seen before … and it was irritating. She hoped he was not so hypocritical with her.

“Must you go, Count Dmitrieff?” asked Miss Wilton, but her eyes were riveted on Creighton.

“We shall not be long,” Creighton said, again seeming unaware of the undercurrent of strain surrounding him.

Miss Wilton raised her chin and snapped, “I was asking the count.”

“We shan't be long,” Natalya answered. Tilting her head, she flashed Creighton a smile before adding, “And, Miss Suvorov, mayhap when we return, you can give Creighton the opportunity he needs to satisfy something about vodka, which piqued his curiosity today during the hunt.”

“What is that?” asked Tatiana, her eyes aglow as she put her hand on Creighton's arm. “Are you curious about its taste?”

“Its aftertaste,” Natalya said, trying not to laugh.

In a clipped tone, Creighton asked, “Shall we go, Demi?” He gestured toward the door.

When she heard his stifled laugh as they walked away, Natalya was again amazed. “Please share what is so amusing.”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Your expression reminded me of my tutor's when I did something he did not approve of.” He led the way out into the corridor beyond the ballroom. “If you expect to keep Miss Wilton from turning her attentions to your general, you need to lather her with compliments.”

“And half-truths.”

“We prefer to call them court-promises, words that mean nothing once the wooing is over.” He smiled at her. “Mayhap you need not worry. Maeve has been very attentive to you. I should warn you she can be persistent when she wants something.”

“Or wishes to rid herself of something?” The question popped out before she could silence it.

He opened a door at the end of the hallway. “How insightful of you! I should have guessed your keen ears would hear all the scandal about me and Miss Wilton.”

“One needs only to spend a few moments with Barclay.”

“He does hold on to a secret as well as a sieve holds water.”