The Counterfeit Count (9 page)

Natalya was not surprised when, instead of answering, he asked, “Would you enjoy a ride about the city?”

As she nodded, she tried to puzzle out her host. He acted as if he had not been a participant in the struggle to free Europe from Napoleon. Yet all the general had told her of Captain Creighton Marshall led her to believe he was a man of rare bravery.

“Petr and I—”

“The invitation was for you, Natalya.”

She recognized the challenge in his eyes. Unlike his friend, he did not need to parade his prowess about the room with a shouted demand for a duel. As lief, he possessed a quiet dignity that warned her there was more to him than his fascinating good looks and quick wit. He was dangerous to anyone—man or woman—who did not acknowledge that.

“Then I would be glad to accept your invitation. One moment.” She faced Petr and switched to Russian. “Tonight I will be attending a gathering with Lord Ashcroft and Mr. Lawson. I must learn how the challenge from Mr. Lawson will unfold.”

“You could simply shoot him,” he said rather wistfully.

Natalya smiled. “There would be nothing simple about doing something that would complicate this visit to England in ways I don't want to imagine.”

“True.” He sighed with regret. “I will make certain your other uniform is ready, Kapitán.” A frown creased his face and lowered his brows toward his bushy beard. “Your pistol will be ready as well.”

“I doubt that will be necessary. There will be ladies at this party.” She smiled. “If you need anything, I am sure you can find a way to explain to Mrs. Winchell. Otherwise, it shall have to wait until I return.”

“From where?”

Natalya faltered as she had been about to turn back to Lord Ashcroft. Petr had never questioned where she might be going. Even in the midst of battle or while delivering a message to headquarters, he had trusted her to take care of herself.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

“I do not trust the
anglíski
lord.”

“Why?” She had learned to heed Petr's intuition.

“He has accepted what he knows too easily.”

“No, he hasn't.”

Petr surged from his corner to scowl at Lord Ashcroft, but the viscount did not step back. Lord Ashcroft continued to regard them with the concentration of a man who was trying to puzzle out their words. Not to discover what they said, she guessed, but as lief to learn more about the language she spoke to Petr.

“What has he done to you, Kapitán?”

“Nothing.” She put her hand on Petr's burly arm. “You are worrying too much.”

He did not meet her eyes as he said, “I hope you are right, but the truth is, you are not a man.”

She could not help laughing. “That we all know.”

“But I am.” He pointed at his chest, then glared at Lord Ashcroft. “I know how a man thinks, Kapitán, and this
anglíski
milord has many thoughts about you.”

“Of course, he is curious, but—”

“Natalya,” intruded Lord Ashcroft, “if you do not want to go for a ride, all you need is to say so. Then you and Sergeant Zass can continue your conversation in private.”

“Our conversation is over,” she said in English, adding in Russian, “Do not worry, Petr.”

He grumbled something beneath his breath that even she could not understand and left.

“Friendly chap.” Lord Ashcroft motioned to the open door. “Shall we, Captain Dmitrieff?” His eyes twinkled with merriment. “See? I am learning to be cautious.”

“I suspect you learned that long ago if you survived the war.”

Natalya was becoming accustomed to his sudden silences when she mentioned the war, but she could not swallow her sigh as she went with him down the stairs. Setting her black hat with its gold trim on her head, she waited for Lord Ashcroft to lead the way out the door.

“I thought,” he said, breaking the silence as they emerged into the faint sunshine, “we might take a leisurely ride around Hyde Park.”

“Leisurely?”

“There are rules within the park all of us must follow. Many ride there, so it is expected we will ride at a decorous pace.”

She smiled and set aside her retort when she saw the fine horse she had ridden earlier waiting by the walkway. As she walked to the horse, she heard Lord Ashcroft ask, “Do you want help?”

She faced him, amazement widening her eyes. “Help? With what?”

“I thought you might wish to be thrown up in the saddle.”

“Why would you think that?”

Irritation struck Creighton as sharply as a blow. “Forgive me for being gracious.”

Easily, she swung onto her horse. “If you would recall I have requested that you treat me exactly as you would any other gentleman, there would be nothing to forgive.”

“Easier said than done.” He mounted and leaned toward her. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “No other gentleman of my acquaintance has such intriguing curves hidden beneath his waistcoat.”

Her curse needed no translation as she sent her horse along the street at a speed still quite suitable for the city. That proved Barclay had put all his blame for the near accident on Natalya. Even when she was exasperated, she recalled the need to watch out for others along this busy road.

Creighton laughed as he set his horse to follow. Barclay would be more furious when he discovered he had shown Creighton that hosting this wild-hearted woman could provide just the diversion Creighton needed. What better way to erode away the rough edges of his memories than by rubbing this woman the wrong way—and mayhap the right? One would provide pleasure for his soul, the other for his body and mind that were plagued with the yearning to draw her into his arms again.

He bent closer to his horse as Natalya lengthened the distance between them. If she wished to prove herself the better rider, she had a lesson to learn. Weaving around carriages, he ignored the shouts of coachees who waved whips at him in frustration. He kept his eyes focused on her back. She did ride well.

He smiled. But did she ride well enough?

Natalya recognized pursuit with a sense that had no name. It had been honed by nights on watch when not-so-distant French campfires pierced the darkness like earthbound stars. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled when she saw Lord Ashcroft riding after her. She turned the horse around a tight corner and shouted. The beast would not understand the Russian command, but her excitement should reach it.

She raced from dappled sunlight to shadow through the street that was edged with houses and trees. As she turned another corner, she saw open space ahead of her. She urged the horse forward. Lord Ashcroft could not catch her now!

Shouts merged in her ears. Her scream and the horse's shriek merged with the bellow of a teamster as he drove directly in her path. She pulled back on the reins. The horse rose on two feet, pawing the air over the wagon that was filled with refuse. Holding tightly to the reins, she calmed the horse and fired a ferocious scowl at the driver.

A blur fled past her. Lord Ashcroft! She slapped her hand against the horse's haunch. They could not be beaten now.

Cobbles became hard dirt, but Natalya gained little on Lord Ashcroft. When he drew in his horse and raised his hand, he was nearly a dozen lengths in front of her. She slowed her horse. With a reluctant laugh, she leaned forward and patted her horse on the neck. She sat back in the saddle and took a deep breath of the fresh air. She had not guessed she could find the countryside within the environs of London.

When he rode back toward her, he was frowning. “I told you to ride with more care! Can't you follow orders?”

“Not yours, my lord.” She shook her head and threw out her hands. “I am tired of following orders. Like you, I am eager to set aside the war for a few glorious moments and delight in just being alive.”

“Which you shan't be if you ride
ventre-à-terre
through the city.”

“As you did.”

“Chasing you.”

“And surpassing me. The victory is yours, my lord,” she said, as he drew even with her.

“Something I suspect you have said seldom.”

She smiled. “Recently, that is true, although, as a child, I was often the loser in races with my brothers.”

Turning from her, Creighton gazed at the city. Smoke poured from chimney pots, and sunlight glistened on the tiles of the roofs that ran together like a variegated river pouring into the Thames. “And your sisters? Did they lead a life as wild as yours?”

“No.”

He shifted in his saddle. Her face was as sorrowful as her voice. Although she stared back at the City, he doubted if she saw anything but scenes drawn from the precious cache of her memories.

She slowly met his eyes, and the grief vanished. “You may be startled to discover I am as competent with a needle as I am with a saber.”

“Both are valuable skills in the army.”

“That I found out when many of the uniforms started to suffer from wear. In the depths of winter, few washerwomen were willing to follow the army, even with the promise of food in exchange for their work. My men were shocked to learn their captain could teach them to repair their own clothes.” She laughed, and he was astonished anew at his reaction to that unbridled gaiety.

Unlike the ladies who gathered here in London for the Season, Natalya was honest with her feelings. She might hide the truth behind a hussar's uniform, but he never had to guess if she were distressed or happy or angry. Every emotion played across her face.

Such honesty might be a liability among the
ton
, who concealed their thoughts behind flowery compliments which could be, in truth, an insult. Mayhap it was time for him to be as honest.

“Natalya,” he said quietly, “you know I shall not allow Barclay to face you in a duel.”

“You are a better friend than he deserves.” She frowned. “I find it odd that you are friends. He is nothing like you, and I have seen how he irritates you.”

“You irritate me, too.”

Her frown became a bright smile. “I had noticed that.” Shifting on her horse, she said, “All right. As a boon to my host, I will refrain from accepting the challenge to a duel, but how do you propose to keep Mr. Lawson from insisting?”

“A first-class lie.”

“I do not like lying.”

“No?”

She did not lower her eyes as he regarded her with amusement. “No matter what you think, I am Kapitán Dmitrieff. That is no lie.”

“But are you
Count
Dmitrieff?”

“I shall be.” She took a deep breath and released it slowly, and he could not keep his gaze from following the motion of her breasts against her coat.

Blast! It would be so much simpler if he could ignore the fact—for even a moment—that she was a most desirable woman.

“What lie?” she asked, forcing his gaze back to her face.

“If you will devise some cock-and-bull tale of how Russians duel—”

“But I believe it is much as it is done in England.”

“Don't tell Barclay that. Tell him a tale of preparations that must be made. Preparations that will take some time, so I can come up with an inspired solution that will soothe his bruised pride.”

She wrinkled her nose. “His pride is not all that will be bruised if he continues to step out onto the street without watching for riders and carriages.”

“Will you help me on this, Natalya?”

Creighton watched as she glanced again at the buildings of Town. She did not answer for so long that he began to wonder if she had failed to hear the question or could not understand it. Both excuses he knew were false.

“My lord,” she said quietly, “I will help you on this matter. I owe you that much for keeping the truth secret when you could have halted this duel by simply telling Mr. Lawson I am a woman.”

“That is true.”

“It is honorable to help a man of honor, my lord.”

“It would be better, I believe,” he said, “if you call me Creighton, and I shall remember to call you Demi when we are with others.”

“I would prefer—”

His hand settled over hers on the reins. “Heed the counsel of one who knows the Polite World far better than you do. If your intention is to keep from gathering notice, you would be wise to treat me as a tie-mate.”

She slowly drew her fingers from beneath his. When she swallowed harshly, he fought to keep his smile from his face. Did she think he could not sense that gentle quiver as he touched her?

“I acquiesce to your superior knowledge on that detail,” she said stiffly.

“Is that the only thing you will acquiesce on?” he murmured, taking her hand in his again. Edging his horse closer to hers, he pressed his lips to her fingers. They were not as soft as other fingers he had kissed, for even leather gloves could not protect her hands from the rigors of her long months of riding with the Russian army, but the luscious flavor of her skin sent craving resonating through him. He wanted more than this chaste sample.

She jerked her hand back and twisted her horse away from his. “Yes!” With a shout, she rode toward the cobbled streets.

Creighton smiled as he watched her leave. Chuckling, he said, “Do not be so certain of that, my dear count. I convinced Barclay to wait and think things through this afternoon, something I had been sure was impossible. I suspect I may just be able to persuade you to change your mind as well.”

Eight

Wiggling her toes in her boots, Natalya listened to the conversation around the card table. She longed to shout that if they were going to play cards, then they should play them as lief spend all this time in worthless prattle. With an envious glance toward the table where a group of her countrymen were laughing and tilting back a jug which she knew held something much stronger than the wine served by their hosts, she resisted tapping her fingers impatiently on the table.

“Mr. Vosley is, I have heard said, a gentleman of three inns,” Mr. Hotz said as he shuffled the cards. The man, who must be able to claim as many years as Petr, chuckled.