The Counterfeit Count

by Jo Ann Ferguson

Creighton sighed. Walking away from the door, he shook his head. The simplest way to halt Barclay from embarking on this nick-ninny’s quest was with the truth, and he was forsworn to say nothing of it. Yet, if he remained silent, he knew what the results of the duel would be as surely as if he were a soothsayer who could discern the future. Natalya would finish Barclay’s life for him with a single shot. She could not risk being struck, for, as soon as anyone examined her wound, the truth would reveal itself along with her feminine curves.

  Staring down at the fire, he sighed again. “The count is my guest. I will not allow you to duel him.”

  “Not allow?” Something else followed the question, but Creighton could not understand the words spat through Barclay’s clenched teeth.

  “I am saying, Barclay, that you cannot duel Count Dmitrieff. You are fooling yourself if you think you will get off the first shot. The count will see you dead.”

  “Let me show you how well I shoot!”

  “It does not matter. I shall not allow it.”

  Barclay jabbed a finger at Creighton’s waistcoat. “This is between me and that witless Russian. Do not interfere.”

  Creighton arched a single brow, then stepped away from Barclay’s bony finger. Obviously good sense was not going to prevail when his friend was in such a pelter. Clasping his hands behind his back, he said, “Very well.”

  “Very well?”

  “Are you going to parrot back everything I say?”

  “I am astonished.”

  “I suspect so, but I hope you are not so astonished that you see the wisdom of what I am about to say.” Creighton held up his hands to forestall Barclay’s next comment. “Listen to me. The count is nearly arrived from the Continent. I do not know how they handle these challenges in Russia, so allow me to discern what procedures the count is familiar with before you set the time and place of your death.”

  Barclay started to nod, then snapped, “Don’t assume the count will be the better man.”

  Creighton smiled. “That is one thing, my friend, you can be certain I shall never assume.”

  Six

  Natalya jumped to her feet when someone rapped on the door of her bedchamber. Throwing it open, she said, “Petr, mózhno!”

  Mrs. Winchell regarded her, wide-eyed. “Is that Russian, my lord?”

  “Yes.” She buttoned the front of her jacket quickly. “Excuse me. I thought you were Sergeant Zass.”

  “No, my lord.” An extraordinary flush splashed across her thin cheeks. “Lord Ashcroft asks that you join him and Mr. Lawson in the book-room.”

  Noting a motion at the other end of the passage, she nodded. “Please let Lord Ashcroft know I shall be there directly.”

  Mrs. Winchell glanced along the hall, shuddered, and whispered, “Of course, my lord.” She scurried away as if a hungry wolf were at her heels.

  Natalya switched effortlessly to Russian as Petr came toward her. “What have you done to frighten that poor woman away from her wits?”

  “I vow to you, Kapitán, I have said nothing to her.” His eyes twinkled. “She will be pleased when we are gone.”

  “Which shall not be soon, Petr.” Walking along the soft rug that swallowed the sound of her boot heels, she explained the general’s insistence that they remain here. “It is most odd.”

  “How?”

  “It was as if General Miloradovich were laughing at a joke I could not be privy to.”

  He combed his fingers through his beard as he did whenever he was deep in thought. “The general often has done odd things.”

  “Like ordering us to the flank of the other hussars outside Vitebsk?”

  “Fortunately for him, we were there in time to halt that band of French and Hessian mercenaries from sneaking away.”

  “Fortunately for him,” she agreed. Only because she had been serving as a liaison between the field and the general’s headquarters, which were comfortably out of the range of French artillery, had she—and Petr—known the truth. General Miloradovich had panicked and given the wrong orders, turning too many of the men away from the main thrust of the French vanguard.

  If only they had been so lucky when Moscow came under siege …

  “How long will we be billeted here?” Petr asked, freeing her from her dreary memories.

  “Until the state visit is over, if I know the general. He is preoccupied with other matters.”

  “A blonde or a brunette?”

  “A redhead.”

  “That is something new for him to sample.” Petr’s chuckle rumbled along the silent hallway. “All the general’s appetites are well-renowned.”

  Natalya’s answer went unspoken when a door opened to spill light across the dark carpet. “Say nothing, Petr.”

  “They will understand nothing I say, even if I do.” His dark brows lowered in a fierce scowl. “Kapitán, what trouble are we in now?”

  “We are in no trouble.” That much was the truth, although she had few doubts how Petr would react when he discovered she had been challenged to a duel. During their campaigns, he had been insistent that she should fight only when necessary—and only against the enemy. The expediences of war had demanded that Grazhdánka Natalya change to become Kapitán Dmitrieff, but she knew, even though he had not spoken of it, how Petr longed to return to their home and the life they once had known.

  Natalya swept all emotion from her face as Lord Ashcroft motioned for her to enter. He was not as successful in concealing his thoughts, for she saw his eyes narrow when Petr followed her into the cozy room. Did he think Petr was accompanying her as her second so she could face his loudmouthed friend over bare swords right here in his house?

  “Gentlemen,” she said cautiously.

  Mr. Lawson stared at her, glanced at Lord Ashcroft, and then swallowed roughly. “Creighton has persuaded me to wait before issuing my challenge to you.” His tone was as strained as hers.

  “Wait? Why?” She looked at Lord Ashcroft who was smiling coldly.

  “That is something,” the viscount said, “we shall discuss at length later.”

  She nodded, although she was not sure what outlandish English custom this might be. In Russia, an insult was dealt with swiftly. “Very well. However, my offer to replace your coat remains, Mr. Lawson.”

  “Mrs. Winchell has been known to work miracles,” Lord Ashcroft said as he held out a glass of wine to her. “I think both you and Barclay shall discover she can clean the coat until it looks as good as new.”

  “If even a hint of grjaz’ remains—”

  “What?” Mr. Lawson asked, frowning.

  “Mud.” She smiled as she heard Petr’s chuckle. “Forgive me, for my tongue yearns for the words of my birth. If even a hint of mud remains, I shall gladly replace your coat.”

  Mr. Lawson tilted his head as he stared at her. “Mayhap that is not such a bad idea. Then I can introduce you to Mr. Hardy, who is my knight of the thimble.”

  “Tailor,” Lord Ashcroft supplied before Natalya could ask. “Barclay, you shall discover the count is unfamiliar with the cant we use daily.”

  “A tailor is not necessary,” she said quietly.

  “You cannot plan to wear that heavy uniform during the rest of your stay in London. Mayhap it is comfortable enough for a Russian winter, but you will swelter in such thick wool here.” Mr. Lawson came around the chair and flicked a disdainful finger at the fur on her stiff collar. He jumped back as Petr growled under his breath.

  “Petr, please do not make things more tense,” she said in Russian.

  “Kapitán …”

  “Serve yourself some of the lord’s wine and sit. If I need you, you shall be nearby.”

  He smiled, his expression growing frigid as he stared at the two Englishmen.

  Natalya was unsure what Lord Ashcroft might do when Petr poured a generous serving of the red wine and raised it to his lips. Although Mr. Lawson grumbled something, Lord Ashcroft leaned one shoulder against the mantel and continued to regard them with a smi
le.

  When Petr had chosen a stool in the back corner, Natalya said, “I thank you for your concern, Mr. Lawson.” She took a sip of her wine, then went to stand by the window overlooking the street. Putting her shiny boot on the stool not far from Petr’s feet, she smiled. “A soldier is not accustomed to comfort. However, you may be correct. If I am granted such liberties by General Miloradovich, I shall thank you for such an introduction, Mr. Lawson.”

  “Soldiers!”

  She held up her hand to halt Petr from surging to his feet. He did not need to know much English to recognize the aspersion. Mr. Lawson’s insult included Lord Ashcroft as well. They must take a hint of how to respond from their host.

  Lord Ashcroft laughed. “Do not make it sound as if we are as vile as the slimiest grub beneath an overturned rock.” Sitting, he added, “Barclay, you must restrain your opinions. The good captain and I have agreed to disagree.”

  “On what?” Mr. Lawson asked.

  “Many things.” He flashed a smile at Natalya. That now familiar, unwanted pulse of delight throbbed through her. She fought to keep any expression from her face as he added, “For example, the count does not share my estimation of the usefulness of our superiors now that the war has been won.”

  “Yes, I do.” Natalya wished she could take the words back, but they had slipped from her lips.

  “Do you now?”

  When the viscount motioned for her to sit across from him, she silenced her sigh and lowered herself into the chair. The general had ordered her to learn more of the ways of the English. How else could she do it other than to spend time with them? She could not go back to the general with the complaint that she was uneasy in Lord Ashcroft’s company because she could not keep from thinking of the exciting danger of his touch which urged her to be as bold.

  She watched Mr. Lawson as he prowled from the hearth to the door, keeping a wide expanse of floor between him and Petr. His rage punctuated every motion. She must watch him closely. She would not be ambushed if he sought satisfaction now.

  Lord Ashcroft rested his chin on his fist as he smiled. She was not fooled. His eyes were as stern as the uncompromising line of his jaw. Aware of Mr. Lawson coming to stand behind her, she longed to jump to her feet and rush away. She was surrounded, and Petr, who would watch closely, could not guess how facilely Lord Ashcroft used words as a weapon to skewer her.

  “My colonel,” Lord Ashcroft said in a purely conversational voice, “left no doubts in my mind that you were the most competent among General Miloradovich’s men.”

  She whirled when Mr. Lawson choked. He took a hasty drink and muttered, “Swallowed the wrong way.”

  “Be more careful,” chided Lord Ashcroft.

  “Some things are hard to swallow.” Mr. Lawson’s grin returned as he leaned over the back of her chair.

  Natalya stiffened. Were his words an insult?

  “Then take more care!” Without giving his friend a chance to answer, Lord Ashcroft said, “It is good to know, Captain Dmitrieff, that the Russians think much as we do. Our leaders have built their careers more on luck than skill.”

  “And more on the skill of those who serve them than their own,” she said, resting her arm on the chair. “It is said you are a hero, Lord Ashcroft.”

  “I am sure my so-called exploits pale before yours.”

  With a grumble, Mr. Lawson downed his wine and set the glass on the table. “I shall leave you soldiers to your stories of war. I have other matters to concern myself with before this evening.” He scowled at Natalya. “We shall meet with all due speed, Count, to resolve this matter between us.”

  “Barclay …”

  He included Lord Ashcroft in his frown. “The challenge remains—”

  “And shall be dealt with at the proper time. There will be opportunities to discuss it. I think you shall be seeing quite a bit of the count.”

  “I wish only to see the count’s blood mixed with the mud that splattered my coat.” He pulled a glove from beneath his waistcoat.

  Creighton stood. “No!”

  Natalya tensed, then gasped as Mr. Lawson struck her cheek with the glove.

  Petr leapt forward, pulling his knife.

  “Nyet!” cried Natalya.

  Mr. Lawson’s face bleached with fear. “Tell your beast there I meant that as a token of challenge.”

  Natalya turned and said, “Petr, it is nothing. He clearly sees me as a gentleman who has affronted him.”

  “Then he sees no more than anyone else, Kapitán, save for the other.”

  She nodded. “Our host has pledged to keep my secret from anyone else.”

  “He will, or he will die.”

  Again she nodded, knowing this was not the time to remind Petr they must cause no trouble while in England.

  “Will you share what Sergeant Zass has to say?” Lord Ashcroft asked quietly. “He looks unconvinced.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back. She must not give free rein to their yearning to touch the shimmering warmth of the satin waistcoat accenting his broad chest. Other men had touched her, but none with an invitation to such sweet madness. She could counter the greatest thrust of a lance, yet she could not force aside the memory of Lord Ashcroft’s fingers grazing her cheek.

  “He understands,” she began, then heard her voice tremble. She looked hastily away as a smile curved along Lord Ashcroft’s lips. Taking a deep breath, she focused her eyes on Mr. Lawson’s face. If she did not look at the viscount, she could not be caught by the promise of pleasure in his eyes. “Mr. Lawson, Petr understands your anglíski ways are different from ours.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “And I can see,” he continued, “that there is little reason to continue this conversation.”

  Lord Ashcroft said in the same quiet tone, “I shall speak with Count Dmitrieff without delay, Barclay. Then the three of us shall complete the arrangements this evening at Lady Eltonville’s gathering.”

  “A dandy of an idea.” He smiled broadly.

  Natalya looked from one to the other. Was she missing something in their words? Something that they found amusing? A pinch of dismay struck her. If Lord Ashcroft had divulged the truth to his friend … No, he had given her his word. As an Englishman, she reminded herself, not sure what that was worth. “A gathering? What sort of gathering?”

  “An evening with music and dancing and cards.” Mr. Lawson shrugged. “You may not have its counterpart in that uncivilized land of yours.”

  “Yes, we do,” she said slowly. If he wished to enrage her into doing something foolish, he would soon learn how mistaken he was. She would not have survived five minutes on the battlefield if she were prone to surrendering to impulse.

  “Then join us.” Lord Ashcroft chuckled. “We shall have a roaring good time at the card table, if I recall your description of Russian habits correctly, Count Dmitrieff.”

  Mr. Lawson gave her no chance to demur as he strode to the door. “It is settled then. I look forward to seeing the two of you—” He glanced at Petr. “Yes, I look forward to seeing the two of you this evening.”

  “But Petr would serve as my second for the challenge,” she said.

  Mr. Lawson’s lips tightened. “It seems Russian ways are quite similar to ours in these matters. Why are we delaying? Tonight, once the moon has risen, we can—”

  “We will discuss this at the gathering,” Lord Ashcroft said, the ice returning to his voice. “Agreed?”

  Natalya said, “If there is no reason to delay—”

  Again he interrupted, “Agreed?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly.

  Mr. Lawson muttered, “Yes.” The door slammed, resounding through the room, in his wake.

  She looked at Petr who wore a strained frown. This was not a good beginning for their sojourn in London. How was she going to explain to General Miloradovich that, within days of her arrival in this country, she had agreed to meet an Englishman in a duel
? It was not a good beginning. Not at all.

  Seven

  Lord Ashcroft shook his head as the door closed behind his friend. “It seems Barclay is set on dueling you, Natalya.”

  “My lord, you should not—”

  “Barclay cannot hear me from here when the door is closed. And who knows? You may wish to tell him the truth.”

  “Me? I doubt that.”

  “You and Barclay may become the best of friends.”

  “And so may you and Petr.”

  Creighton looked across the room as the huge Russian stood at the mention of his name. He wondered how many French soldiers had quailed before the very sight of this man.

  “Possible,” he said.

  When she laughed, he watched Zass relax. He noticed that from the corner of his eye because his gaze riveted on Natalya. Her somber expression had vanished, sweeping aside the façade she hid behind so successfully. With her incredible eyes crinkled and her soft lips tilted in a smile, she again possessed the vulnerability he had discovered when he drew her close.

  “At least we shall get that matter settled,” she said, as she sat again. “I honestly do not want to meet your friend across sabers.”

  “Pistols would have been Barclay’s choice, if he were choosing.”

  “Pistols?” She sat straighter. “Is honor served here only with death?”

  He smiled. “Ofttimes. That fact, however, was somewhat useful when I persuaded Barclay to wait. Mayhap once the haze of his ire vanishes, he will know better than to demand satisfaction from a decorated war hero.”

  “I am glad you convinced him to listen to reason.”

  “So am I.” With a low chuckle, he asked, “Can you imagine the complications it would cause if he shot you and it was revealed to everyone that Creighton Marshall could not even recognize a woman when she was living under his roof?”

  “Your concern for Mr. Lawson and me is extraordinary.” She stood and set her glass next to the other one on the table. When Sergeant Zass came to his feet, she said, “Thank you for your help in handling this, my lord, scanty though it might be. I assume you have preparations to make for this evening.”

  “Actually, I have none.” Crossing his arms in front of him, he said, “I thought you might enjoy a ride.”