That was over!
She would make sure he survived the night, and then she would leave. She had to go back to Russia and do as she promised, even if it broke her heart utterly. Let him stay and become just like Barclay Lawson while he flirted with Maeve Wilton. If he wanted that life … She swallowed roughly. She could not believe he did.
Pulling her thickest cloak from the back of the chair, she flung it over her shoulders. More carefully, she pulled the hood up to conceal her hair. She took her reticule and opened it. Seeing the glitter of brass on the pocket pistol inside it, she closed the top and hid the bag beneath the cloak. It would give her only a single shot, but that might be all she needed.
She was ready to face whatever might be thrown in her way. Hearing the rattle of the carriage in front of the house, she peeked through the curtains. She watched Creighton get into the closed carriage.
Dropping the drapes back into place, she skulked out into the hall. She must follow closely, or all might be lost even before the masked ball began. Even spending her last coin on a hired carriage would not be too much if she could thwart the assassins.
Natalya’s heart thudded against her chest as she crossed the brightly lit foyer of Colonel Carruthers’ house. With her mask in place, she was unrecognizable, but so were many of the other guests. This was going to be more difficult than she had imagined.
A footman stepped forward to take her cape. She handed it to him along with the engraved invitation.
“Whom shall I announce?” he asked, as correct as a new recruit on parade.
“Natalya Butovskyj.”
“Butov—”
“Butovskyj,” she repeated slowly.
He nodded and, giving her cloak to a maid, he motioned for her to follow him up the broad marble stairs. The ballroom was awash in music and conversation beneath the brightly lit chandeliers. Inside the doorway, she saw General Miloradovich with Kapitán Radishchev hanging on every word. Radishchev would be pleased Count Dmitrieff was not here tonight. It would give the fawning fool a chance to gain more of the general’s favor. She wondered if Radishchev knew of the plans to leave London.
With his back straight, the footman bowed toward her and then to Colonel Carruthers, who was wearing a full dress uniform that must have been uncomfortable because he was shifting from one foot to the other.
The footman stumbled over her name again, so Natalya offered her hand to the colonel and said, “I am Natalya Butovskyj. Thank you for inviting the members of the Grand Duchess’s household to your gathering this evening.”
“You are welcome.” He kissed her hand lightly. “I thought the Grand Duchess had sent her regrets that no one would be able to attend because the household was going to the theater with the Prince Regent and his party.”
She hoped her laugh sounded genuine. “She did not want to offend you, Colonel, by ignoring your generous invitation. She knows how I love masquerades.”
“That is no surprise,” answered a deeper voice.
Natalya whirled to see Creighton standing behind her. Even with a black domino hiding half his face, nothing could diminish the strength of his gaze. Beneath his ebony coat, his silver waistcoat glittered in the light from the chandeliers like a vest of jewels.
“Creighton, do you know Miss Butov—?” Colonel Carruthers smiled as he said, “A most impossible name for our English tongues, I fear.”
“Then she must grant us all the favor of allowing us to call her by her given name.” He offered his arm. “Do allow me to escort you in, Natalya.”
She did not hesitate. To do so might cause a scene she could ill afford. As he wove a path through the guests, without pausing to speak to any of them, she whispered, “How did you recognize me so swiftly?”
He ran his finger along her bare shoulder. “I knew as soon as I saw this skin, which was so soft against my chest for one wondrous night.” He led her out onto a balcony that was draped in the thickening shadows of twilight. Lifting aside his domino, he said beneath the blithe music of a country dance, “I thought you were not coming tonight.”
“I had hoped to save you from your own folly,” she said, pulling off her mask. She stuffed it in her reticule along with the small pistol.
“By dressing like a princess?” He laughed. His fingers brushed her cheek, then he clasped them behind his back as he looked past her, frowning. “Did you hope to confuse your so-called executioners by having Count Dmitrieff vanish? Or are you just trying to avoid Maeve, who has been searching every corner of the ballroom for the good count?”
“Do you harbor such animosity toward her that you would have me hurt her when I must leave?” Her eyes widened as she gasped, “Or do you see the count as a safe rival for her affections? If she is enamored with me, she will not betray you by seeking another man’s company.” She laughed coldly. “What a perfect dolt I have been! Did you use her as heartlessly, too? Is that why she gave you your congé?”
“If you were a man, I would demand you meet me on the field of honor for such words.”
“Creighton, don’t.”
“Don’t?” Bafflement threaded his forehead, and she knew he had not guessed she would reply as she had.
“Don’t be as pompous as Barclay.” She ached to run her hand along his jaw, which was smooth from his recent shave. She longed to rest her cheek against it while she enjoyed the sharp scent of his cologne. “You never challenged any of Maeve’s other admirers to a duel. Why me?”
“Because I do not want you spending so much time with her. She may give you wrong ideas.”
“About you?”
“About how a lady should act.”
“How is that?”
“With honesty.”
“Honesty? Ya ne ponimáyu.”
“Do you understand this?” Grasping her cheeks, he pressed his mouth over hers.
She slid her hand up his arm, encircling his shoulder as her breath grew unsteady against him. His arms enfolded her to his chest. His heartbeat matched hers in a swift race to delight. As his hands glided along her, waking every inch of her to the pleasure of his caresses, she pressed closer. Never had she wanted to be within a man’s arms as she did now. Even when she was not with him, he haunted her every thought.
She moaned softly as he bent to place a line of searing kisses along the skin above the low neckline of her gown. Slipping her fingers beneath his coat, she splayed them across his back as the moist probe of his tongue explored the dusky secrets within her mouth. Soft, wordless sounds emerged on her ragged breath. Warmth emanated from deep within her, for each place he touched her flamed hotter.
He chuckled with satisfaction as he buried his face in her hair. As his cheek brushed hers, she turned his mouth against hers. Unable to control her own craving, she feasted on the sweet flavors of his lips. She sighed as he raised his mouth from hers.
“Creighton …”
He put his finger over her lips. “This sweetness is what you must never lose. Your honesty and your ineffable innocence are such a splendid part of you, Natalya. Maeve is as calculating as a horse thief trying to peddle his stolen wares at a fair.”
“Even Maeve is not so horrible,” she said, not quite sure why she was defending the Englishwoman.
“No? See for yourself how different you are from other women.”
He drew her to another door along the balcony and pointed to a group of women who were talking intently an arm’s length in front of them. Her eyes widened when she saw Tatiana Suvorov stroll over to them, although she should not have been surprised. Tatiana seemed determined to attend every function during her stay in London.
Tatiana looked down her nose at the Englishwomen and asked, “Do you know if Lord Ashcroft has arrived?”
Even from where Natalya stood, she could see the superior smile Maeve wore as she answered, “Yes, my dear Creighton is here. I saw him earlier.” She turned to another of the ladies. “Is he alone?”
Creighton chuckled as he walked back to the thick sto
ne railing. Leaning on it, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So you see, Natalya, you were right. You and I are in peril, even though the only danger to me is Miss Suvorov’s intention not to leave London until she leg-shackles herself to me, and the only danger to you is an amorous Maeve.”
“You are wrong.”
Laughing, he said, “This night will be unbearable while Maeve makes sure I regret not bringing the good count here.” He caught her hands and drew her toward him. Whispering against her ear, he asked, “Do you think she suspects how I am trying to keep my rival far from her eager charms?”
Natalya stared at him. “How can you be so witless? She cares nothing for the count, save as a tool to make you so jealous you will vow your undying love to her as you once did.”
“You are mad!”
“No, for she has told me nearly as much herself.” She walked back toward the ballroom, being careful to avoid the door where the women stood. Putting her hand on another door frame, she turned to face him. “She let you escape from her web once, but is now determined to wrap you up again as tightly as a spider does a fly.”
He put his hand over hers. As he edged around her, so he stood between her and the ballroom, he said, “And she thinks to hold me there until she decides if there is another feast more enticing.” He chuckled. “Dear Natalya, if for no other reason, I would have to be delighted you have come to London to provide Maeve with a bit of her own bitter medicine. How wildly she has fought to entice Count Dmitrieff into her net! It has been a joy to watch.”
“You are no gentleman, Creighton Marshall!”
“And neither are you, Natalya Dmitrieff.” He pressed her hand to his lips. When she gasped softly as the heat of his mouth flowed through her, he whispered, “You are, as you always have been, a most beautiful woman.”
With a smile, he drew her away from the door. He turned her lightly beneath his fingertips so he could view her from every angle.
“Do you approve?” she asked when she faced him again.
“You shall think me mad.”
“Because you approve?”
“Because I miss the sight of your limbs which are obscured by this silk.”
She laughed. “You are mad! The wool of my uniform hides more than it reveals.”
“I did not mean that.” He bent to whisper against her ear again. “Do you recall the morning after I held you in my arms all night?”
She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “You left without saying a word to me.” Sudden tears blurred the starlight.
His arm slipped around her waist and pulled her back to him. Her breath burst from her as he held her tightly against the wall of his chest. As his fingers drifted up her back with the rhythm of the waltz spilling from the ballroom, he asked, “How could I speak to you when the only words on my lips were of how luscious you looked when I woke to find you curled against me as guileless as a puppy and as sensuous as a siren? ’Twas then I could admire your bare limbs, for they were draped over my own legs.”
When heat climbed her cheeks, she whispered, “I did not know.”
“Did you know I kissed you when I could not resist tasting your luscious lips one more time?”
“I dreamed—I mean, I thought it was a dream. I—”
“Let me remind you.”
Her smile vanished beneath his mouth as she savored the kiss she wanted to relish for the rest of her days … and all her nights. It was all the sweeter because she knew it was impossible.
“You may be correct,” Creighton said as he led Natalya from the dance floor back out onto the balcony. With a pained expression on his face, he limped past the other couples who had come to escape the crowd in the ballroom. “You may never learn to waltz.”
“I believe you stepped on my toes more than I did on yours, my lord.”
“Impossible.”
“But my soft slippers cannot hurt your toes as your shoes have mine.”
He let a roguish smile tilt his lips. “Shall I kiss each injured toe to speed it on its way to recovery?”
“My toes?”
His arm around her waist pulled her tightly to him. She was perfect in his arms. “They must be as scrumptious as the rest of you, my dear Natalya.”
“I think you are mad.”
“I think I would like to prove you wrong.” He tilted her mask up, but paused as he looked past her. “Blast!”
“What is wrong?”
“That,” he said, as Barclay called Creighton’s name again as he bumped into the door, then stumbled through it onto the balcony.
He was surprised when she laughed. “Don’t fret,” she said softly. “If he is as foxed as usual, he won’t guess who hides behind my mask.”
“Natalya—”
“Don’t fret.”
Barclay lurched toward them. Wine splashed from his glass, gaining him a scowl from a dowager checking on her young charge, but he simply bowed toward her without pausing. Raising the glass, he drank deeply. “Your colonel knows his wine, Creighton.”
“I am sure he would appreciate you telling him so.” He tugged on Natalya’s arm. Dammit! He should have seen that this might happen. He had to get Natalya away from here.
“Where is he?”
“About somewhere.” Again he tugged on her arm. “Check the card room.”
“I shall.” Barclay turned, then looked back over his shoulder. “’Tis nice to see you much more yourself. Do I call you ‘Natalya’ or ‘Count Whatever-Your-Name-Is’ tonight?” He laughed. “Quite the masquerade!” He suddenly frowned and reeled back to them. He put out a finger toward Natalya’s bodice.
With a gasp, she pulled back.
“You are a woman!” Barclay choked. He squinted at Creighton. “She is a woman!”
“I know.”
“You know?” He swayed, then grasped onto the railing. “How long?”
Creighton put his hand on his friend’s arm. “Barclay, this must be kept a secret.”
“How long have you known?”
Natalya whispered, “From the beginning.”
Barclay’s face bleached. “You mean you would have let me duel a woman?”
“We tried everything possible to keep the duel from taking place,” Creighton said quietly.
“I could have killed a woman!”
“Unlikely.” Natalya wished she had remained silent when the bald man scowled.
Creighton hurried to say, “Forget the duel and forget you saw Natalya like this.” He aimed a scowl at Barclay, who regarded him with a drunken smile. “Forget it. Do you understand?”
He shrugged and nearly fell to his knees. He waved aside Creighton’s hands. “Sure. Why not?” With a loud burp, he turned toward the ballroom.
Natalya took a step to follow. She halted when Creighton ran his finger along her shoulder. She quivered. With fear or fury … or delight?
“It appears,” he whispered, “despite your assertion to the contrary, one of us is a gentleman.”
She frowned as Barclay tottered back into the ballroom and began to speak to a lady with hair as white as untrampled snow. “But if he tells someone else—”
“Who would believe him when he is as drunk as an emperor?”
“And when he is not in his cups?”
“He is asleep.”
She relaxed and nodded. “As long as he does not talk in his sleep.” Putting her hand on his arm, she whispered, “I have come so far and worked so hard to protect my father’s legacy. My struggles must not come to naught because he cannot keep his counsel.” She sighed. “I am leaving soon. Then it shan’t matter.”
He drew off her mask and tossed it onto the balcony’s rail. He wanted to see her shimmering smile when he spoke of what throbbed within his heart. “Natalya, stay a while longer.”
“Here?” She smiled. “I intend to keep an eye on you until midnight and—”
“Forget that damned threat. Don’t leave with Miloradovich. I have tried to put some distance between us be
cause I know your heart is focused on rebuilding your family’s estate. But the truth is, I do not want you to go. Stay in London.” He swept her to him. “Stay with me.”
He pressed his mouth over hers, not wanting to hear her say she must leave. He held her tightly, for he wanted to give himself the chance to memorize her. Bending her back over one arm, he deepened the kiss until she softened against him, a captive as he was of their escalating passion.
Raising his head, he delighted in her soft smile. Her hand against the back of his head brought his lips back to hers. He forgot all the reasons why he was stupid to let another woman lure him into her enchanting spell. Everything vanished from his mind but the craving rippling through him with each touch of her slender hand.
“Stay with me,” he murmured against her lips.
“I must go back to Russia. I must …” Her sigh sent shivers through him as he teased her ear with his tongue.
“Stay with me.” He framed her face with his hands and looked down into her glazed eyes that glittered with the promise of the ecstasy he could unleash. “Do not tell me no, Natalya. Think of what I ask.”
“I am uncertain what you are asking. Do you ask me to be your wife?”
Natalya bit her lip to silence her anguish as his hands fell back.
He started to answer, then sighed. “No.”
“Then what do you ask?”
“I’m asking you to stay with me.”
“As your comrade or as your mistress?”
He cupped her chin in his hand. “I think it is impossible for us to turn back from what we have shared. I want to spend my nights with you in my arms. For the past week, we have tried to deny the truth, Natalya, and we have been miserable. You belong with me.”
She pulled away. “I am not a possession.”
“No.” His fingertips brought her face back toward him. “But can you deny the truth of what we feel when you are in my arms?”
“No, not the truth.”
“Then stay with me.”
Natalya lowered her eyes as she walked to the deepest shadows along the railing. “You ask the impossible. I must go back to Russia.”
“Would you have stayed if I asked you to marry me?” He put his hand on her arm and turned her to face him.
The Counterfeit Count Page 20