The Counterfeit Count (11 page)

Creighton steered his friend in the other direction. “We shall talk, Barclay, but later.”

“I want to talk to him now!” He raised his hand and fired an invisible pistol. At least it was invisible to Creighton. He was unsure what Barclay was seeing right now.

“Barclay?” Creighton did not want to leave his friend, who was top-heavy with wine, among ears which would be delighted to listen to his challenge to Count Dmitrieff. They did not need an audience for this blasted duel.

Barclay pulled away and dropped into a chair. “Go and get your count. I shall wait right here like a good lad and speak only when spoken to.”

“I doubt that.”

Creighton got a grin in response. With a deep sigh, he tried to guess what he had done to deserve this muddle being dumped in his lap. It was enough to persuade him to volunteer for service at the farthest edge of England's holdings. He frowned. Mayhap that had been Colonel Carruthers' intention from the beginning with this assignment. If so, Creighton would endure being Natalya's host until he could get that damned commission transferred.

He offered a smile to a pair of dowagers as he crossed the smooth marble floor. Lady Eltonville's assemblies were without par, but tonight he wished he had stayed home. There was something unsettling about catching only the attention of two women old enough to be his mother while half the ladies in the room were clustered around Natalya. He never thought he would have to consider a woman as a rival for the eyes of the ladies.

“Good evening,” he said, as he came to stand behind Natalya. “I hope I am not interrupting something that cannot be continued. I …” He took a step back as the woman holding on to Natalya's arm faced him. He swallowed his curse as he met familiar eyes. “This is an unexpected pleasure to find
you
keeping Count Dmitrieff busy this evening.”

Natalya stiffened at the frozen edge on Creighton's voice. Even though she had known him but a short time, she recognized the tension straining his tight smile. Something was amiss here. She knew it as well as she knew the best moment to send her men into battle.

“It
is
an unexpected pleasure,” Miss Wilton said as she fluttered her fan in front of her face. “I had not thought to see you here tonight either, Creighton.”

Natalya wondered what Miss Wilton was trying to hide. Or was the fan a shield to protect her from the flurry of emotions racing through Creighton's eyes?

“Count Dmitrieff is my guest,” Creighton said, shrugging his shoulders in a nonchalant pose she knew was false. His hands were too tightly clenched behind him. “It is my duty and my honor to show the count every facet of the Season, both the glorious and the ghastly.”

A quick glance at the other women warned Natalya something was happening here that she was not privy to. Her fingers went instinctively to her knife, but she forced them to relax as Miss Wilton murmured, “Am I the glorious or the ghastly?”

“That,” Creighton said without faltering, “is something I shall leave you to decide, for I must ask you to excuse the count and me. Duty calls, you know.”

“Must you go?” Miss Wilton asked, turning back to Natalya.

“It appears I must.” She bowed toward the women. “Thank you for your pleasant conversation, ladies.”

“Do consider calling on Mama and me, Count Dmitrieff,” Miss Wilton cooed, her long lashes fluttering as rapidly as her fan. “I know Mama would be so pleased to meet a brave hero from such a distant land.” She held out her hand. “We are at home on Tuesdays.”

Natalya frowned. “Where are you the rest of the time?”

Miss Wilton gave a laugh as light as the music for the quadrille rolling through the room. Tapping Creighton lightly on the arm with her fan, she chided, “You need to give your guest much more tuition in the ways of a London Season.”

“A difficult task,” he said, drawing his arm away, “when I have not proven to be the master of such myself.” Motioning toward the far wall, he added, “Count Dmitrieff?”

Gladly, Natalya followed him across the dance floor where couples twirled to the cheery music. When she sighed deeply, he glanced at her with a hint of a smile.

“Is that sigh happy or sad?” he asked.

“Glorious or ghastly, don't you mean?”

“Mayhap.”

When the whisper of his smile vanished, she locked her hands behind her as she surveyed the room. “Do English ladies speak of nothing but fashion and gossip?”

“Farradiddles consume much of the conversation among the élite.”

“They twitter like birds.”

He dropped his arm companionably over her shoulders. “So you have suffered ennui among the men and are overmastered by indifference at the conversation the women share. You are clearly neither fish nor fowl, Demi.”

“Fish? Fowl?”

“An English saying. It means you are neither one thing nor another.” He chuckled. “Why did you come to London when you should have known you would never fit in here?”

“Orders.”

“An easy answer, but I suspect you could have given your superiors good reasons for you to remain behind in Paris or go directly to Vienna.”

She shuddered. “Another experience I am not anticipating with pleasure.”

“More parties, but there shall be many exotic heroes among the diplomatic corps. You need not be the center of attention.”

“I'm glad.” She rubbed her hands together. “How much longer will this gathering last?”

“A few hours.”

“Hours?”

He laughed at her astonishment. “If you could find something to interest you, the time would go quickly. However, it seems as if this gathering has nothing to appeal to you.”

Natalya stepped away. Something here appealed to her, something appealed to her very much. Nearly every word Creighton spoke to her was an invitation to throw off her guise and urge him to pull her back into his arms while she discovered if his kisses were as mind-sapping as his suggestion of such intimacy.

“Nor does much appeal to you,” she said quietly. “You walked away from the card table.”

“To catch you.”

“And you were beneath reproach in speaking with Miss Wilton.”

“You looked as if you wished to flee.”

She smiled. “True, but being rude was not the way I planned to do that.”

“Trust me.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. The motion, which should have been a sign of friendship, sent a flurry of delight swirling through her with the strength of a blizzard across the steppes. His fingers stroked her shoulder surreptitiously as he said, “I know these people, and you do not. Some of them do not understand subtlety. They see hesitation as weakness.”

“We are speaking of the guests at this party, not enemies.”

“For you, when you are as you are,” he said, lowering his voice to the whisper which resonated through her, “each one of these people is an enemy who could uncover the truth.”

She laughed and moved away again. “Trust
me
, Creighton. Nobody has seen the truth before tonight.”

“Save me.”

“But only because I was careless. I shan't be again. If you judge by the women who expressed interest in my male opinion on ladies' clothing, no one here will guess at my deception.”

“Mayhap I am being overcautious.”

“Or jealous of the attention I am garnering?”

His chuckle was terse. “Of all you have said to me, that is the most ludicrous. If I did not know the truth, my good count, I would challenge you to see which of us could first win the good favors of one of these fine ladies. I assure you that you would again grant me the victory.”

“Easy for you to boast when you know it is impossible.”

“Exactly.”

“As for challenges, is Mr. Lawson here?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And I'm still waiting for inspiration.” He gestured toward the back of the room. “I see General Miloradovich has arrived.”

She sighed. “I should greet him.”

“Good. Let's go. Mayhap talking with the general will give me time to let some inspiration blossom in my head.”

Although she had hoped Creighton would take her words as an excuse to go elsewhere, Natalya led the way to where the general was enjoying a crowd of admirers of his own, including, she noted with astonishment, Colonel Carruthers. The general waved for her to join them.

“And bring Marshall with you, Kapitán,” General Miloradovich ordered in a roar. Putting his broad hand on Natalya's arm, he unceremoniously shoved her aside as he said, “Marshall, allow me to introduce my niece Tatiana Suvorov.”

Natalya swore under her breath and counted backward from ten. She had thought Tatiana Suvorov would not arrive in London until the czar's party did. As she watched, the black-haired woman, whose skin was as smooth as a porcelain doll's, held out her hand to Creighton and offered him a smile as warm as Miss Wilton had given her. She wanted to shout “
Osteregáytes
!,” but she doubted if Creighton would heed her call for caution. She knew General Miloradovich would be furious, for he did not see his niece was a harlot as surely as the mistresses he collected.

With a frown, she scanned the room. No, she saw no sign of Kapitán Radishchev. Could General Miloradovich have found his ginger-hackled mistress by himself? Having Radishchev far from London might be the only good part of this muddle.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Natalya bit her lip as Creighton said, “Miss Suvorov, a true honor.” He raised Tatiana's gloved hand to his lips and bowed over it.

Her fingers curved around his, not letting him release them. In a heavier accent than Natalya's, she said, “No, my lord. I am the one honored. So much I have heard about the brave Kapitán Marshall.”

Her uncle bent and whispered something in her ear. Creighton saw Natalya's lips tighten, but his gaze went back to the lustrously beautiful brunette as Tatiana laughed. She was dressed
à la modality
, and every motion gave off the scent of an enticing perfume that urged a man to give his fantasies free rein.

“Forgive me,” Tatiana said. “I should have said ‘the brave Lord Ashcroft.' My uncle tells me you already have plans under way to leave the British army.”

“That is true.”

Thick lashes danced on her cheek as she moved closer and gazed up at him. “However can they bear to let you leave? Colonel, can your army endure the loss of such a dashing hero?”

As Carruthers chuckled, Creighton said, “I have few doubts they will give my departure more than passing notice.” Putting his hand on Natalya's stiff shoulder, he asked, “Miss Suvorov, if you wish to meet a true hero, allow me to introduce someone from your own homeland, Captain Dmitrieff.”

“
You
are Kapitán Dmitrieff?” Tatiana gasped, then recovered to hold out her hand.

Natalya bowed over it so smoothly that Creighton began to understand how she had managed to conceal she was a woman. Her manners were as polished as a courtier's. “And you are Tatiana Suvorov,” she answered pleasantly. “Although we have not had the opportunity to meet before this, I can tell you that your uncle has spoken of you often.”

“And with honesty,” General Miloradovich prompted.

“Without question.”

Creighton watched Miss Suvorov preen at her uncle's compliment and Natalya's quick confirmation. Then his gaze went back to Natalya. She was chatting with Colonel Carruthers with an ease he had never attained. Mayhap tragedy had thrown her into the life of a soldier, but she had assumed the guise of her brother as if she had been born to it.

“Oh, listen to the music! 'Tis a waltz,” cried Tatiana as she whirled, the ruffles on her hem brushing Creighton's legs. She put her hand on his arm. “Is it considered too bold for a lady who knows so few people here to ask if a kind gentleman might find her a partner so she can dance?”

General Miloradovich chuckled. “You will help my niece, won't you, Dmitrieff?”

“I would be delighted to find her an escort.” Natalya almost laughed aloud when she saw the exasperation on Tatiana's face. The young woman had hoped her uncle would ask Creighton. She turned to the older man beside her. “As senior officer here, Colonel Carruthers, you should have the honor.”

“I regret I am too senior. That dance was not one I learned in my youth.”

“Then, Creighton, may I be so presumptuous as to ask you for a favor on behalf of General Miloradovich and his niece? She seems to find you in good favor already.” To Tatiana, she added, “I suppose you would not be averse to dancing with Lord Ashcroft.”

“Not if he wishes to dance with me,” she said, putting her hand on his arm again.

Before Creighton could answer, Colonel Carruthers ordered with an indifferent wave, “Go and dance, Captain. It's an excellent idea. You need not worry about being the good host at this moment. Captain Dmitrieff and I can exchange stories for hours, I believe.”

Natalya tried to wipe her face clear of any emotion as Creighton looked at her. Letting him see her sympathy was a guarantee of trouble, for the general and his empty-headed niece would be watching her, too. She could not hold back her smile as Creighton said, “Very true, Colonel. Miss Suvorov, would you stand up with me for this dance?”

When Creighton fired a glance at her again as he walked with the brunette to the dancing area, Natalya struggled not to laugh. She was not daunted by his annoyed expression, and, if she were wise, she would recall the first lesson Petr had taught her when they rode to join the Russian army. Use whatever tools were at hand as a weapon to protect herself. Mayhap Tatiana Suvorov was the very tool she needed to strengthen her resolve not to surrender to Creighton Marshall's seductive touch.

But if that were so, why did some despairing emotion she did not recognize whirl through her as she watched Tatiana laugh and spin in Creighton's arms?