Free The Counterfeit Count by Jo Ann Ferguson

came under siege …
    â€œHow long will we be billeted here?” Petr asked, freeing her from her dreary memories.
    â€œUntil the state visit is over, if I know the general. He is preoccupied with other matters.”
    â€œA blonde or a brunette?”
    â€œA redhead.”
    â€œThat 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.”
    â€œThey will understand nothing I say, even if I do.” His dark brows lowered in a fierce scowl. “Kapitán, what trouble are we in now?”
    â€œWe 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?
    â€œGentlemen,” 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.
    â€œWait? Why?” She looked at Lord Ashcroft who was smiling coldly.
    â€œThat 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.”
    â€œMrs. 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.”
    â€œIf even a hint of grjaz’ remains—”
    â€œWhat?” Mr. Lawson asked, frowning.
    â€œMud.” 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.”
    â€œTailor,” Lord Ashcroft supplied before Natalya could ask. “Barclay, you shall discover the count is unfamiliar with the cant we use daily.”
    â€œA tailor is not necessary,” she said quietly.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œPetr, please do not make things more tense,” she said in Russian.
    â€œKapitán …”
    â€œServe 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