Free The Counterfeit Count by Jo Ann Ferguson Page A

and continued to regard them with a smile.
    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.”
    â€œSoldiers!”
    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.”
    â€œOn what?” Mr. Lawson asked.
    â€œMany 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.”
    â€œYes, I do.” Natalya wished she could take the words back, but they had slipped from her lips.
    â€œDo 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.
    â€œMy 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.”
    â€œBe more careful,” chided Lord Ashcroft.
    â€œSome 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?
    â€œThen 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.”
    â€œAnd 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.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œBarclay …”
    He included Lord Ashcroft in his frown. “The challenge