The Counterfeit Count by Jo Ann Ferguson

your incendiary words.”
    â€œThose?” She pointed back toward the card room. “Save for Mr. Hotz, there is not enough spirit within the lot to confront more than a kitten. Even their gambling is boring, nothing like we have in Russia. I cannot imagine any of my men chattering like a group of babas .”
    â€œLet me guess. Babas means babies?”
    She laughed. “Not even close. It means old women.”
    With a grimace, he motioned for her to continue walking with him along the corridor. “Watch what you say, for I may not be able to cajole the next man who challenges you to delay the duel.”
    â€œYou really don’t want to play cards any longer?”
    â€œI did not like the turn the conversation took.”
    â€œYou would as lief hear a man’s misfortune aired about among those more fortunate?”
    He shook his head. “No, I did not like that either, but I find it preferable to rehashing the war.”
    â€œPeople are curious about what happened.”
    â€œThat is no reason to satisfy it with such babble.”
    â€œIt does no harm to ease someone’s curiosity.”
    â€œNever?”
    She frowned. “Never”
    When he took her arm and tugged her out onto a balcony overlooking the back garden, she tried to pull away. He smiled as he pressed her shoulders against the stone wall of the house. “Then,” he whispered, “ease my curiosity.”
    She stared up at him. The sharp angles of his face were not muted by the darkness, for the faint light from within the house highlighted his jaw and cheekbones. Even though his eyes were hidden in pools of shadow, she could guess they were bright with amusement.
    â€œAbout what?” she asked as quietly.
    â€œAbout you.”
    â€œCreighton, please …” She closed her eyes as his fingertip traced the curve of her ear. Shaking her head, she said more fiercely, “Enough!”
    â€œI shall desist if you think I should, although I do not believe you are speaking the truth.” His hand cupped her chin, and he brought her face to his. The soft brush of his words caressed her as he asked, “How is it that a woman with a woman’s desires can think solely of something as hideous as war?” His laugh had a ragged edge. “Mayhap not solely, for your reaction when I touch you so chastely suggests you can think of more feminine pursuits.”
    With a curse, she pushed herself away from the wall. “Pursuits of feminine prey are your thoughts. I prefer the strategy of planning and winning a battle to courting and wooing. If you have no interest in what interests me, I shall ask you to excuse me.”
    Creighton smiled as Natalya went back into the house. Every inch of her glowed with fury. A feminine fury, which was as charming as the splendid motion of her hips. A fury which would escalate if she guessed the course of his thoughts.
    Mayhap this would have been a simpler thing if Barclay had not flown up to the boughs this afternoon. During the card game, he had avoided looking for Barclay. Barclay would like nothing better than to announce his challenge to Natalya at the moment when it would cause the most commotion. It was Creighton’s duty now, in addition to playing host to Natalya when he could easily have played something more pleasurable with her, to keep Barclay from finding out what must stay hidden.
    This was certainly not going to be the lighthearted Season he had planned in the wake of the war. The battle continued on, but now his most fierce foe was his own desire to draw Natalya back into his arms. It was a battle he must not lose.

Nine
    â€œDo tell us, Count Dmitrieff, what you think of London.”
    â€œYes, do tell us.”
    â€œIs it anything like your cities in Russia?”
    â€œCan you say something for us in Russian? I do hear it is a most unusual language.”
    â€œWhat colors do the ladies prefer in Russia?”
    Natalya struggled