Natalya Read Online Free

us. You know, your father spared my brother Alec's life during our revolution in America, and we've been indebted to him since." Nicholai, who was still vigorous and handsome at fifty-three, looked the Englishman over with clear green eyes. "If there is anything I can do for you, you need only ask. I hope I won't sound rude if I observe that you look rather less... yourself than when we last met in London."
    St. James gave a laugh sharpened with irony. "You're very tactful, sir, and kind. My circumstances have changed drastically in the last year. To be perfectly frank, my life is in danger, and I do need your help."
    "I hope there is time for you to have a long hot bath, and then join us for dinner before my assistance is required," Nicholai said calmly. "My manservant will attend to your needs after which we'll discuss your situation over some good wine and hot food, all right?"
    Grey closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "My prayers have been answered."
    Nicholai patted him on the back, then glanced back at his son. "Ah—I've been remiss. Grey, I would like you to meet my son, James. James, this is Grey St. James, Viscount—"
    "I don't use my title," Grey said. "Life is much simpler without it. Hello, James. I'm glad to meet you."
    James Beauvisage put out his hand and tried to match the Englishman's grip. At fifteen, the youth was blessed with shining chestnut curls, clear gray-blue eyes, and a ready smile. He had much of his height, but he had yet to fill out and was at that precarious age when he was no longer a boy but not yet a man. "How do you do, sir?" he said politely.
    The trio started to walk toward the gallery as Nicholai brushed dirt from his buckskin breeches and muttered, "God, I need a bath. It's not a day to be on the roads, hmm?"
    Natalya remained in the entry hall, fuming. When her uncle didn't miss her, she cleared her throat before the men were out of earshot.
    Nicholai glanced back. "What is it, little Talya?" When she tensed, blushed, and glared in response, he took a guess. "Don't say that you have not been formally introduced to our guest! My dear, I do apologize." Eyes twinkling, he beckoned her over. "Grey St. James, may I present my niece, Natalya Beauvisage?"
    She wanted to make a scene, but somehow she suffered through her uncle's introductions, giving St. James what she hoped was a poisonous smile as they ascended the long, winding stairway to the second floor. Upstairs, Nicholai presented the Englishman to Lisette, who was now clad in a chemise frock of pale yellow muslin. Her blond hair was caught up with tortoiseshell combs so that loose curls framed her lovely face, and around her neck she wore an exquisite gold locket that contained a miniature of her husband and a lock of his hair.
    Nonplussed by the sudden appearance in her home of such a bedraggled, dangerous-looking stranger, she nevertheless managed to greet him warmly. Then, enlisting the aid of Nicholai's manservant, Honore, she hurried off to show St.
    James to a bedroom and arrange for his bath and fresh clothing.
    Natalya waited impatiently for her young cousin to retire to his own bedchamber. By the time she was finally alone with Nicholai, he was already peeling off his damp coat, now-limp cravat, and shirt. Marie-Helene had been dispatched to heat water for two baths, and she and another serving girl would be returning any moment with the first steaming pitchers.
    "Uncle Nicky," Natalya burst out, "I must speak to you about that... person!"
    "This isn't the most opportune time," he replied mildly, sitting down to pull off his top boots.
    "You don't understand, you must send him away immediately! He's a criminal, escaped from prison, or some such thing. There were men here, looking for him, and they said that he's an enemy of the emperor, and—"
    "My darling niece, don't you realize that St. James is an Englishman and France is at war with England?" Beauvisage laughed gently. "Of course he's the enemy, and regarded as a