His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) (6 page)

His fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass, but when he spoke his voice was perfectly level. ‘We had a disagreement. It was some years ago.’

‘And you’ve never been reconciled?’

‘No.’

‘How sad. What did you argue about?’ The question had been innocent enough but the grey eyes hardened. Sabrina was mortified. ‘Forgive me. I had no right to ask that.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ He paused as though inwardly
debating something. Then he said, ‘It was over a woman, as it happened.’

‘Ah, you both liked the same one.’

The accuracy of the observation startled him. In spite of himself he experienced a certain wry amusement. ‘Yes. My brother won.’

‘Was she very beautiful?’

‘Very.’

‘What happened?’

He swirled the remaining wine in his glass. ‘She married Hugh.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment she was silent, uncomfortably aware of having strayed into dangerous territory. Yet having gone there, she found herself wanting to know more, to understand. ‘That could not have been easy.’

He bit back a savage laugh. The understatement was huge, though she could not have known it. Did one ever truly recover from a blow like that?’It was some years ago,’ he replied, ‘and one gets over disappointment. The incident belongs to the past and I am content to leave it there.’

It was a clear hint. They changed the subject after that, but the conversation had given Sabrina much to think about. For all his quiet assertion to the contrary it was evident that the lady had hurt him. Perhaps she hadn’t meant to. She had clearly loved his brother more and one couldn’t dictate to the human heart. Her gaze rested on the man opposite. Had his earlier experience made him wary? Was that why he had never married? It seemed increasingly likely. It was also a reaction she found quite understandable.

Falconbridge tossed back the rest of his wine and then got to his feet. ‘We have another long day on the road tomorrow and it would be as well to get some rest.’

Sabrina rose, too, though rather more reluctantly, for the sleeping arrangements were etched on her consciousness. He stood back to let her precede him out of the door, and then accompanied her to the stairs. Then he paused.

‘You go on ahead. I need to speak to Willis and Blakelock about arrangements for the morning.’

It was tactful and once again she was grateful. On returning to the room she found Jacinta waiting. With her help Sabrina undressed and donned her nightgown. Then she sat at the dresser while the maid unpinned her hair and brushed it out. In the looking glass Jacinta’s dark eyes locked with hers.

‘Do you wish me to remain here tonight?’ she asked. ‘As a chaperone?’

Sabrina smiled wryly. ‘I assure you I am quite safe from Major Falconbridge.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Why should you doubt it?’

‘Because he is a man.’

‘He did not create this situation. It was always possible that it would happen at some point.’

‘Maybe so, but I have seen the way he looks at you when he thinks himself unobserved.’

Sabrina shook her head. ‘You are mistaken. He has never shown the least regard for me, other than as a…a colleague.’

‘He does not look at his other colleagues in that way.’

‘I am sure there is not the least occasion for concern.’

‘Best make certain. Put a pistol beneath your pillow.’

‘I cannot afford to shoot the Major, Jacinta.’

‘Very well, your knife then. The wound need not be mortal.’

Sabrina laughed. ‘I have no intention of stabbing him either.’

‘Please yourself.’ The maid sniffed. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

She finished brushing Sabrina’s hair and then, having watched her climb into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked them in tightly.

‘Colonel Albermarle would not approve of this arrangement,’ she told her charge severely.

‘Colonel Albermarle isn’t here,’ replied Sabrina. ‘Anyway, it’s only for this one night.’

‘That’s what you think. I’ll wager that in future there will be many inns with only one bedchamber.’

Sabrina gave an involuntary gurgle of laughter. ‘And I suppose you also think that Major Falconbridge arranged it in advance, in order to have his wicked way with me.’

‘Man is tinder, woman is flame and the devil is the wind. What man can resist temptation put in his way?’

‘He will not be so tempted. There is too much at stake.’

‘I hope you are right.’

With that sobering comment the maid departed. Retrieving Lazarillo de Tormes, Sabrina tried to occupy herself with the book but somehow it was difficult to concentrate. Jacinta’s words lingered in her mind bringing with it an image of Falconbridge’s lithe and powerful form. For all the maid’s assertions to the contrary, Sabrina was fairly certain he wouldn’t do anything foolish. Then, unaccountably, the memory of Jack Denton returned. She had trusted him, too. Involuntarily her
gaze went to the trunk across the room where her pistols currently resided. Frowning, she laid aside the book and climbed out of bed.

* * *

Ten minutes later footsteps sounded outside and the door opened to admit her new room-mate. Her heart leapt. Now more than ever she was conscious of his sheer physical presence. It seemed to fill the room. He surveyed her in silence for a moment and then closed the door and locked it. She drew a deep breath.

‘Everything is arranged for the morning,’ he said then.

‘Good.’

He crossed the room and peeled off his coat, tossing it over a chair. Sabrina feigned to study her book, comforted by the bulky mass of the pistol beneath her pillow. Under her covert gaze Falconbridge began to unfasten his neckcloth. Having done so, he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of the powerful naked torso beneath did nothing to calm her racing heartbeat. Could she trust him? Irrationally she wondered how it would feel to be held in those strong arms. The idea was as shocking as it was unexpected. She had not considered him in that way before. She certainly could not afford to think of him in that way now. With a start she saw him cross the room and approach the bed. Her throat dried. She must have been mad to send Jacinta away, to get herself into this situation. Her free hand crept towards the pistol butt.

‘May I trouble you for a spare pillow and a blanket?’ he asked.

‘Er, yes, of course.’

Having gathered the requisite items he retired to the divan and then glanced across at her.

‘Do you want to read awhile longer or shall I blow out the candle?’

‘Oh, no. I’m done.’ She laid the book aside and snuggled down beneath the covers.

‘Goodnight then, Sabrina.’

‘Goodnight.’

He extinguished the candle and the room was plunged into gloom. She heard the divan creak beneath his weight and then the softer sound of the blanket settling around him. Her hand stole beneath the pillow and closed round the pistol butt. Its reassuring presence drew a faint smile. Then she closed her eyes, trying not to think about the man lying just feet away. It proved much harder than anticipated. She realised then that for the first time he had used her name. The familiarity should have annoyed her. It didn’t. On the contrary, it had sounded a natural thing for him to do so.

For some time Falconbridge lay awake in the darkness, listening. Once or twice he heard her stir a little but then the room grew quiet. In the silence, thoughts came crowding fast. Chief among them was the semi-dressed figure in the big bed just across the room. Just for a moment he let his imagination go down that route. The response was a wave of heat in his loins as sudden as it was unexpected. He glanced across at the recumbent form and, biting back a mocking groan, turned over, mentally rejecting the temptation. For all manner of reasons she was forbidden fruit, and for both their sakes he must remember it.

* * *

When Sabrina woke the next morning it was with a sense of well-being. She stretched luxuriously, opening her eyes to the new day. The details of the room returned but a glance at the divan revealed it to be empty save for
the blanket and pillow. A swift glance around the room revealed no sign of Major Falconbridge. She frowned and sat up, wondering what o’clock it might be. As yet the inn was quiet, which argued that it couldn’t be too late. Throwing the covers aside she climbed out of bed and went to the window, opening it wide. The sun was just over the tops of the hills, streaking the heavens with gold and pink. All around the silent land stretched away until the rim of the hills met the sky. The quiet air smelled of wood smoke and baking bread from the kitchen.

She was so absorbed that she failed to hear the door open. Seeing the figure by the window Falconbridge paused, his breath catching in his throat. The rays of the sun turned her unbound hair to fiery gold. They also rendered her nightgown semi-transparent, outlining the curves beneath. He stood there awhile longer, unashamedly making the most of it. Then he smiled.

‘Good morning.’

Sabrina spun round, heart missing a beat. Recovering herself she returned the greeting. ‘You must have been up early.’

‘About an hour ago.’

‘You should have wakened me.’

‘You looked so peaceful lying there that I didn’t like to.’

The thought that he had watched her sleeping aroused a mixture of emotions, all of them disquieting. Quickly she changed the subject.

‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Well enough, I thank you.’

His gaze never left her, drinking in every detail from the tumbled curls to the small bare feet beneath the hem of her gown. Aided by the sunlight his imagination
stripped it away and dwelt agreeably on what it found. The thoughts it engendered led to others, delightful and disturbing in equal measure. He tried to rein them in; for all sorts of reasons he couldn’t afford to think of her in that way. On the other hand, it was damnably difficult not to just then.

Under that steady scrutiny Sabrina glanced down, suddenly conscious of her present state of undress and then, belatedly, the direction and power of the light. The implications hit her a second later. She darted a look at her companion but nothing could have been more innocent than the expression on that handsome face. It was enough to confirm every suspicion. The knowledge should have been mortifying but somehow it wasn’t. The feeling it awoke was quite different. Striving for an appearance of casual ease she moved away from the window.

‘I must dress.’

‘Do you need any help?’ he asked. Meeting a startled gaze he hid a smile and added, ‘Would you like me to send for Jacinta?’

‘Oh. Oh, yes, thank you.’

This time he did smile. ‘She’ll be along directly.’ Then he strolled to the door. ‘Breakfast will be ready when you are.’

When he had gone Sabrina let out the breath she had unconsciously been holding.

D
uring their journey that day they beguiled the time with cards. On this occasion it was piquet, a game which Sabrina enjoyed and at which she was particularly adept, as Falconbridge soon discovered.

‘Is this the sign of a misspent youth?’ he asked, having lost three times in succession.

‘Misspent?’ She smiled faintly. ‘On the contrary, I had a very good teacher.’

‘So I infer. Your father?’

‘No, Captain Harcourt of the Light Dragoons.’ Seeing his expression she hurried on, ‘It was all quite respectable. He knew my father, you see, for they had had occasion to work together in Portugal and they became good friends.’

‘A trusty mentor then.’

‘Yes, he was.’ It was quite true, as far as it went. Yet she knew she could never tell him exactly how much she owed Captain Harcourt. ‘He said that knowledge of gaming was an essential aspect of any young woman’s education.’

‘Did he indeed?’

‘Oh, yes, and he was right. His instruction has proved useful on several occasions.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as the time in Lisbon, when Father and I were invited to supper and cards with the officers. One of them was a lieutenant whose honesty was highly suspect.’

‘Ah, he was cheating.’

‘Yes, marking cards. It took me a while to work out how he was doing it.’

‘And then?’

‘I played him at his own game. He lost fifty guineas that evening.’ Her eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘He wasn’t best pleased.’

Falconbridge’s lips twitched. ‘I imagine he was not.’

‘It served him right though.’

‘Absolutely.’

Sabrina tilted her head a little and surveyed him keenly. ‘Are you shocked?’

‘By the revelation of a card sharp in the army? Hardly.’

‘I mean by my telling you these things.’

‘No, only a little surprised.’

‘You think it not quite respectable?’

He smiled. ‘On the contrary, I am fast coming to have the greatest respect for your skills.’

What she might have said in reply was never known, for suddenly the vehicle slowed and then men’s voices were raised in challenge. The words were French. Falconbridge lowered the window and looked out.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘A French patrol.’

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘How many?’

‘Ten—that I can see. There may be more.’

‘Regulars?’

‘We’re about to find out.’

The carriage stopped and Sabrina heard approaching hooves and the jingle of harness. Moments later burnished cuirasses, blue jackets and high cavalry boots appeared in her line of vision. Their officer drew rein opposite the carriage window.

Falconbridge muttered an expletive under his breath. ‘I think I know this man. Not his name, his face.’

Sabrina paled. ‘Will he know you?’

‘Let’s hope not.’ He glanced at his companion and murmured, ‘Say as little as possible, Sabrina.’

Almost imperceptibly, she nodded. Then the French officer spoke.

‘You will kindly step out of the carriage and identify yourself, Monsieur.’

With every appearance of ease Falconbridge opened the door and stepped down onto the roadway. The officer dismounted. Sabrina’s hands clenched in her lap. She heard Falconbridge address the man in excellent French. On hearing his own language the officer’s expression lightened visibly. For a moment or two his gaze met and held that of Falconbridge in a look that was distinctly quizzical. Then it was gone. He examined the papers that were passed to him and, apparently satisfied, handed them back.

‘These are in order. You will forgive the intrusion, Monsieur le Comte.’ He bowed. Then his glance went to the other passenger in the coach and lingered appreciatively. He bowed again. ‘Madame.’

For the space of several heartbeats she felt the weight of that lupine stare. It stripped her and seemed to enjoy what it discovered for its owner bared his teeth in a
smile. Annoyed and repelled together she lifted her chin and forced herself to meet his gaze. The rugged and moustachioed face suggested a man in his early forties, an impression reinforced by the grizzled brown hair that hung below the rim of his helmet.

‘Colonel Claude Machart at your service,’ he said then.

She inclined her head in token acknowledgement of the greeting while her mind dwelled regretfully on the pistols locked in her trunk.

‘May I enquire whither you are bound, madame?’ he continued.

‘Aranjuez,’ she replied.

‘Aranjuez? That is some way off. May I ask your business there?’

Before she could reply Falconbridge cut in. ‘A social gathering.’ His tone conveyed ennui. ‘One would rather not travel in these uncertain times, but on this occasion it cannot be avoided. Noblesse oblige, you understand.’

‘Of course.’ Machart smiled, an expression that did not reach his eyes. ‘And you will be staying where?’

‘At the house of Don Pedro de la Torre.’

‘Then you must be attending the ball.’

Falconbridge evinced faint surprise. ‘You are well informed, Colonel.’

‘It is my business to be well informed, monsieur.’

‘I’m sure it is.’

Machart threw him another penetrating look. ‘Well, let me not detain you further. Madame, monsieur, I bid you good day and a pleasant journey.’

Falconbridge climbed back into the coach and regained his seat. As he did so the Colonel remounted and, having favoured the travellers with a nod, barked an
order to his men and the patrol thundered away. Sabrina made herself relax.

‘He didn’t recognise you.’

‘No, or we would be under arrest now.’

‘Do you recall where you saw him before?’

‘Yes, on the battlefield at Arroyo de Molinos last October. He was leading a detachment of cavalry.’ He paused. ‘My men engaged with them at close quarters. But it was many months ago and the scene chaotic. It is unlikely he would remember every face he saw that day.’

She knew the battle had resulted in a heavy defeat for the French. That would certainly have been held against them if Machart had remembered Falconbridge.

‘He struck me as being an unpleasant character,’ she said.

Her comment drew a faint smile. ‘What makes you think so?’

‘I’ve met enough military men to recognise the type. Let’s hope we’ve seen the last of him.’

Falconbridge mentally echoed the sentiment. He had a good memory for faces and the ability to read those he met. For that reason he could only agree with her assessment.

Sabrina felt more than a little shaken by the incident, and suddenly Aranjuez did indeed begin to assume the quality of a lion’s den. One false step would put them at the mercy of the French, of men like Machart. She shuddered inwardly, recalling what Falconbridge had told her earlier about the risks of capture and interrogation: Everyone talks by the third day. He had warned her but she had elected to come. There was no choice now but to see this through. Her father’s freedom depended on it.

She was distracted from these thoughts by a strong hand closing on hers. Its clasp was reassuring, like its owner’s smile. The effect was to create a sense of melting warmth deep inside her.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Our stay in Aranjuez will be brief. Once the ball is over I shall have urgent business requiring my return.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and then released his hold again, leaning back in his seat, surveying her quietly. The sensation of inner warmth intensified. She resisted it. He had meant only to be kind. It would be foolish to refine on something so trivial.

‘I should not like to spend much more time in Colonel Machart’s company.’

‘No, though I believe he would not say the same of yours.’

‘It means nothing. He’s French so he can’t help it.’

Falconbridge bit back the urge to laugh. ‘How so?’

‘All Frenchmen are demonstrative in that regard.’

‘Are they?’

Sabrina saw the bait and refused to rise. ‘So it is said.’

‘And Englishmen are not demonstrative?’

‘Not in the same way.’

His expression was wounded. ‘What a body blow.’

‘I never meant it to apply to you. I was speaking in general terms.’

‘Based on your considerable experience, of course.’

‘Certainly not. I never meant to suggest…’ Too late she saw the expression in his eyes and knew he had been teasing her again. ‘You knew that, you horror.’

‘I beg your pardon.’ The apology was belied by a smile. ‘It was irresistible.’

Her chin came up at once. His smile widened. For a short space neither one spoke, though every fibre of her being was aware of the gaze fixed on her face. Even worse was the creeping blush she could feel rising from her neck to her cheeks.

‘I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.’

‘Forgive me. I was trying to be more…demonstrative.’

For a second or two she could only stare back but his smile was infectious and, unable to help it, she began to laugh.

‘No you weren’t. You were roasting me and enjoying it.’

The accusation left him unabashed. ‘I can’t deny it.’

‘You are quite shameless.’

‘So I’ve been told. I fear the habit is deeply ingrained now.’

‘I am sure of it,’ she retorted. ‘However, I shall try not to be so easy a prey in future.’

His enjoyment increased. Better still, the apprehension he had glimpsed in her face after the encounter with Machart was gone, just as he had hoped.

‘Good. I like a challenge.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s no use, sir. I shall not succumb. I’m wise to you now.’

‘What a pity.’ He sighed, eyeing her speculatively for a moment. Then, ‘Now that you mention it, I think we should both be more demonstrative, don’t you?’ He watched the green eyes darken to emerald, their expression most attractively indignant, and waited in anticipation.

‘Do you?’ The tone was icy. ‘And what put that thought in your mind?’

‘Aranjuez. People must believe we are man and wife.’

Sabrina bit her lip. ‘Oh, yes. I see.’

His expression registered concern. ‘You did not think I meant anything else by it?’

‘No, of course not.’ Scarlet cheeks belied the words. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast. ‘I will do whatever is necessary to convince people.’ She paused, eyeing him with less than perfect trust. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The usual sort of thing: tender looks, melting smiles—a kiss or two.’

Her heart turned over. This was beyond all bounds. ‘I will not kiss you, sir!’

Then she saw the familiar glint in his eye and knew he’d done it again. Furious with him and with herself she glared at him, only to see that he appeared to be choking. Her immediate response was alarm. Then she realised it was nothing of the sort; he was suppressing laughter. In reply she hurled the folded travelling rug at him.

* * *

They saw no more evidence of French troops that day, a fact for which Sabrina was devoutly thankful. However, the road became increasingly bumpy. The mud of winter had long since dried but it had left some deep ruts and although Luis did his best to avoid them, the vehicle lurched and swayed. It was well sprung but Sabrina knew she wouldn’t be sorry to reach their destination that evening. It seemed that her companion’s thoughts were moving along the same lines.

‘Not far now,’ he said.

‘I’m glad to hear it. This is one of the worst stretches of road I’ve experienced in a long time.’

‘One day someone is going to lay a good permanent surface,’ he replied. ‘I suspect that the last people to try were the Romans.’

She smiled. ‘I’d guess no one has touched this road since then.’

‘Maybe not even then.’

Before she could answer him the vehicle gave another violent lurch. Sabrina was thrown sideways, unable to save herself. She gasped as her head hit the side of the carriage. The blow was cushioned by upholstery but the impact jarred nevertheless. Then she realised they were no longer moving and that the coach was leaning at a drunken angle. Outside she could hear voices swearing in Spanish. Then a strong arm drew her upright and she was pressed against her companion. Her cheek brushed his coat. The cloth smelled faintly of spice—cedar or sandalwood perhaps. Underneath it was the scent of the man, sensual and disturbing.

‘Are you all right, Sabrina?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

Subjected to close scrutiny she felt the familiar warmth rising into her face. He was so close that if he bent his head their lips would touch. Almost immediately she recalled their earlier conversation and his teasing, and felt ashamed. Of course he wouldn’t kiss her. The husband-and-wife act was precisely that, and anyway there was no one nearby who needed convincing. Just then the door opened and Ramon’s face appeared.

‘Are you hurt,
Doña
Sabrina?
Señor?’

On hearing them answer in the negative he looked relieved.

Falconbridge straightened. ‘What the devil happened?’

‘A deep rut,
señor.’

‘Confound it.’

Sabrina watched him reach for the edge of the door and climb out of the vehicle. Then he turned and leaned in, holding out a hand to her. She felt the strong clasp tighten. Then it swung her up and out of the interior with what appeared to be a minimum of effort. A hard-muscled arm lifted her down beside him. It remained casually round her waist while he surveyed the damage to the coach. The offside rear wheel was sunk deep in the road surface. Behind them the chaise had also come to a halt and, leaving Jacinta in charge of the horses, his men hastened forwards to help.