His Counterfeit Condesa

‘You think that all enjoyment ends with marriage then?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t mean to imply that all marriages are dull, especially not where the couple marries for love. That must be agreeable, surely.’

‘I’m sure it is.’

She eyed him curiously. ‘Did you never wish to wed?’

There followed a brief hesitation. ‘I once fancied myself in love but, as it turned out, I was mistaken.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

‘No need,’ he replied. ‘Besides, I am now happily married to my career. Romantic entanglements are for other men.’

They lapsed into silence after this, each seeking refuge in private thought. Unable to tell what lay behind that impassive expression, Sabrina could only ponder his words. He had spoken lightly enough but she sensed that more lay beneath. Clearly he considered marriage an unnecessary encumbrance and perhaps in his line of work it really was. The thought caused an unexpected pang. Even in the short time she had known him he had made an impression, more so than any man of her acquaintance—apart from one. While she didn’t equate the two, the first had taught her a valuable lesson. Since then she had kept her male acquaintances at a courteous and professional distance. She intended to do the same now. Her father was the reason she had become embroiled in this affair. His freedom was what really mattered. She must not forget it.

As usual they stopped that evening at an inn and Falconbridge requested rooms and a private parlour in which to dine. The patrón was delighted to welcome such exalted guests and assured them that he could offer a most excellent parlour. However, he regretted that he only had one bedchamber available. Falconbridge cursed inwardly. He had always realised this was a possibility but had hoped that it wouldn’t arise. He glanced at Sabrina who was just then engaged in conversation with Jacinta. Mistaking that look entirely, the patrón hastened to reassure him that it was a large room.

‘A truly commodious chamber, señor. The lady will be most pleased.’

Falconbridge seriously doubted that. Unfortunately, with dusk coming on, further travel was out of the question. The road was dangerous after dark. He had no desire to run into any of the brigands who frequented the hills, or a French patrol if it came to that.

‘We’ll take it.’

‘Si, señor. You won’t be disappointed, I guarantee it.’

Just then disappointment was the last thing on Falconbridge’s mind, which was turning instead on Sabrina’s probable reaction. In spite of the extraordinary circumstances in which they found themselves, a shared bedchamber was a step too far and, hitherto, separate accommodation had been obtained as a matter of course. Thus the proprieties had been observed. He could well understand the importance of that to any woman. Now though, matters were about to become deucedly awkward. Taking Sabrina aside he explained the situation briefly, watching her face, bracing himself for the explosion of wrath, which must surely follow.

‘I’m truly sorry about this,’ he said, ‘but it cannot be avoided. There isn’t another decent inn for twenty miles.’

Contrary to his expectation she didn’t fly into a passion or refuse to stay a moment longer, though she could not quite conceal the expression of alarm fast enough to escape his notice. He could not know how hard her heart was thumping.

‘We’ll have to manage as best we may,’ she replied.

Once again he owned to surprise and, privately, to relief. She was proving to be a much easier travelling companion than he had ever envisaged.

When inspected, the room was indeed quite spacious and, she noted with relief, it was clean. It was dominated by a large bed. A dresser and washstand occupied much of one wall. A low divan stood opposite. It was the first time she had been in a bedchamber with any man, other than her father. Major Falconbridge’s presence was different in every way from the gentle reassuring figure of her parent. Somehow he seemed to fill the space.

‘You take the bed,’ he said. Then, glancing at the divan, ‘I’ll sleep over there.’

She nodded, forcing herself to a calm she was far from feeling, reminding herself that she had elected to come on this mission. What had happened was a temporary but unavoidable inconvenience. When their luggage had been carried up, Falconbridge took himself off for a mug of beer, leaving the room free for Sabrina. She was grateful for the courtesy. With Jacinta’s help she washed and dressed for dinner, donning a green muslin gown. A matching ribbon was threaded through her curls. Sabrina surveyed her reflection critically. It was hardly sensational but at least she looked neat and presentable.

‘It will serve,’ she said.

Jacinta smiled. ‘It looks very well.’

‘Good enough for present circumstances.’

Sabrina did not add, ‘and for present company’. In all likelihood Falconbridge would not notice what frock she had on. Not that there was any reason why he should. Theirs was a purely business arrangement. He had never given the least sign that he was attracted to her at all, and that, of course, was a great relief.

A short time later she heard a tap on the door. On being bidden to enter Falconbridge stepped into the room. For a moment they faced each other in silence; his practised eye took in every detail of her costume. He had no fault to find. The cut of the gown was fashionable and elegant. That shade of green really suited her, too, enhancing the colour of her eyes. For the rest she looked as neat as wax.

‘I need to change,’ he said. ‘I beg you will forgive the intrusion.’

‘Of course.’

He spoke to Willis, who had been waiting outside the door. The acting valet touched his forelock to Sabrina and then busied himself with a chest of clothes. Jacinta eyed both men with cold disapproval and then, with determined slowness, began collecting up her mistress’s discarded garments.

Sabrina bit back a smile and, taking a book from her own travelling case, retired with it to the divan on the far side of the room. Aware of Falconbridge’s presence to her very fingertips she kept her attention sedulously on the pages in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him peel off coat, waistcoat and linen, affording a view of a hard-muscled torso. Water splashed into the basin on the washstand. He bathed his face and hands and sluiced his neck. Willis handed him a towel and he dried himself vigorously. Once, he threw a glance her way but Sabrina’s attention was apparently fixed on the book. Jacinta glared. He smiled faintly.

Then he turned and took the clean shirt offered him. Sabrina glanced up from beneath her lashes, caught a glimpse of a lean waist and narrow hips and very long legs, and looked away again. Spots of colour leapt into her face. Years spent in the wake of the army meant that she was no stranger to the sight of semi-dressed men, but this one possessed an almost sculptural beauty. Its effect was to make the room seem a lot warmer.

Unaware of the sensations he was creating, Falconbridge finished dressing. Sabrina surveyed him closely now, making no more pretence at reading. The dark coat might have been moulded to his shoulders. Waistcoat and linen were faultless. The cream-coloured breeches fitted like a second skin. She drew in a deep breath. Becoming aware of her regard he smiled faintly.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’

‘Oh, no, I beg you will not regard it,’ she replied. ‘I have been quite entertained.’

Across the room Willis made a strange choking sound and received an icy stare from Jacinta. Falconbridge raised an eyebrow. Sabrina’s cheeks went scarlet.

‘With my book, I mean.’

‘But of course,’ he replied. ‘What else?’

The innocent tone didn’t deceive her for a moment. He was outrageous. Moreover, he was enjoying himself. She heard him dismiss the two servants. When they had gone, he took the volume from her hand and examined the cover.

‘Lazarillo de Tormes. Does your father know?’

‘Of course he knows. He lent—’ She broke off, seeing the slow grin spread across his face. The gleam in the grey eyes was deeply disconcerting.

‘Did he? Well, he really has attended to every part of his daughter’s education.’

She wondered if he were shocked. It was, she admitted, a real possibility, for, while the concept of the picaresque novel was hardly new, this one could be read on different levels—particularly its numerous sexual metaphors.

‘Do you disapprove?’

‘Not at all.’ He paused. ‘Do you care?’

‘No.’ The word was out before she could stop it. She hurried on, ‘I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘You weren’t—just beautifully frank.’

‘Father always encouraged me to read widely.’

‘So I gather.’ He glanced again at the cover. ‘And it is a wickedly good book, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes, very.’

‘Wicked or good?’

His expression drew a reluctant laugh. ‘Both, since you ask.’

‘Good girl.’

Unsure how to take this, she eyed him quizzically. He laid the book aside and then gestured to the door.

‘Shall we?’

Dinner that evening comprised local fare but it was well cooked. Sabrina was hungry, too, after their day on the road. The conversation was kept to general topics but she found her companion informed on a wide variety of subjects. It came as no surprise now. She was forced to acknowledge that none of the officers she had met in recent times had interested her half so much. He had told her something of his background but only the essentials. All in all, she thought, he volunteered very little about himself. It roused her curiosity.

‘Tell me some more about your family,’ she said. ‘Your brother, for instance.’

The genial expression became more guarded. ‘What about him?’

‘You said you weren’t close. May I ask why?’

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.

Chapter Four

During 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.