His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) (11 page)

‘Perhaps, but just now the recollection eludes me.’ He paused and grinned. ‘However, I know that we have met once before, Condesa. Indeed I could never forget it.’

‘Nor I,’ she replied, with perfect sincerity.

‘I should like to know you better,’ he went on. ‘Do you stay long in Aranjuez?’

Her skin crawled beneath that speculative gaze. ‘No,
sir. My husband does not like to be away from home too long.’

‘Then I must use the available time.’ He bowed. ‘I shall hope to dance with you again later, Condesa.’

He possessed himself of her hand and raised it to his lips. Feeling the heat of that unwelcome embrace, Sabrina was thankful to be wearing gloves. However, she didn’t dare let anything of her inner thought show. This man was a predator if ever she had met one, and he would be quick to sense fear. All the same, she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him.

Across the room Falconbridge watched. Then he turned and murmured something to Elena. Their hostess smiled and left him, making her way casually through the crowd with a smile here and a few words there, until she reached Sabrina’s side.

‘Forgive me, Condesa, but there is someone who particularly desires to make your acquaintance.’

Sabrina regarded her arrival with real gratitude. ‘Of course. Please excuse us, Colonel.’

He bowed again. Sabrina walked away, aware of his gaze burning into her back. Her companion eyed her shrewdly.

‘A little of his company goes a long way, does it not?’

‘Yes. Your rescue is most timely.’

‘Your husband thought it might be.’

Instinctively Sabrina looked over her shoulder towards the far side of the room. Falconbridge was still with the same group, apparently listening with interest to what was being said. However, as though sensing her regard, he looked up briefly and she saw him smile before returning his attention to the speaker. Though it
was a fleeting expression it warmed her all the same, like a protective cloak.

‘Machart has a certain reputation,’ Elena continued.

‘I can well believe it.’

‘Not just with the ladies either.’ Elena lowered her voice. ‘There are tales about his military conduct which are not particularly pleasant. Of course, they may have been exaggerated.’

Somehow Sabrina doubted it but kept her own counsel. A few moments later she was admitted to a different group of people. Another casual glance across the room a few minutes later revealed that the French Colonel was engaged in conversation with another gentleman, a short, slight individual of middle years. The lined face with its pointed features and sharp eyes reminded her vaguely of a rodent. Both of them were looking in her direction. Her stomach knotted. Was anything wrong? Had they suspected something? She turned away, telling herself not to be foolish. It probably meant nothing. Machart would know many of those present this evening.

Don Cristóbal was standing nearby so she enquired whether he knew the identity of the man with Machart.

‘That is Jean Laroche,’ he replied. ‘He works for the French intelligence service.’

The knot tightened in her stomach. ‘What is he doing here do you suppose?’

‘Keeping an ear to the ground, I imagine. He attends all the important social functions.’

She nodded and managed a smile. If that were the case there was no reason to suppose that his presence here had any significance beyond that. All the same, the combination of Laroche and Machart was disquieting.

Her hand was solicited for several dances and that
precluded the need for conversation, or kept it to a minimum. After that she went in search of refreshment. The rooms were very warm now despite the fact that the windows along its length were open. A glass of fruit punch would be most welcome.

‘A glittering occasion, is it not?’

Her heart leapt and she turned to see Falconbridge at her shoulder. ‘Yes, I think that everyone who is anyone is probably here tonight.’

He put a hand under her elbow and drew her gently aside. ‘I noticed you speaking to the Colonel earlier.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, and I was never more glad to be rescued.’

‘I thought you might be.’

‘How right you were. I don’t care for him at all.’

‘No, an unpleasant character all round I gather.’

‘He told me that he is sure he knows you.’

‘Damn,’ he muttered. ‘The man’s no fool. He’ll remember eventually.’

Sabrina paled. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Act as though nothing were wrong. We have to get through the rest of the evening without attracting attention.’ He squeezed her arm gently. ‘Tomorrow we’ll be on our way.’

‘I hope we may.’ She paused. ‘Has Don Pedro mentioned a man called Jean Laroche?’

‘Yes. He pointed the gentleman out earlier.’

‘Do you think Laroche’s presence here is significant?’

‘I think not. I understand he likes to be present at social functions such as this.’ As he saw her anxious expression, his face cleared and he smiled. ‘As we are here and must remain awhile longer, will you honour me with another dance?’

She returned the smile. ‘Of course.’

They returned to the ballroom for the next two measures, and Sabrina forgot about Machart and the other guests thronging the room. Her attention was solely for her present partner, the touch of his hand, his smile, the warmth in his gaze. When he looked at her like that all else became unimportant and she abandoned herself to the music and the moment, content just to be in his company, to be near him.

When at length the second dance ended, she expected that he would return her to Elena or one of the other ladies, but he did not.

‘It is hot in here. Would you like some fresh air?’

‘Yes, very much.’

‘Come then.’

He placed a hand casually under her elbow, steering her towards one of the open doors that led onto the terrace. After the heavy atmosphere of the ballroom the night air was blessedly sweet and cool and scented with jasmine. Overhead the moon rose among a million brilliant stars and silvered the canopies of the trees. Somewhere among the branches a nightingale sang, the pure liquid notes travelling on the still air. Unwilling to break the spell she remained silent. This night might be the only one she would ever spend with him thus. Tomorrow they must leave, must get those secret papers to Wellington. After that. She bit her lip. Would the end of the mission be the end of the relationship?

‘A penny for them.’

His voice drew her back. ‘I was thinking about the future. Of what might happen.’

‘Are you afraid?’ he asked.

‘Yes, a little.’ It was true, she thought, but not for the reasons he supposed.

‘Don’t be. All will be well.’

‘Will it?’

Something in the tone touched him and he smiled gently. ‘Of course. I will do all in my power to ensure it.’

He lifted her hand to his lips. The imprint of his kiss seemed to scorch her skin. She made no attempt to withdraw from his hold for it seemed that her hand belonged there. Heart pounding, she turned towards him, waiting, trying to read his expression. Suddenly he tensed and his fingers tightened on hers.

‘Don’t look round,’ he murmured. ‘Keep looking at me.’

‘What is it?’

‘Machart is watching us from the doorway yonder.’

‘Why would he?’

‘Perhaps he was hoping to get you alone.’ Falconbridge smiled. ‘I think we should show him how futile his hope is.’

‘How?’

He released his hold on her hand but only to slide an arm round her waist and draw her against him. His lips brushed hers, tentatively at first, then more assertively. Liquid warmth flooded her body’s core and she swayed against him, her mouth opening beneath his. The kiss grew deeper, more intimate, inflaming her senses, demanding her response. She had no need to pretend now, nor cared any longer who was watching. All that mattered was the two of them and the moonlight and the moment.

He took the kiss at leisure, every part of him wanting her, in no hurry to end it. This had nothing to do with Machart any more; he kissed her now because he wanted to, because it was what he’d wanted to do from the first.
Heart hammering in his breast he drew back a little and looked into her face, trying to read her expression.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I confess I got carried away, but then I had not expected to enjoy it so much.’

Sabrina hid hurt behind a smile. So it had just been an act then. She pulled herself up at that thought. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned her, was it? Tender looks, melting smiles—a kiss or two. How could she have guessed he would be so very accomplished an actor? Her throat tightened, but she swallowed the lump threatening to form there and glanced towards the open doorway. Machart was gone.

‘Our companion got the hint,’ she said. ‘We must have given a convincing performance.’

Falconbridge surveyed her keenly. It hadn’t been a performance and they both knew it. What he had felt could not be feigned. Nor had he imagined the spark that had ignited between them. It had been all too real. And that, he acknowledged, was the danger now. A danger she had recognised perhaps, and was seeking to avert? She was right. They could not afford distraction. Resisting the desire to take her in his arms again, he merely nodded.

‘As you say, my dear.’ He held out a hand. ‘I think perhaps we should go back now.’

‘Yes.’

She placed her fingers in his and allowed him to lead her back to the ballroom. They did not speak and she was glad of it. Her lips still burned from his kiss, her body remembered the delicious sensation of being held in his arms. She swallowed hard. At all costs she must try and put the incident behind her, forget it had ever happened. She did not deceive herself that it would be easy.

He danced with her again when they returned and then relinquished her to another partner. She performed the steps mechanically now, fixing a smile on her face. Her gaze searched the room but found no sign of Machart. That was a relief at least.

* * *

It wasn’t until the company sat down to supper that she saw him again, though at the far end of the room. He glanced her way but, much to her relief, made no attempt to approach her.

‘May I?’

A tall figure appeared in her line of vision and she looked up to see Falconbridge. She saw him smile and returned it, feeling the answering leap in her heart.

‘Of course.’

He took the seat beside her. Now it seemed only natural and right that he should, as though he belonged there. She could not envisage any other man in his place. With an effort she reminded herself that all this was an act performed for the benefit of others, and yet how beautiful the illusion was, and how seductive. No matter what happened later she would remember tonight as long as she lived.

Throughout supper, conversation flowed lightly and easily and she was content to let others do most of the talking. Once again the other ladies present made no secret of their interest in the handsome Conde Antonio, laughing and flirting, seeking his attention. Once or twice she intercepted looks of envy from among their ranks. Outwardly Sabrina ignored them, but she was woman enough to enjoy their response as well, albeit privately. All her senses were attuned to the man beside her, drinking in each detail from the clean lines of the profile at present turned towards her, the easy smile as
he responded to the words of a lady opposite, even to the way he held his fork. He seemed perfectly relaxed, quite at home in this company as though he had been there all his life. Of course, she reflected, he had, or its English equivalent anyway. Accustomed to move in the first ranks of the
ton,
he would be at home anywhere.

‘May I pour you a little more wine?’

She realised that he was speaking to her. ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

He refilled the glass. ‘The chicken is particularly good. Have you tried it?’

‘I…er, no.’

‘Allow me to fetch you some.’

He retired briefly to the buffet and returned with another plate.

Having tasted a little of the chicken, she nodded. ‘You are right. Quite delicious.’

He smiled. ‘Much better than some of the fare you have been served of late.’

‘It is not the same thing at all.’

‘I know it isn’t.’

‘I meant that you are not comparing like with like and, therefore, the criticism is perhaps a little unfair.’

‘Perhaps.’ He leaned back in his chair and surveyed her keenly. ‘A bit like comparing cheap wine to champagne.’

‘Yes, something like that.’ Acutely conscious of his scrutiny, she took a sip from her glass with what she hoped looked like casual ease. ‘Of course, a true connoisseur would never make that mistake.’

His lips twitched. ‘No, indeed, as he could never mistake plainness for beauty.’

‘Do you consider yourself a connoisseur of such things?’

‘I was not, until recently.’ He let his gaze travel from her face to her neck and throat and thence to the décolleté of her gown where it lingered quite unashamedly. ‘Now the case is quite altered.’

Her colour fluctuated delightfully. ‘Now you are being deliberately provoking.’

He grinned. ‘That’s right. Is it working?’

She returned him a most eloquent look and then laughed reluctantly. ‘You know perfectly well that it is.’

‘Excellent. I should have been disappointed else.’

The words brought her back to earth with a jolt. This light flirtation was all part of the act and she would do well to remember it. For all manner of reasons she could not let this man get under her skin. This meant no more to him than a passing amusement. In his world such things were the norm and only a complete gudgeon would read more into it. The knowledge rallied her.

‘I should hate to disappoint. Therefore, I shall humour you, sir.’

Hr laughed softly, enjoying her. ‘Will you humour me in everything?’

‘Certainly not, for then you would grow complacent.’

‘Where you are concerned, my dear, I would never be so foolish.’

‘I admit that foolishness it not a trait I associate with you.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ He paused. ‘What traits do you associate with me?’

She surveyed him coolly. ‘Commitment to duty, attention to detail, thoroughness, a certain degree of ruthlessness and, withal, a touch of arrogance.’