His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) (5 page)

‘Not the least chance, sir.’

He sighed. ‘No, I imagine not.’ There followed another brief pause. Then, ‘Did you deliver your fruit safely, by the way?’

For a moment she stared at him, unable to believe her ears. Then she saw the gleam in his eyes and, unable to help herself, gave a gurgle of laughter.

‘Yes, I did deliver it, no thanks to you, you odious man.’

His enjoyment grew. ‘I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.’

It was hard to know what to make of that either, but she had a strong suspicion he was quizzing her.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘it wasn’t just fruit.’

‘What then?’

‘Guns for the army.’

‘Good lord! Did your godfather know?’

‘He sent me.’ Seeing his expression she lifted one finely arched brow. ‘Why should he not? The risk was small. Besides, I can take care of myself.’

‘No doubt,’ he replied, ‘but now that responsibility falls to me.’

‘A worrying thought, sir.’

‘Do you doubt my ability to protect you?’

The green eyes gleamed in their turn. ‘Well, yes. Did
you not abandon me to spend a night in the open with five men and a broken wagon?’

‘Wretch! You’re not going to let me forget it, are you?’

‘Certainly not,’ she replied.

At this point all his preconceived ideas had vanished; she was unlike anyone he had ever met. In his experience young women did not usually meet his eye in just that way, and certainly didn’t engage in verbal sparring. Beauty and wit were an attractive combination. She wasn’t afraid of him either. He wasn’t even sure if she liked him. On balance, he suspected not.

They returned to the inn and paid their shot before resuming the journey in a more companionable silence. Sabrina’s gaze went to the window but in truth she saw little of the passing countryside. Her mind was focused on the man sitting opposite. Thus far she had not allowed herself to think too far ahead, but now the implications of their relationship crowded in. For the first time in her life she was thrown together with a man whom she knew hardly at all and in circumstances that required a certain amount of intimacy. Falconbridge was unlikely to do anything that might jeopardise the success of their mission, and he didn’t seem the type to force unwanted attentions on any woman. However, she had learned early not to put her trust in appearances. Faith was a loaded pistol and she had a brace of them, should the need arise.

As for the rest, the villages they passed were few and mean, little more than clusters of hovels whose inhabitants eked a subsistence living from a grudging soil. It didn’t shock her for she had seen it many times on her travels, but it did occur to her to wonder where they would spend the night. In the past she had slept in many
places and knew that she would infinitely prefer a well-kept barn to a dirty inn. Even sleeping in the open was better than that. She decided to ask. The answer was immediately forthcoming.

‘We shall stay at La Posada del Rey.’

‘The King’s Inn. It sounds quite grand.’

‘I doubt if the king would be seen dead there,’ he replied, ‘but at least it’s clean and well run. I’ve used it before on occasions.’

‘I’m sure it will be satisfactory.’

‘Don’t expect luxury or I fear you’ll be disappointed.’

Sabrina laughed. ‘I became accustomed to rough living very early on. A clean inn is a luxury compared to a bed on open ground.’

He regarded her in surprise, not so much on account of her reply as the way in which laughter lit her face. It occurred to him again that she was rather more than just a pretty girl.

‘I hope never to subject you to such rude accommodation,’ he replied. ‘Rather I promise you a comfortable chamber all to yourself.’

Though the words were blandly spoken they were also meant as reassurance and she knew it. The matter of their sleeping arrangements had been on her mind since they had set out. She suspected he had guessed as much, and also that she would rather have died before mentioning the subject.

‘I shall hold you to that, sir.’ Her tone was equally bland.

The grey eyes gleamed. ‘I was certain you would, my dear.’

Unsure what to make of that she searched his expression for clues, but the rugged features gave nothing away.

T
he journey resumed uneventfully next morning and, over the next few days, they made good progress, whiling away the time in conversation and sometimes with cards. Sabrina also took the opportunity to learn as much as possible about the woman she was impersonating. Her companion supplied as much detail as he could. All the same, she could already see potential pitfalls, such as the fact that she had never been to the Languedoc. Falconbridge did not seem unduly unconcerned.

‘The Condesa must have been very young when the family left Toulouse,’ he said. ‘It’s entirely possible she wouldn’t recall very much anyway.’

‘That’s fortunate. There may be French officers present at this party.’

‘I imagine there will. Try to steer the conversation away from potentially dangerous topics.’

She smiled faintly. ‘If things look dangerous I’ll ask the officer to talk about himself. Then I won’t have to do more than nod and smile for the next hour or so.’

‘You think any man could speak for so long about himself?’

‘In my experience it’s usually a favourite topic of conversation; present company excepted, of course.’

The dulcet tone elicited a faint smile. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. I should hate to think that I was such a bore.’

‘Hardly that.’ Sabrina thought that
bore
was the last word she would use to describe him.

‘Another load off my mind,’ he replied. ‘Is your knowledge of men so extensive?’

With those words Jack Denton’s image resurfaced and with it a recollection of hurt and humiliation. She pushed it aside, forcing herself to remain collected. ‘How am I to take that?’

‘Given your unusual upbringing, you must have met many of my sex. Were they all such confoundedly dull dogs as your remark suggests?’

‘No, not all. Some were good company.’ She was minded to add a rider to that but refrained.

‘Indeed? And did your father allow you to keep such company?’

An indignant retort leapt to mind immediately. Just in time she caught the sardonic glint in his eye and realised he had been quizzing her again.

‘That was an outrageous suggestion.’

‘Yes, I suppose it was.’ He didn’t look or sound repentant. ‘I find myself curious, you see.’

‘About what?’

‘Given your bohemian lifestyle it cannot have been easy to meet eligible young men.’

‘I never thought of them in such a way,’ she replied. ‘Some were my father’s friends, others were officers whom I met in the course of events.’

‘But none for whom you felt a particular partiality?’

‘No,’ she lied.

‘You’re never going to tell me that they looked upon you with similar indifference.’

‘I really have no idea. You’d have to ask them.’ Another lie, she thought. Somehow it went against the grain to tell a falsehood to this man, but the truth was a nest of hornets and best left alone.

He continued to regard her steadily. ‘And yet you have been of marriageable age for some time.’

‘You make it sound as though I were quite on the shelf.’ The words were spoken without rancour.

‘I beg your pardon. It’s just that most young ladies I’ve ever met are on the lookout for a husband from the time of their coming out.’

‘I never had a coming out,’ she replied, ‘so perhaps that has coloured my view of the matter. In any case I was enjoying my life too much to want to relinquish it for marriage.’

‘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?’