His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) (9 page)

* * *

Later, when the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, the conversation took a different direction and Sabrina was content to listen. Once someone asked about her putative son, Miguel, and she made what she hoped was a convincing reply. It occurred to her then for the first time that it might be pleasant to have children of her
own one day. Nothing could have been further removed from the life she had been living hitherto, and yet the idea did not displease her. Of course, it would have to be with the right man. Falconbridge’s face imposed itself on her memory. In one of their earlier conversations he had told her he liked children. She thought he would make a good father. That was a foolish notion of course, given what she knew of his past. Besides, he had no interest in her beyond the completion of a duty. He had told her he was married to his career. Knowing that, she was unaccountably saddened.

* * *

The gathering broke up just after eleven. Everyone knew that the following night would be a late one, for the ball would go on into the early hours, and had decided to be well rested for the event. Sabrina could see the point. In any case, the journey had been tiring and the thought of a good night’s sleep was not unwelcome. Then she remembered that tonight she and Falconbridge would be sharing a room again. No one else would think anything of it. After all, were they not supposed to be man and wife? The thought sent a frisson along her skin. She had to trust him.

As she had told Jacinta not to wait up, the room was empty when she returned. Falconbridge had lingered to speak to Don Pedro and she had no idea how long he would remain. Taking advantage of his absence, she undressed and donned her nightgown before sitting down at the dressing table to unpin her hair. She was thus engaged when the door opened to admit him. For a moment he was still, looking on, before closing the door and coming farther into the room. Sabrina forced unsteady hands to continue with their task. In the glass
she saw him remove his coat and slowly unfasten his neckcloth. His gaze never left her.

He heard the pins drop into the glass dish on the dressing table and watched her shake her hair loose. It fell over her shoulders in a riot of soft curls. She reached for a brush. Beneath the gentle strokes the wilful gold mass shone in the candlelight. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to run his fingers through it. Conquering the urge he tossed his coat over a chair. The neckcloth followed. He pulled off his shirt and sat down to remove his boots. Having done so, he rose and crossed the intervening space to the bed and retrieved the top cover and a pillow before retiring with them to the nearest couch.

Sabrina’s hands paused at their task. ‘It’s my turn to sleep on the couch.’

He turned, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. ‘I think not.’

‘Truly, I don’t mind.’

‘Maybe not, but I do.’

‘I should not think the worse of you.’

He smiled faintly. ‘No, I believe you would not. Even so, I shall sleep here.’

The tone, though quiet, was implacable. Sabrina had come to recognise it, and also the futility of argument.

‘As you will.’ She paused. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure, ma’am.’

‘I doubt that somehow, but I appreciate the gesture.’

She laid aside the brush. The mirror showed him the soft swell of her breast beneath the low neckline of her nightdress. The filmy material revealed every line and curve of her body. Almost at once he felt the answering heat in his loins. He wanted her and at the same time
knew beyond doubt that to follow his inclination would offend every notion of honour. She was under his protection, and to take advantage of this highly desirable situation would be to violate all trust between them. The only reason she was here was to obtain her father’s freedom. She had no interest in anything else.

Drawing a deep breath he watched her cross to the bed and climb in, settling herself beneath the covers. She had shown no fear, he thought, but he guessed at some of the thoughts in her mind. He could not destroy the relationship they had built up over the past days by one ill-judged and lustful act. She deserved better from him.

Sabrina lay still as he blew out the candle and returned to his makeshift bed. Then he finished undressing and climbed in. She closed her eyes, every sense attuned to him, heart thumping in her breast. Once he had spoken about intimacy, of the need to play a part. It had occurred to her then to wonder if he would use that to take advantage and insist she play her part to the full. She knew better now. The thought of sharing Falconbridge’s bed should have filled her with horror, but that was not the emotion uppermost in her mind. Horror did not cause the melting warmth at the core of her pelvis, or the sensation of painful longing in her heart. After Jack Denton’s betrayal she had thought never to feel desire for a man again. Yet somehow, with no apparent effort, Robert Falconbridge had broken through her guard. It had happened so gradually that she had barely been aware of it. She could no longer deny that she was attracted to him, but it was an attraction that she didn’t dare pursue.

Her companion shut his eyes, trying not to dwell on the semi-clad form just feet away from him. With a wry
smile he turned his head and quietly bade her goodnight. He heard her reply in kind, and then the faint rustle of bedclothes as she turned onto her side. It was a long time before sleep claimed him.

* * *

The following morning Don Pedro solicited a private talk with his guest. For that purpose he had chosen the library. It was quiet and allowed of no possibility that the conversation might be overheard.

‘You took a risk coming to Aranjuez,
señor,’
he said, ‘but there was no other way of solving the problem.’

‘I understand.’ Falconbridge paused, eyeing his host keenly. ‘But you also took a great risk.’

‘In the service of my country.’

‘Even so.’

‘The alternative is to let the usurper, Joseph, keep the throne he has stolen.’ Don Pedro’s lip curled in quiet contempt. ‘My post brings me into contact with influential people and sensitive information. I put it to good use when I can.’

‘Your help has proved most valuable in the past. My superiors are grateful.’

‘They will certainly be glad to get these.’ Don Pedro turned to the bookcase and drew out a large and weighty tome. He opened it and turned the first few pages. They concealed a hollow section in which lay a flat leather wallet. He withdrew it and replaced the book on the shelf before turning back to his companion. ‘This contains the most up-to-date information we have about Napoleon’s troop movements, and his future plans for the war in Spain. If they can be exploited it may hasten the end of this campaign.’

Falconbridge nodded. Taking the wallet he opened it and unfolded the papers within, scanning them with a
practised eye. As he did so he felt a surge of excitement. ‘This is excellent. My government will be most grateful for the information. I take it these are copies?’

‘Yes. It would have been too dangerous to remove the originals.’

‘I shall do all in my power to ensure that Lord Wellington receives them as soon as possible.’

‘Much depends on it.’ Don Pedro paused. ‘In the event of capture these papers must be destroyed.’

‘I understand.’ Falconbridge refolded the sheets and returned them to the wallet before tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat.

‘If you are captured you must not be made to talk.’

‘That eventuality has been considered and the contingency plan is in place.’ He hoped that it would never be necessary to have recourse to the small package of pills hidden in a secret compartment of his valise. All the same, one must be prepared for every eventuality.

‘Very well. Then it only remains for me to wish you luck,
señor.’
Don Pedro held out his hand. ‘You and your charming companion.’

Falconbridge took the hand and clasped it warmly. ‘I thank you.’

‘She knows the truth, I take it?’

‘Of course. It was her choice to come.’

‘Then she is a very brave woman.’

‘Why so, I think.’ Even as he spoke the words Falconbridge knew that they were true.

‘You plan to return when?’

‘The day after tomorrow.’

‘It is well. In the meantime, I hope you will enjoy the ball.’

They parted shortly after this and Falconbridge took himself off to the garden.
Doña
Elena had offered to
show Sabrina around it that morning and he had every hope of encountering them there. For a while he wandered among the flower beds but found no sign of them until an enquiry of one of the gardeners elicited the information that the ladies were in the summerhouse.

He found it a little later, a pretty wooden pavilion painted in green and white with elaborate carved scrollwork round the doors and windows and a design of fruit and flowers along the eaves. Hearing female voices he mounted the steps and looked inside. Cushioned seats ran along the inner walls and on one of these he saw Sabrina sitting with their hostess. The latter saw him first and smiled.

‘Ah, Conde Antonio. Come and join us, do.’

Sabrina followed her gaze and he saw her smile. He accepted a glass of lemonade and seated himself on a stool opposite. It gave him an ideal vantage point from which to view both ladies.
Doña
Elena was, he acknowledged, a handsome woman. However, his gaze moved on and then lingered on Sabrina, cool and pretty in her figured muslin frock. Sensing his regard she looked across and he raised his glass a little in acknowledgement. She smiled faintly and then returned her attention to what their hostess was saying. However, he found his imagination moving ahead to the ball. He had never danced with Sabrina before. They had never attended such a function together. All the usual social gatherings at which men and women met had been denied them, until now. Courtship had never been a feature of their relationship. He still knew so little about her. Yet there was so much he wanted to know. Perhaps after their mission. He sighed. First things first. Everything had gone according to plan so far but that didn’t mean he could be complacent. This was occupied territory. Anything
might happen. He thought of his recent conversation with Don Pedro, and then of the contingency plan he had agreed with Forbes. He hoped that Sabrina would never need to know about that. For all manner of reasons this ball might be the only one they would ever have.

The conversation turned on general topics until a servant arrived to request their hostess’s presence in the house. She made her apology and left them. When she was safely out of earshot Sabrina turned to face him.

‘Did you have a successful morning?’

‘Very successful,’ he replied.

‘Then the information was all you hoped.’

‘It exceeded my expectations in every way.’

‘I’m glad.’ She smiled. ‘Now all we have to do is get it back safely.’

He returned the smile. ‘There is no reason why we should not.’

‘Your optimism is encouraging.’

‘Do you have doubts?’

‘No. I can’t afford them.’

‘I think neither of us can,’ he replied.

‘Where have you put the documents?’

‘In a safe place.’

‘You don’t trust me.’

‘Yes, I trust you, my dear, but it may be safer for you not to know.’

‘I see.’

For a moment she was silent, digesting what he had said. It was another reminder of what was at stake. Falconbridge surveyed her keenly but on this occasion found her expression hard to read.

‘Have I offended you?’ he asked.

‘No.’

He finished his lemonade and set down the glass.
‘Then will you take a turn around the gardens with me?’

‘If you wish.’

They left the summerhouse and strolled together through an avenue of fruit trees, the only sounds their feet on the gravel path and the droning of bees among the flowers. Sweet scents drifted into the warm air. Sabrina breathed deeply, enjoying the moment, every part of her attuned to the man at her side.

‘It is pleasant to be in the fresh air again, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘I was just thinking the same thing.’ She looked about her and smiled. ‘This certainly is a beautiful place.
Doña
Elena is justly proud of it.’

‘I collect she has a keen interest in horticulture.’

‘Yes. She was telling me earlier about the improvements she and her husband have made to the place since they came to live here.’

‘A labour of many years I imagine.’

She nodded. ‘And a meeting of minds. I think it must be agreeable to have shared interests like that with one’s spouse.’

‘I am sure it is, though I suspect it is a rare occurrence in most cases.’

‘You may be right. All the same, I should like to have a garden one day.’

‘Should you?’

‘Yes. I think it would be restful.’

He heard her with some surprise. It was not a subject he would ever have associated with her, but then unpredictability was part of her charm. It also revealed another facet of her mind.

‘Perhaps it comes from always travelling so much,’ he replied.

‘Perhaps it does.’

‘Would you not find it dull after all your adventures?’

‘Restful is not the same as dull.’

‘No, I stand corrected. In truth, it is restful out here, and certainly not dull.’ He smiled. ‘But then I think one could never be dull in your company.’

The matter-of-fact tone saved it from being outright flattery but it caused her pulse to quicken all the same. In any case he was far from being a flatterer. It seemed most likely that he was teasing her again, but a swift look his way found nothing to substantiate the notion.

‘Thank you.’

‘I speak as I find.’

She made no reply to that and presently they turned down a path at right angles to their course, and came to a fountained pool where fat carp swam lazily between the lily pads. Sabrina sat down on the stone ledge and trailed her fingers in the water. Falconbridge disposed himself casually beside her.

‘Have you ever visited the Moorish palaces of Andalucia?’ he asked then.

‘No, though I should like to.’

‘They, too, have beautiful gardens, albeit on a larger scale.’