His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

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      ‘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 СКАЧАТЬ