His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance)

by Joanna Fulford

  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 w
e 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.’

  ‘I believe the architecture is very beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, it is, especially in the rooms that once housed the ruler’s harem. Beautiful surroundings to house beautiful women.’

  ‘Even so, I pity those women. It must have been an unenviable lot.’

  ‘I imagine that boredom was the biggest enemy.’

  ‘Yes, to have nothing to do all day but think of one’s appearance must be dull indeed.’

  He grinned. ‘And yet there are many women in the first ranks of society who seem to do little else.’

  ‘You speak knowledgeably.’

  ‘I have some small experience of the breed.’

  ‘You sound as though you did not approve.’

  ‘A fair face and fine clothes are no substitutes for an informed mind,’ he replied. ‘Ideally the three should go together, but rarely do.’

  ‘You have exacting standards.’

  ‘Is that a fault then?’

  ‘By no means, but I think it may be hard to find many ladies who meet the criteria.’

  ‘Precious few, and for that reason their price is above rubies.’

  She laughed. ‘Then make sure you are not as Othello’s base Indian.’

  ‘An injunction I shall heed most carefully, I assure you. A man would be foolish indeed to throw away such a gem.’

  The tone was light, almost bantering, but for a moment was belied by the expression in his eyes.

  ‘The same criteria could be used to judge men,’ she replied, ‘for a handsome face and an elegant coat may conceal a complete fool.’

  He grinned. ‘True. Do I take it then that intelligence is an important consideration in your evaluation of men?’

  ‘Oh, yes. What woman would want to spend her life with a fool?’

  ‘Many do, my dear, especially where the fool is rich and titled.’

  ‘Then I would guess that they never find true happiness.’

  ‘Happiness takes many forms. It’s a question of what the individual is prepared to settle for.’

  ‘That is a mercenary outlook.’

  ‘So it is, and commoner than you might think.’

  ‘But surely it cannot be agreeable to marry where there is no real esteem, no love?’ She smiled wryly. ‘Does that make me sound very naive?’

  ‘On the contrary, my dear. It makes you sound very wise.’

  ‘Well, that makes a change at least.’

  ‘I have never heard you say anything that was not sensible, except of course when you agreed to come on this trip with me.’

  ‘That was not sensible,’ she agreed. ‘All the same, I’m glad I did.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘You are generous. I know the prospect did not please you at first.’

  ‘It still doesn’t—in that way. But the man must be hard to please who did not enjoy your company.’

  The words were accompanied by a look that was hard to interpret, but which had the effect of summoning a tinge of warmer colour to her face. It also left her unsure how to respond. She could not tell him that his company was the most agreeable of any man’s she had ever met, or that his presence caused her heart to leap. To do so would be disastrous. Such a declaration would be perceived as an invitation to greater intimacy. His regard was not lightly given and it pleased her to think that she had it, albeit in some small measure. She would not do anything to forfeit that.

  They walked together back to the house and later rejoined the others for a light luncheon. It was a convivial gathering and, since good manners decreed that they must keep up their part in the general conversation, she had no opportunity for further speech with him then. It was only afterwards when the company went their separate ways for the siesta that they found themselves alone once more.

  * * *

  In the privacy of their chamber he seemed larger than life somehow, as if his presence filled the space.

  ‘We have a late night ahead of us,’ he said then, ‘and a long journey afterwards. It would be a good idea to get some rest now.’

  She nodded. The siesta was a Spanish tradition that she had come to value. ‘Yes, you’re right, of course.’

  ‘Do you want me to call Jacinta?’ he asked.

  ‘No, there is no need.’ She took off her shoes and then perched on the edge of the bed while he closed the window shutters and the louvered outer doors to the balcony. Through the dim light she saw him remove his coat and neckcloth and draw off his boots. Knowing she would rest more comfortably if she removed her gown, she reached up, fumbling with the buttons, but they w
ere stiff and resisted her efforts. For a little while he watched in quiet amusement. Then he drew her gently upright.

  ‘Turn around.’

  Somewhat hesitantly she obeyed, hoping he wouldn’t notice her inner confusion. This closeness had another dimension now; setting her pulse racing, filling her entire being with shameful longing. She felt him lift her hair aside. Steady, competent hands unfastened the gown and gently pushed the fabric over her shoulders. His hands brushed her skin, a touch that sent a tremor the length of her body. She drew in a deep breath, fighting temptation. How easy it would be to let this go further, to let him finish what he had begun and undress her completely, to feel the touch of his hands on her naked flesh. The thought created a sensation of melting warmth in the region of her loins. She darted a glance at the bed. At once the warmth translated to her neck and face. If he knew, if he even suspected…

  It seemed he did not for he stepped away then, leaving her to remove the dress, and retired to the couch. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw him stretch out. Those precious seconds gave her time to regain a little more composure. She struggled out of the gown and tossed it over a chair. Then she, too, lay down to rest.

  For a little while neither one spoke, but the silence was companionable rather than tense. Then she turned her head and looked across the intervening space.

  ‘What will you do when the war is over?’

  ‘Return to England, I imagine,’ he replied. ‘And you?’

  ‘The same.’ She smiled reflectively. ‘Though I think it would seem strange after all this time. Rather like a foreign country.’

  He thought it an apt analogy. Going back would be like returning to a past life. Except that one could never go back. The trouble was, while time and people moved on, the reminders lingered.

  ‘Do you have a house in England?’ she continued.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will it not seem dull to live there after this?’

  He grinned. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘My aunt wanted me to go and live with her in Reading, but I refused. I know she meant it kindly but it would have been unbearable.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘She would try to find me a husband, too. I’m sure of it.’