‘You dislike the idea?’
‘Marriage sounds dull to me, but perhaps it depends upon one’s choice of partner.’
‘I’m sure it does.’
‘Being married to your career you have the ideal partner, do you not?’
‘Well, at least my career won’t leave me at the altar.’
For a moment she was silent, unsure she had heard him aright. Falconbridge felt his jaw tighten. He hadn’t meant to speak of it but somehow the words had come out anyway. Perhaps it didn’t matter now.
‘Is that what happened?’
‘Yes.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘Clarissa was very beautiful—the most ravishing débutante of the year. Every man in London was wild about her. I was no exception. I could scarce believe my luck when she accepted my offer of marriage. Our families favoured the match and so a date was set.’ He paused. ‘The church was packed with our friends and relations; it was one of the most splendid marriages of the season. Or rather, it should have been. However, when it came to the key question, Clarissa refused to go through with it.’
Sabrina felt intense sympathy for him. While she had heard of brides getting cold feet she had never, until then, known of one who had jilted her fiancé at the ceremony.
‘She informed me that she couldn’t marry me because she loved another,’ he continued. ‘With that she fled the church.’
‘Good heavens!’ His companion stared at him, appalled. ‘What did you do?’
‘For a little while, nothing. I just wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. Then somehow I got outside; I needed some air, needed to clear my head, try to think…and that’s when I saw them. They were standing together by the lych gate, Clarissa in my brother’s arms.’
‘Your brother?’
‘Yes, Hugh, whom I loved; the person I had always looked up to most; the one with whom I had shared so many adventures, the person I had trusted above all others.’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘It was Hugh to whom I had first confided my love for Clarissa. Once we were engaged, of course, she and my brother met far more often than they had erewhile. They soon became good friends but, being a gullible fool, it never occurred to me that it was anything other than innocent. At some point she must have realised Hugh’s interest was more than brotherly affection and seized her chance.’
Sabrina was genuinely shocked. ‘How could she do that? How could any woman?’
‘Hugh was the heir to an earldom. I was only the younger son.’ He grimaced. ‘I realise now that Clarissa never really loved me, but I was too besotted to see it.’
‘What did you do…when you discovered the truth?’
‘At first I wanted to kill them. They knew it, too; saw it in my face, for both of them were ghastly pale. But…’ he let out a long breath ‘…what would have been the point? When I saw their fear all I felt was contempt, and in the end I just walked away.’
‘And then?’
‘The scandal was enormous. I had no wish to remain in England to be an object of pity or ridicule so, with my father’s help, I purchased a commission in the army. It was a good decision. I discovered that I had an aptitude for the work and enjoyed its challenges. I made some good friends along the way, too.’
‘Have you never been back to England since?’
‘No, though I corresponded with my father and sister at regular intervals,’ he replied. ‘When my father died, he left me a handsome competence and one of the smaller country seats. I half-expected that Hugh would challenge the will but he never has.’
‘He has that much honour then,’ said Sabrina.
‘Perhaps his conscience prevented it. Who knows?’
‘His conscience must prick him dreadfully. He deserves that it should.’
‘Well, it’s in the past now.’
‘All the same, it must have been very difficult for you.’
His lips twisted in a wry smile at the enormity of the understatement. ‘At the time.’
‘And now?’
‘Not now.’
‘You no longer love her?’
‘No.’ It was true, he thought. Anger and pain had diminished, too. If only memory were so easily vanquished.
‘How long ago?’
‘Three years.’
‘Have you forgiven her?’
He hadn’t been expecting that, and the question gave him a sharp mental jolt. The answer, when it came, was no less jarring. His companion was remarkably astute for one so young. No one else had ever dared to probe so far and would have got short shrift if they had tried. This was different, more like speaking to a confidante, even though he had known her for so short a time. Her manner was quite artless and strangely hard to resist. Somehow it invited him to speak of things so long kept hidden; to open up a dark place to the light of day.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Such duplicity as hers is hard to forgive.’
‘Yes, it is.’ She hesitated. ‘And your brother?’
‘Nor him. I never shall.’ Now that it was revealed, he thought the dark place looked as ugly as an unhealed wound.
‘But if you do not, how can you put it behind you and move on?’
‘I have moved on.’
‘Have you?’
The answer to that one should have been secure—having thrown himself into his career he had put the past behind him, hadn’t he? A sudden and unexpected tension in the region of his solar plexus revealed it wasn’t as far behind as he would have liked. The ramifications were disturbing on many different levels.
When he didn’t reply, Sabrina didn’t press him. The conversation, so innocently begun, had led to places she had never anticipated, and she had no wish to trespass there. Nevertheless, she could not regret that he had told her; it made a lot of things much clearer. For the first time she glimpsed the depth of his hurt and the reason for his anger. After such an experience he would find it difficult to forgive or to trust again. Instead of a loving, supportive marriage it was his career that now provided the stable framework of his life. She didn’t care to think of what might happen if he lost that, too.
A swift sideways glance revealed that his eyes were closed. She knew he wasn’t asleep but the hint was sufficient. She smiled ruefully. It was none of her business and if he did not speak of it again, she would not.
Chapter Six
When Sabrina woke in the late afternoon her companion was gone. She heard the muted sound of male voices coming from the dressing room and assumed that he was closeted with Willis, no doubt getting ready for the ball. She rose at once and summoned Jacinta. Then she bathed and began the lengthy toilette so necessary for her participation that evening.
When at last it was completed she surveyed her reflection in the glass. Her hair, dressed high on her head, was entwined with a rope of pearls. Another strand decorated her neck and matching pearls hung from her ears. The white satin ball gown, with its daring décolleté, was overlaid with spangled gauze that shimmered with every movement. Satin slippers and long gloves completed the ensemble. The effect was pleasing and she smiled at herself in the mirror. Jacinta smiled, too.
‘You look beautiful. Far too good for him.’
Sabrina didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘He will not be paying any attention to me.’
‘Oh, is he dead then? I hadn’t heard.’
A gurgle of laughter greeted this. ‘Of course he isn’t dead. I meant he will have other things on his mind.’
‘Not when he sees you in that dress, he won’t.’
The words caused Sabrina’s heart to leap. Falconbridge’s opinion should not have mattered one iota but she knew full well that it did. The knowledge added to her feeling of nervous anticipation. It had been many months since last she had attended a ball of any kind, and even then it had not been so splendid a function as this promised to be. Neither had she had so handsome and charismatic an escort. She realised that she was looking forward to dancing with him. It would be the first time. It might very well be the last. The realisation brought with
it a sharp pang.
He had long since emerged from the dressing room and taken himself off leaving the field clear for Sabrina. Clearly he had some idea of how long it took a lady to ready herself for such an occasion, and she appreciated the consideration. She could only hope that he would be appreciative of the effort made on his behalf.
* * *
She had not long to wait for the answer. He returned a little later to see if she was ready to accompany him. He took two steps into the room and then stopped in his tracks as his heart performed a sudden and wildly erratic manoeuvre. He had thought that her beauty could not be improved on but he had been wrong. His gaze drank in every detail and found no fault.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, though to his ears it sounded lame. If he knew anything about it, every other man in the room this evening was going to be rampant with envy. The notion was most gratifying. However, if they thought to do any more than look they were going to be disappointed. Tonight at least, she was his.
Sabrina smiled. ‘Thank you.’
He crossed the room and took her hand, raising it to his lips. Then he smiled. It warmed the grey eyes and lit his face.
‘All set, my dear?’
‘All set.’
‘Then let us join the fray.’
He retained his hold on her hand and led her to the door. Sabrina drew in a deep breath, partly in trepidation at what might lie ahead and partly because he was near. As always, his slightest touch set her senses alight. It was as well he did not know it.
‘Incidentally,’ he said as they descended the stairs together, ‘don’t give anyone else the first dance. I intend to claim a husband’s privilege.’
Her heart missed a beat, but she kept the tone light. ‘As you wish, sir.’
‘It is exactly what I wish. In fact, I feel extraordinarily possessive.’
Her heart skipped another beat. ‘Do you?’
His gaze lingered a moment on the décolletage of her gown. ‘The sight of you in that dress is enough to heat the blood of a saint.’
‘But you are no saint.’
‘It hasn’t taken you long to realise that.’
‘Oh, I realised it the first time we met, sir.’
‘Jade.’
She smiled, her expression both unrepentant and irresistible, and he wished very much that they had been alone. For the first time in years he found himself prey to a lot of unexpectedly erotic thoughts. Unfortunately, from his point of view at least, they reached the bottom of the stairs and their hosts were waiting to greet them.
Already the guests were gathering and Sabrina’s gaze took in several French uniforms among the elegant crowd. She glanced up at Falconbridge and felt him squeeze her hand. Then they went in together. Happily, the first people they encountered were other house guests already known to them: Gonzalez and Don Fernando Muñoz, with his twin brother, Cristóbal. The latter were in their early thirties but, although not illfavoured, showed signs of over-indulgence at table in their thickening waistlines. Their short stature did nothing in mitigation of the fault, but their manners were easy and pleasant.
Don Fernando made Sabrina an elegant bow, his gaze taking in every detail of her appearance and warming as a result. She returned a polite greeting and, while Falconbridge spoke to Don Cristóbal, glanced across the room. As she did so her gaze fell on the small group of French officers she had noticed before.
‘Some of your countrymen, Condesa,’ said Don Fernando.
‘Yes,’ replied Sabrina. ‘I confess I am surprised to see them here.’
‘It does not pay to offend the ruling elite, as our host is well aware.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘You do not approve of their presence?’
Sabrina contrived a casual shrug. ‘It is not for me to say whom our host should invite to his house. Besides, I take little interest in politics.’
‘Of course not. It isn’t a subject that should concern a lady. It is far too tedious.’
Sabrina tried for a vapid expression. ‘I confess it is. Antonio tries to explain it to me, but I’m afraid I just can’t grasp it at all.’
‘A woman shouldn’t trouble her pretty little head over such matters.’
‘There are so many more interesting things to talk about, are there not?’
‘My view exactly,’ he replied.
Seeing her chance she seized it. ‘What an elegant gown that lady is wearing. I really must try to discover the name of her dressmaker. Of course, she may not wish to divulge it. Perhaps you would introduce us, Don Fernando.’
He professed himself most willing to oblige, and to point out other guests whom she did not know. Sabrina adopted a look of rapt interest. Having diverted him to safer ground she didn’t want him to quit it.
In the event, he had no chance because the music started and then Falconbridge was beside her again.
‘I believe this dance is mine,’ he said.
She breathed a silent sigh of relief and allowed him to lead her away. His expression suggested private amusement.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing to trouble your pretty little head over, my dear,’ he replied.
For answer he received an eloquent look and enjoyed it enormously.
‘Eavesdropping is a bad habit,’ she said.
‘I know but sometimes it’s irresistible.’
They walked out onto the floor and waited as the first set formed up around them. Then the music struck up. Moving through the figures, he had leisure to observe that his partner danced well. He could detect no hint of awkwardness in her movements. He was aware, too, that other eyes watched them. It was inevitable, he thought. Men would always watch a woman like Sabrina. While one part of him deplored the attention they were attracting, another part relished their envy.
‘Where did you learn to dance like that?’ he asked. ‘You must have had a good teacher.’
‘The best. Captain Harcourt was most insistent on that.’
He frowned, experiencing a stab of something remarkably like jealousy, and determining to know more, but the next manoeuvre divided them briefly. When they came together again he fixed her with a gimlet stare.
‘Captain Harcourt again? What had he to do with it, pray?’
The expression in the green eyes was the epitome of innocence. ‘Why, he asked his wife to teach me.’
Falconbridge bit back a laugh, knowing he’d been set up. For the second time that evening he wished they were alone. It would have pleased him very much to exact a fitting retribution. For just a moment he indulged that delicious thought.
‘My compliments to the lady,’ he replied.
‘I’m sure she’d be delighted to know of your approval.’
For a moment her gaze met his again and, involuntarily, they both smiled. The next figure separated them again and he waited for her return.
‘Your relationship with the Harcourts seems to have been highly educational.’
‘Oh, it was, sir.’ She could never tell him why.
‘I am sorry not to have made their acquaintance.’
‘I think you would have liked them. Father did.’
For a moment he saw a shadow cross her face. Then it was gone. He guessed that the mention of her father brought back the memory of his present predicament. He squeezed her hand gently.
‘Don’t worry. We shall see your father safe.’
His expression was so patently sincere that it brought a lump to her throat. Once, she would never have thought this man capable of kindness or warmth, and yet she had come to learn that he possessed both.
When the dance ended he led her from the floor where they were joined a moment later by Elena.
‘Condesa, there is someone I’d like you to meet.’
Sabrina forced a smile. ‘Of course.’
She would have liked to stay with Falconbridge but it was impossible. Good manners decreed that she must go. He smiled at her.
‘I’ll see you later, my de
ar.’
Elena led her across the room to another group and performed the necessary introductions. To her intense relief everyone seemed to accept her at face value. The Condesa de Ordoñez y Casal was admitted to their ranks with welcoming smiles. Their conversation turned on general topics to which she listened with apparent interest. Across the room she could see her erstwhile companion engaged in conversation with a small group of grandees. The ladies in the group seemed to hang upon his every word, admiration writ large in their eyes. Admiration and desire. Once, she heard him laugh in response to something that was said. The sound caused an unfamiliar pang. Before she could analyse it a familiar voice jolted her back.
‘Condesa, what a pleasure to see you again.’
Sabrina turned round and felt her stomach somersault as she recognised Colonel Machart, now resplendent in full dress uniform. His lupine gaze swept her in a comprehensive look and glinted appreciatively. Then he bowed.
‘May I say that you are looking even lovelier this evening?’
Recovering quickly she made a polite curtsy. ‘You are all kindness, sir.’
‘I would have the honour of the next dance.’
It was the last thing she would have wished for. Unfortunately there was nothing to be done save consent with as good a grace as possible. He led her out and they joined the other couples on the floor. Machart danced with practised ease but the watchful gaze made her feel apprehensive. It rested often on her bare shoulders and bosom. In it she read admiration and lust and something else that instinctively put her on her guard.
When the dance was over she hoped to slip away, but her partner was not so easy to get rid of.
‘Come, don’t deprive me of your company so soon. It is not often that I have the pleasure of talking to a Frenchwoman, or one so lovely.’
‘You flatter me, Colonel.’ She smiled. ‘However, my parents left France when I was very young. I regret to say that I have no memory of it.’
‘That is a pity.’
‘I have always thought so.’
‘And they came from?’
‘The Languedoc.’
‘I also.’ He bared his teeth in a smile. ‘May I ask your family’s name?’
His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) Page 10
