His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance)

by Joanna Fulford

  ‘You have invited me to dine but I shall have nothing to wear.’

  ‘Really? What a delicious prospect.’

  She gave him an accusing look. ‘My dresses are in the trunk that we left back at that inn.’

  ‘The landlord has instructions to send them on with the carriage when an appropriate driver can be found. The man will be well paid for his trouble.’

  ‘You seem to think of everything.’

  ‘I do my best. Of course, this being Spain, it may take a little time for the carriage to arrive, but you will get your things eventually.’

  ‘That is a relief.’

  ‘In truth I feel slightly disappointed, given the alternative.’

  Sabrina grabbed the food cloth and flung it at him. It landed against his chest in a shower of crumbs. Much to her chagrin she heard him laugh.

  ‘You are not to feel disappointed,’ she admonished.

  ‘Oh, good. Does that mean my hopes will be met?’

  She glared at him. ‘It does not, you dreadful man! ‘

  The expression of contrition which followed was belied by the expression in his eyes. For a moment or two Sabrina regarded him with outrage. Then her sense of humour got the better of her and she began to laugh, albeit ruefully.

  ‘I should be proof against this by now.’

  ‘But I’m so glad that you are not.’

  ‘Does it amuse you to tease me then?’

  ‘What do you think?’ he replied.

  ‘I fear it does.’

  ‘Only because I know I can expect the like in return. I have not been disappointed yet.’

  Sabrina eyed him askance. ‘How am I to take that?’

  ‘As a compliment, my dear.’ He paused, his expression suddenly serious. ‘Very much so.’

  Under the intensity of that look the blood mounted to her neck and face. Before she could think of a suitable reply the men around them began to stir. Noting it, Falconbridge sighed.

  ‘I think that is a hint.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘It would be so much more pleasant to stay here for the rest of the afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, but I fear that is not an option.’

  ‘Come then.’ He got to his feet with a stifled groan, and then held out a hand. ‘Allow me.’

  She took the offered hand and felt his fingers close round hers, drawing her easily to her feet. The touch sent a familiar charge along her skin. He retained his hold a little longer, relinquishing it with apparent reluctance. Then they made their way back to the horses.

  He untied her horse’s reins and held the bridle while she mounted. Then he retrieved his own horse. She expected him then to return to his place at the head of the line but he did not, reining his mount alongside hers.

  ‘How do you find your cavalry charger?’ he asked.

  ‘A very willing beast, though quite a change from my usual mounts.’

  ‘I imagine it is a change for him, too, since he has to carry only half the usual weight.’

  ‘I had not thought of it like that.’

  ‘No, but I’m sure he has.’

  She laughed and patted the bay’s neck. ‘He will be back in service soon enough I have no doubt. The army always needs good horses.’

  ‘True—and when those horses have been taken from the French they are the more highly prized.’

  They lapsed into silence after this, but it was companionable, rather than awkward and she knew there was no company she would rather have. It felt so right to be with him. Once she had thought never to feel that about any man again and yet, in a short space of time, her feelings had changed so completely that she hardly recognised herself.

  From time to time as they rode he pointed things out: a pair of eagles in flight above a distant peak; a small snake basking on a stone or brown trout finning lazily in the shallows of the stream.

  ‘You have an eye for detail,’ she said.

  ‘It’s useful in this line of work.’

  ‘Have you always had it?’

  ‘I grew up in the country. Perhaps that affects the way one sees things.’

  ‘I am sure it does.’

  ‘My brother and I always seemed to have a gun in one hand and a fishing rod in the other.’

  ‘You had similar tastes.’

  ‘Very similar tastes.’

  Realising the implication she reddened. ‘I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean.’

  ‘I know you didn’t. Pray, do not be concerned.’ He paused. ‘Yes, Hugh and I were alike in many ways.’

  ‘You were close?’

  ‘Very close—then.’

  Though the tone was perfectly even she sensed the hurt beneath. It was dangerous ground and, having no wish to alienate him, she sought to change the subject.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he replied. ‘You need not fear to offend my sensibilities. I am equal to hearing my brother’s name spoken.’ Even as he said the words he knew them for truth, and that a shift had occurred somehow without his even being aware of it. ‘I think I have you to thank for that.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘It was you who first made me face the things I had kept hidden for so long.’

  ‘It was unintentionally done. I had no wish to pry.’

  ‘I know. That is why I spoke of it.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps it was overdue.’

  Sabrina remained silent, not wanting to interrupt him now, knowing just how hard it was to reveal the secrets of the past.

  ‘You once asked me if I had forgiven my brother for what he did,’ he continued. ‘The thought has stayed with me ever since. The answer is the same: I still cannot forgive or forget, but I think it is time to draw a line under the affair.’

  ‘I’m glad. The past should not be allowed to blight the future.’

  He shot her a penetrating look. ‘No, it should not, though I fear that too often it does.’

  She nodded, accepting the veracity of that remark. Was she not a prime example?’My father once said that it is not misfortune that shapes us, but how we respond to misfortune.’

  ‘He was right. Either we go under or we become stronger.’

  Recalling her recent conversation with Jacinta, Sabrina felt the words resonate strongly. ‘I cannot imagine the circumstances that would drive you under.’

  ‘Everyone has their breaking point. I am no different in that respect.’

  ‘Everyone talks by the third day?’

  ‘Exactly.’ He smiled faintly. ‘In any case, there are many kinds of hurt and even the strongest of us are not immune.’

  ‘I think that time helps us put things in perspective.’

  ‘Time helps,’ he agreed. ‘But it is thanks to you that I have been able to put things in perspective.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘You made me face up to the past, to voice the feelings I had buried for so long. Once they were out I had no choice but to confront them. I cannot pretend it was comfortable, but it was necessary.’

  ‘It is not easy to face down our demons.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, but past demons shrink before present evils.’ He paused. ‘When I was forced to watch while Machart assaulted you.it was the worst hour of my entire life. Nothing could compare to the horror of that.’ The grey eyes met and held her own. ‘I could not bear to see you hurt or demeaned in that way…in any way. I’d give my life to prevent it.’

  She stared at him in complete astonishment, trying to gather her scattered wits. Never in a thousand years would she have expected to hear such words from him. Somehow she found her voice. ‘I think that is the nicest compliment I have ever been paid.’

  ‘You deserve only the highest of compliments.’ He smiled wryly. ‘And a decent dinner, of course.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The conversation remained with her long afterwards and its effect was to leave a warm glow inside. Though she would not allow herself to refine too much upon it, nothing could diminish the pleasure of knowing she had his e
steem.

  As their journey progressed there were fewer opportunities for private speech, and though she was often in his company it was invariably in the presence of others. One of them was Major Brudenell for whom she had formed a real liking. Quite apart from the fact that he had been instrumental in saving her and her companions from the French, he had easy, unaffected manners and was invariably pleasant company. It was not hard to see why he and Falconbridge were friends as well as colleagues.

  ‘We’ve been through a fair few campaigns together,’ he confided one evening as they sat around the fire. ‘He’s a good fellow to have at your back in a fight.’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ she agreed.

  He regarded her in momentary surprise. ‘Of course, you would know that.’

  ‘He has demonstrated as much on several occasions.’

  ‘I own I did not think he would ever permit a woman to accompany him on a mission,’ he said. ‘No offence meant, of course.’

  ‘None taken,’ she replied. ‘Major Falconbridge did not wish me to come, but he was given no choice.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘In fact he did everything he could to dissuade me.’

  He smiled. ‘Quite unsuccessfully it seems.’

  ‘He did his best.’

  ‘He is known to be most assertive on occasion.’

  ‘Oh, he was. All the same it did no good.’

  ‘Marvellous. I wish I’d seen it. It’s not often anyone bests him thus.’

  They both laughed. Neither of them noticed Falconbridge, who had just returned from inspecting the picket line. He paused on the edge of the ring of firelight, surveying the scene. The two were sitting close, as old friends might, clearly enjoying each other’s company. As he looked on he experienced a stab of emotion uncommonly like jealousy. It took him aback and almost at once he felt ashamed. His friend had never shown anything other than gentlemanly courtesy towards Sabrina. Nor was he a womaniser. He had a wife back in England to boot. There was not the least occasion to be jealous. Taking a deep breath he stepped forward into the ring of firelight and joined the group who were gathered there.

  Brudenell glanced up and, seeing who it was, smiled. ‘Ah, Robert. Miss Huntley and I were just talking about you.’

  Falconbridge helped himself to a mug of coffee. ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Nothing damning, of course.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

  ‘It seems the lady holds you in high regard.’

  Falconbridge felt his heart skip a beat. Schooling his expression he surveyed the two of them calmly. ‘I am honoured.’

  ‘Yes, you are. Miss Huntley tells me you have demonstrated your worth many times.’

  His face reddened and he was glad of the flickering shadows around them. ‘The lady is generous.’

  ‘Not so,’ she replied. ‘I spoke only the truth.’

  For a moment she met his gaze across the fire. Was that a depth of warmth he glimpsed there, or was it merely the reflected glow of the flames? Before he could respond, Brudenell leapt in.

  ‘There you are, straight from the lady’s own lips.’ He turned to Sabrina. ‘I am in total agreement, ma’am. He’s a good fellow to have with you in a tight spot.’

  Falconbridge’s hand clenched round the coffee mug. ‘Brudenell, you talk too much. It’s a bad habit.’

  Far from being disturbed by the intelligence, his friend only laughed. Falconbridge glowered quietly, privately wondering if there wasn’t a badger sett nearby that he could stuff him into. After that he’d very much have liked to take Sabrina aside for private discussion. No, he amended, not discussion. What he would have liked to do was take her in his arms, to repeat the heart-stopping delight he had experienced once before. Unfortunately, the circumstances were not conducive to it. The best he could do was to change the subject as soon as possible.

  The conversation moved seamlessly on to other topics, interspersed at intervals with good-humoured jesting. It passed the evening agreeably until it was time to turn in. For a long time afterwards Falconbridge lay awake, looking at the stars, and feeling strangely happy. His mind returned to what Brudenell had told him earlier. The lady holds you in high regard. The words had been spoken in a bantering tone but their import meant far more than that. His friend could not know how cheering their effect had been, or how they gave him hope.

  * * *

  Their party remained with El Cuchillo’s men until they came at last to the western edge of the Sierra de Gredos. There the guerrilla leader reined in and gestured towards the plain below.

  ‘This is where we part, my friends. Follow the path yonder and it will bring you safely down. From there it should be but a few days’ ride to Ciudad Rodrigo.’

  Falconbridge nodded. ‘And you?’

  ‘We have other fish to fry.’

  ‘Then I wish you God speed.’ He held out his hand and the other man took it in a firm clasp. ‘And I thank you again for your most timely assistance. It will not be forgotten, I assure you.’

  A ghost of a smile played around El Cuchillo’s lips. ‘Allies must help each other. Besides, it is no hardship for us to harry the French, believe me.’

  ‘Wellington shall hear of your part in the matter.’

  ‘And we shall make good use of the guns he has supplied.’

  ‘I imagine you will.’

  El Cuchillo nodded. Then he touched his hat. ‘Vaya con Dios.’

  With that the Spanish force rode away, heading back along the trail that led into the hills. For a little while Falconbridge watched them go. Then he turned his horse and led the descent to the plain. They reached it without incident. The pace was swifter then and they made good progress, though keeping a sharp look-out for any sign of French troops. However, they encountered none.

  ‘With any luck we really shall be back in Ciudad Rodrigo in a few days,’ he said, bringing his horse alongside Sabrina’s mount.

  ‘I pray we will meet Ramon there.’

  ‘And I.’

  She shot him a sideways glance. ‘You do not doubt him?’

  ‘Not in the least, but, in spite of his local knowledge and survival skill, he has had to make a perilous journey alone.’

  ‘A calculated risk, surely? If you had any serious doubts on the matter you would not have given him the plans.’

  He smiled. ‘Quite right. All the same I try never to count chickens before the eggs are hatched.’

  ‘I can see the sense in that. Nevertheless, you must have had faith.’

  ‘I did. For that matter I still do.’

  ‘But you take the precaution of keeping your fingers crossed as well.’

  ‘Right now, my dear, everything is crossed.’ He threw her a penetrating look. ‘You must be looking forward to the end of this journey.’

  ‘I confess I am. Even so, I shall never forget it.’

  ‘Nor I.’

  ‘It has had its moments.’

  ‘Moments that I think neither of us will forget,’ he replied.

  Something in his tone caused her pulse to beat a little quicker, though when she looked at him his expression was impossible to read. She could only hope he, too, had taken some positive things from their time together.

  ‘Some I would rather forget,’ she admitted, ‘but by no means all.’

  There followed a small hesitation. Then he said, ‘What will you choose to remember?’

  ‘The night of the ball.’ It was out before she had time to think of all its implications and what construction he might place on the remark. As these things belatedly occurred to her she felt suddenly much warmer. Striving for casualness, she added, ‘And you?’

  ‘There are many things I will remember,’ he said. ‘The ball not least.’

  In an instant she was back in a moonlit garden with his arms around her and his lips on hers. Of course, that had been a ruse to deceive Machart, but the moment would stay with her always. Was her companion thinking of that, too? Had it meant anything to him? He made no
direct reference to it so she must assume that it had not. In any case, it was dangerous ground. She managed a smile.

  ‘I think there will be little opportunity for dancing for a while.’

  ‘Opportunities can be created,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We must seize those that come our way.’

  She drew another deep breath, knowing full well that if there was ever another opportunity to dance with him she would seize it. The force of the realisation shocked her. Did he feel the same, or was he speaking in general, rather than specific terms? Again there was no way of knowing.

  ‘I shall make every effort to do so.’

  He smiled. ‘I shall remind you of that, in the event that such an opportunity arises.’

  Just then another horse drew alongside and he looked round to see Blakelock.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, but Major Brudenell asks if he might have a word.’

  Falconbridge quashed a desire to tell Blakelock and Brudenell to go to blazes, and nodded instead. ‘Certainly.’ Then he turned back to Sabrina. ‘Will you excuse me, ma’am?’

  ‘Of course.’

  With real regret she watched him trot on ahead, and presently he and his colleague were engaged in private conversation.

  * * *

  Afterwards she found herself thinking of the future with mixed feelings: on the one hand, it would be wonderful to bathe and change into feminine garments and sleep in a bed again; on the other, she would see less of Falconbridge. He had intimated that he would like to see her again, but she knew it could not be often. His duties would command his attention and he would have little time to think of anything else. Gradually, the immediacy of their adventure would fade, though perhaps he might remember it from time to time and recall her with affection. In the meantime there was every chance that her father would be freed. Her spirits lifted at the prospect. He was the reason she had come on this mission and his safety mattered more than foolish dreams of romance.