His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance)

by Joanna Fulford

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A small detail, but an important one if our subterfuge is to be believed.’ He held up a gold ring.

  She stared at it for a moment and then at him. ‘I had not thought of that.’

  ‘How should you? It is a husband’s concern, is it not?’

  He reached across and took her hand, sliding the ring on her finger. It fitted well, almost as though it belonged there. However, she was not so much aware of the gold band as of the hand holding hers, a strong lean hand whose touch set her pulse racing. It lingered a few seconds longer and then relinquished its hold. He smiled faintly.

  ‘The adventure begins, my dear, for better or for worse.’

  They settled into silence for a while after this, each occupied in private thought. Sabrina’s gaze went to the window but in truth she saw little of the passing countryside. The presence of the wedding band on her finger was a tangible reminder of the role she was expected to play now. It might have been easier if the man opposite had been a less charismatic, less attractive figure. A plainer, duller man might have made it easier to concentrate. She forced her attention back to what she had been told, committing the detail to memory. She couldn’t afford to make a slip. Thus far she had not allowed herself to think too far ahead but now the implications of their mission crowded in, and the dangers it posed to them both.

  * * *

  At noon they stopped to rest the horses and to partake of a light luncheon. The inn was humble but clean and boasted a vine-covered terrace to the rear overlooking the hills. It was a far more appealing prospect than sitting indoors, and Sabrina readily agreed when he suggested they repair thither to eat. It was good to be out of the swaying vehicle for a while, and to have the opportunity to stretch her cramped limbs. While the Major bespoke luncheon, she walked to the end of the terrace and stood for a while looking out towards hills now hazy in the heat that shimmered over rock and scrub. Nothing moved in the stillness save a buzzard circling high on the warm air currents.

  ‘It is a fine view, is it not?’

  She had not heard him approach but a swift glance revealed the tall figure at her shoulder. His closeness was disconcerting so she returned her gaze to the hills.

  ‘Very fine.’

  ‘Spain is a beautiful country, at least those parts of it I have seen.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, it is. My father always thought so, too.’

  The mention of her father brought unwelcome emotions to the fore and she resolutely changed the subject.

  ‘The journey has made me hungry. Shall we eat?’

  He could hardly miss the hint and smiled faintly. They moved back under the shade of the vines. The meal was simple and unpretentious: tender, home-cured ham, slices of Manchego cheese, green olives, pieces of spicy chorizo, freshly baked bread and a jug of red wine, but Sabrina had no fault to find with it. On the contrary, she ate with enjoyment. The ham was particularly good, almost melting in the mouth.

  Falconbridge owned to some surprise, initially wondering if she would turn up her nose at such plain fare. Perhaps the lengthy travels with her father had accustomed her to such things. It pleased him to find it so. This mission would be difficult enough without being saddled with a captious female.

  For the most part they ate in silence. When at last they had finished he leaned back in his chair, surveying her keenly.

  ‘Would you care to walk a little? It may be some time before we get another chance.’

  She nodded acquiescence and rose with him. By tacit consent they strolled together towards the arroyo some hundred yards off.

  ‘I find that I know nothing about you, or almost nothing,’ he said then.

  She glanced up at him. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Now that’s a leading question.’

  ‘I have nothing to hide.’ That wasn’t completely true but she had no intention of mentioning Jack Denton. Anyway it had no bearing on their mission.

  ‘Then tell me a little about your background, the things that General Ward did not say.’

  ‘There is not a great deal to tell. My mother was a Frenchwoman whose family fled Paris when the revolution came. She died when I was twelve. Father refused to leave me with relatives and brought me with him to Iberia.’

  ‘An unusual upbringing for a young woman.’

  ‘I suppose it must seem that way to other people, though I have never considered it so.’

  ‘You clearly have a gift for languages.’

  ‘We spoke both French and English at home so the facility came early. I learned Portuguese and Spanish after my father’s posting to the Peninsula.’

  ‘I see. Did you never have any formal schooling?’

  ‘I had a governess when I was little. My father also taught me many things; more perhaps than most young ladies learn.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as learning how to defend myself.’

  Recalling their first meeting, Falconbridge smiled. ‘So the sword and pistol weren’t just for show, then?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Have you ever been called upon to use them?’

  ‘Yes. Father’s work took us to some remote places and once we were attacked by robbers. Fortunately Ramon and Luis were with us and we were able to drive our attackers off, but it’s not an experience I would choose to have again.’

  ‘I can well believe it,’ he replied. His curiosity mounted. ‘Did you never settle in one place?’

  ‘No, though there were some fairly lengthy spells in different locations.’

  ‘Did it not bother you to be always on the move?’

  ‘Home was wherever we happened to be. So long as Father and I were together I didn’t mind.’

  ‘His capture must have come as a severe blow.’

  ‘Yes, it did.’

  ‘I take it you were not there on that occasion.’

  She shook her head. ‘My horse was lame and Father was only going to be away for two or three days. That was four months ago. I have not seen him since.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Sabrina was struck again by the apparent sincerity in his tone. It was much at variance with the man she had met before.

  ‘I should have been with him,’ she said. ‘Perhaps then I could have done something to help.’

  ‘If you had been with him, my dear, you would have been killed or captured yourself.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Soldiers are not known for their chivalrous behaviour.’

  She smiled innocently. ‘So I’ve noticed, sir.’

  ‘Touché!’

  Her riposte had been justified, he admitted. All the same he hadn’t missed the mischievous glance that had accompanied it. There had been no malice in the look. On the contrary, it had been quite unwittingly seductive. The fact that it had been unintended made it all the more effective. He smiled in self-mockery. Any overture to Miss Huntley would likely result in him getting shot, or run through with a sword. She was more than capable of holding her own. It didn’t displease him. Whatever else, it meant that the journey wasn’t going to be dull.

  Their stroll had brought them to the arroyo, but the stream in its stony bed was reduced to a mere trickle now. A few stunted trees clung to the margins. Heat struck upwards from the baked earth and carried with it the scent of wild thyme and dry grass.

  ‘Despite the shortcomings of some members of the military,’ he continued, ‘you are fortunate to have a friend in Colonel Albermarle.’

  ‘He has been kindness itself. He and my father go back many years.’

  ‘When this mission is over you will see your father again.’

  ‘I pray that I may. I cannot bear to think of him in a foreign prison.’

  Her expression grew wistful and he was unexpectedly touched. Her affection for her parent was clearly genuine, as was her desire for his freedom. Her youth made her seem more vulnerable. Once again he felt the weight of his responsibility.

  ‘How old are yo
u, Sabrina?’

  ‘I’m nineteen.’ Her eyes met and held his. ‘How old are you?’

  His lips twitched. ‘Eight and twenty.’

  ‘Now you know about me will you not tell me something of yourself?’

  ‘You will find it dull. Unlike you I had a most conventional upbringing: Eton, Cambridge and the army. As the younger son I was expected to carve out a career for myself. My father bought me a commission and then let me get on with it.’

  ‘Do you have any sisters?’

  ‘One. Her name is Harriet. She is four years younger than I and married now with children of her own.’

  ‘And your brother?’

  There was an infinitesimal pause. ‘Hugh, who is two years older.’

  ‘Are you close?’

  ‘Not especially.’ It was, he thought, a massive understatement. The antipathy he had come to feel for his brother had, at one point, come perilously close to hatred.

  ‘Is he married?’

  The grey eyes glinted. ‘Yes. His wife is called Clarissa and they have two children.’

  It had been easier to say than he had imagined. It was said that time salved all wounds; it must have made more of a difference than he had ever envisaged.

  Sabrina smiled. ‘I find it hard to see you as an uncle.’

  He regarded her steadily. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, the soldier in you seems to preclude it.’

  ‘In truth I have seen little of my nieces and nephews,’ he admitted, ‘but that is due to the demands of the army and not to any shortcomings of theirs. I happen to like children.’

  The statement was surprising and oddly pleasing. It was a side to him that she would never have suspected. They turned and began to walk back towards the inn.

  ‘How came you to be involved in army work?’ he continued. ‘It is an unusual occupation for a young woman.’

  ‘It was at my own request,’ she replied. ‘I wanted to do something towards the war effort.’

  ‘A noble aspiration, but not entirely without risk.’

  ‘The risk has been minimal, until now.’

  He regarded her steadily. ‘You’ve taken a dangerous gamble, my dear.’

  ‘So have you.’

  ‘True, though I think the odds are stacked more in my favour.’

  Sabrina was unable to decipher what lay behind that for the tone was compounded of several things.

  ‘The odds are always stacked in a man’s favour,’ she replied.

  ‘Doesn’t that worry you?’

  ‘Of course, but then much depends on the man, does it not?’

  ‘And I have done little to impress you thus far.’ He paused. ‘I admit that on the occasion of our first meeting my behaviour was abysmal. I suppose there’s no chance of my being forgiven?’

  ‘Not the least chance, sir.’

  He sighed. ‘No, I imagine not.’ There followed another brief pause. Then, ‘Did you deliver your fruit safely, by the way?’

  For a moment she stared at him, unable to believe her ears. Then she saw the gleam in his eyes and, unable to help herself, gave a gurgle of laughter.

  ‘Yes, I did deliver it, no thanks to you, you odious man.’

  His enjoyment grew. ‘I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.’

  It was hard to know what to make of that either, but she had a strong suspicion he was quizzing her.

  ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘it wasn’t just fruit.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Guns for the army.’

  ‘Good lord! Did your godfather know?’

  ‘He sent me.’ Seeing his expression she lifted one finely arched brow. ‘Why should he not? The risk was small. Besides, I can take care of myself.’

  ‘No doubt,’ he replied, ‘but now that responsibility falls to me.’

  ‘A worrying thought, sir.’

  ‘Do you doubt my ability to protect you?’

  The green eyes gleamed in their turn. ‘Well, yes. Did you not abandon me to spend a night in the open with five men and a broken wagon?’

  ‘Wretch! You’re not going to let me forget it, are you?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she replied.

  At this point all his preconceived ideas had vanished; she was unlike anyone he had ever met. In his experience young women did not usually meet his eye in just that way, and certainly didn’t engage in verbal sparring. Beauty and wit were an attractive combination. She wasn’t afraid of him either. He wasn’t even sure if she liked him. On balance, he suspected not.

  They returned to the inn and paid their shot before resuming the journey in a more companionable silence. Sabrina’s gaze went to the window but in truth she saw little of the passing countryside. Her mind was focused on the man sitting opposite. Thus far she had not allowed herself to think too far ahead, but now the implications of their relationship crowded in. For the first time in her life she was thrown together with a man whom she knew hardly at all and in circumstances that required a certain amount of intimacy. Falconbridge was unlikely to do anything that might jeopardise the success of their mission, and he didn’t seem the type to force unwanted attentions on any woman. However, she had learned early not to put her trust in appearances. Faith was a loaded pistol and she had a brace of them, should the need arise.

  As for the rest, the villages they passed were few and mean, little more than clusters of hovels whose inhabitants eked a subsistence living from a grudging soil. It didn’t shock her for she had seen it many times on her travels, but it did occur to her to wonder where they would spend the night. In the past she had slept in many places and knew that she would infinitely prefer a well-kept barn to a dirty inn. Even sleeping in the open was better than that. She decided to ask. The answer was immediately forthcoming.

  ‘We shall stay at La Posada del Rey.’

  ‘The King’s Inn. It sounds quite grand.’

  ‘I doubt if the king would be seen dead there,’ he replied, ‘but at least it’s clean and well run. I’ve used it before on occasions.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be satisfactory.’

  ‘Don’t expect luxury or I fear you’ll be disappointed.’

  Sabrina laughed. ‘I became accustomed to rough living very early on. A clean inn is a luxury compared to a bed on open ground.’

  He regarded her in surprise, not so much on account of her reply as the way in which laughter lit her face. It occurred to him again that she was rather more than just a pretty girl.

  ‘I hope never to subject you to such rude accommodation,’ he replied. ‘Rather I promise you a comfortable chamber all to yourself.’

  Though the words were blandly spoken they were also meant as reassurance and she knew it. The matter of their sleeping arrangements had been on her mind since they had set out. She suspected he had guessed as much, and also that she would rather have died before mentioning the subject.

  ‘I shall hold you to that, sir.’ Her tone was equally bland.

  The grey eyes gleamed. ‘I was certain you would, my dear.’

  Unsure what to make of that she searched his expression for clues, but the rugged features gave nothing away.

  Chapter Three

  The journey resumed uneventfully next morning and, over the next few days, they made good progress, whiling away the time in conversation and sometimes with cards. Sabrina also took the opportunity to learn as much as possible about the woman she was impersonating. Her companion supplied as much detail as he could. All the same, she could already see potential pitfalls, such as the fact that she had never been to the Languedoc. Falconbridge did not seem unduly unconcerned.

  ‘The Condesa must have been very young when the family left Toulouse,’ he said. ‘It’s entirely possible she wouldn’t recall very much anyway.’

  ‘That’s fortunate. There may be French officers present at this party.’

  ‘I imagine there will. Try to steer the conversation away from potentially dangerous topics.’

  She smiled faintly. ‘I
f things look dangerous I’ll ask the officer to talk about himself. Then I won’t have to do more than nod and smile for the next hour or so.’

  ‘You think any man could speak for so long about himself?’

  ‘In my experience it’s usually a favourite topic of conversation; present company excepted, of course.’

  The dulcet tone elicited a faint smile. ‘I’m relieved to hear it. I should hate to think that I was such a bore.’

  ‘Hardly that.’ Sabrina thought that bore was the last word she would use to describe him.

  ‘Another load off my mind,’ he replied. ‘Is your knowledge of men so extensive?’

  With those words Jack Denton’s image resurfaced and with it a recollection of hurt and humiliation. She pushed it aside, forcing herself to remain collected. ‘How am I to take that?’

  ‘Given your unusual upbringing, you must have met many of my sex. Were they all such confoundedly dull dogs as your remark suggests?’

  ‘No, not all. Some were good company.’ She was minded to add a rider to that but refrained.

  ‘Indeed? And did your father allow you to keep such company?’

  An indignant retort leapt to mind immediately. Just in time she caught the sardonic glint in his eye and realised he had been quizzing her again.

  ‘That was an outrageous suggestion.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was.’ He didn’t look or sound repentant. ‘I find myself curious, you see.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Given your bohemian lifestyle it cannot have been easy to meet eligible young men.’

  ‘I never thought of them in such a way,’ she replied. ‘Some were my father’s friends, others were officers whom I met in the course of events.’

  ‘But none for whom you felt a particular partiality?’

  ‘No,’ she lied.

  ‘You’re never going to tell me that they looked upon you with similar indifference.’

  ‘I really have no idea. You’d have to ask them.’ Another lie, she thought. Somehow it went against the grain to tell a falsehood to this man, but the truth was a nest of hornets and best left alone.