Falconbridge sighed. ‘It can’t be helped. We’ll use what time we have and find somewhere to stop before it goes dark.’
Blakelock nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘It’s a good thing you’ve got someone standing over that wheelwright, sir,’ said Willis. ‘He was only going to stop for a siesta.’
‘What!’
‘True enough, sir,’ said Blakelock. ‘Only then Ramon had a word and persuaded him not to. Feller didn’t like it above half, but money’s a powerful inducement.’
Falconbridge glared. ‘So is my boot.’
‘Ramon said the same, sir. Hurried things along no end.’
* * *
It was approaching four when they eventually did set off again. With only a few hours of daylight remaining Falconbridge was keen to try and make up lost ground. Fortunately the road surface was better and they were able to make reasonable speed.
‘Will the delay be totally disastrous?’ asked Sabrina then.
‘I hope not.’ Seeing her anxious expression her companion smiled. ‘No, my dear, provided there are no more we should reach our destination in time.’
‘I am relieved to hear it.’
‘I think we must be due for some better luck.’
She nodded, truly aware now of a sense of urgency. Recent events had shaken away any feeling of complacency: so much hung on this journey. Thinking of her behaviour earlier that day she was quietly mortified. She must have seemed like an empty-headed little fool. He had been justifiably angry. No doubt in his place she would have felt the same. She was privately resolved that he should have no further cause to criticise her actions; that she would strive in every way to be the companion he needed. It came to her then that his good opinion mattered where only a few days ago it would not have. Just why that should be or how it had come about she could not have said.
Chapter Five
In fact their journey continued without further mishap or incident and, although they were half a day later than anticipated, they came at length to the house of Don Pedro de la Torre on the outskirts of Aranjuez. Barely a mile from the royal palace and standing in its own extensive grounds, it was an imposing stone building that testified to the wealth and importance of its owner. On their arrival, liveried footmen hastened forwards to open the carriage door and let down the steps. Falconbridge descended first and then extended a hand to Sabrina, a firm, reassuring grip accompanied by a smile that warmed her more thoroughly than the sunshine. Together they walked to the open doorway and into a marbled hall where their hosts awaited them.
Don Pedro was a tall, upright figure whose grey hair and beard lent him a distinguished appearance. Sabrina guessed him to be in his early fifties. His wife, Doña Elena, was ten years younger, a handsome woman with dark hair and eyes and an elegant figure. They greeted their guests with great courtesy and, over refreshments, enquired after their journey.
‘Did you meet with any French patrols?’ asked their host.
‘Only one,’ replied Falconbridge.
Don Pedro lifted an eyebrow. ‘Then you were fortunate.’
‘My thought exactly.’
‘The French are everywhere. It is almost impossible to travel without encountering a patrol or a road block.’
‘Fortunately we didn’t encounter any difficulties.’
‘Long may it continue,’ replied Don Pedro. ‘Apart from the French there are many renegades who take advantage of the situation to prey on travellers. I am glad you did not meet any.’
‘So am I.’ Falconbridge smiled. ‘It is good to have arrived.’
‘It is good of you to come. We are most happy to welcome you here and, of course, your beautiful wife.’ Don Pedro smiled at Sabrina for a moment. She returned it, conscious of the role she was expected to play. Even so it sounded strange to hear herself referred to in that way. Just for a second she indulged the fancy. What if Falconbridge were her husband? It came as a shock to discover that the thought was not totally unwelcome.
Don Pedro threw Falconbridge a meaningful look. ‘Later, when you have rested, we shall talk.’
They had been allocated a spacious apartment, beautifully furnished, with an adjoining dressing room and a balcony that overlooked the gardens to the rear. For the space of a few heartbeats they surveyed it in silence. There was, Sabrina saw, only one bed, albeit very large, but mercifully two couches as well. If need be she would appropriate one for her use. The pretence at marriage only went so far: she could not share a bed with her companion. The notion sent a frisson down her spine that had nothing to do with fear. She pulled herself up abruptly. Such a thought should never even have entered her mind yet the memory of the mishap with the coach was vivid, especially the part where Falconbridge had held her in his arms. How would it be to lie in his arms, to lie in his bed? The notion set her pulse racing. All the disgust she had experienced before was absent now, and she knew instinctively that he would treat a woman with gentleness. He was not like Denton. Falconbridge had a wicked sense of humour but he hadn’t taken advantage of her. If he made any overtures to her it would only be by invitation. If she were foolish enough to do that she would lose what respect he had for her, a thought she didn’t want to entertain. Aware of him now to the last fibre of her being she drew in a deep breath. Then she went to the French windows that led onto the balcony and opened them, looking out with a gasp of genuine delight.
‘How beautiful!’
The garden was laid out in terraces connected by sweeping steps and a series of fountained pools that led the eye away towards a high wall where bougainvillea grew in vivid bursts of pink and magenta and purple. On either hand flowering beds lined the pathways and beyond those, to right and left, stern lines of cypress were relieved by fruit trees and blossoming shrubs.
‘It’s very fine, isn’t it?’ he said.
He was standing just behind her, his shoulder brushing hers, so close she could detect the faint scent of sandalwood from his clothing. She glanced up for a moment and then returned her attention to the view, hoping no part of her inner turmoil showed.
‘A truly romantic place,’ she said. ‘All it lacks is moonlight.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps nature will oblige while we are here. The moon is near to the full.’
‘I hope so.’
‘You are fond of gardens?’
‘Yes, aren’t you?’
‘When they’re like this one and there is the possibility of a moonlit stroll,’ he replied. The tone was ambiguous.
She turned to look at him then, suspecting that he was teasing. However, his expression revealed no such indication. On the contrary, the grey eyes that searched hers were entirely serious. Before she could ponder the matter, he took her shoulders in a gentle clasp.
‘Now we step into our new roles in earnest. Are you ready?’
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ she replied, trying not to think about his closeness or the warmth of his hands through her clothing.
‘Every second of our stay we are the Conde and Condesa de Ordoñez y Casal. Marianne and Antonio. Don’t forget it.’
‘I won’t forget.’
‘Good girl.’ He paused. ‘Joking apart, some show of affection between us will not go amiss.’
Even as he spoke she knew that, on her part at least, it would be no mere show. Just how that change had come about she couldn’t have said, but something in her had altered, and on a fundamental level. With a calmness she was far from feeling she met his gaze. ‘Tender looks and melting smiles, was it not?’ She did not complete the original sentence.
The grey eyes gleamed. ‘If you feel equal to it.’
‘I shall play my part, sir.’
‘I am sure you will.’
For a moment they faced each other in silence. He knew that she had meant the words and they cost him an unexpected pang. Close companionship and cooperation were essential to their mission, but he knew in that instant that he would have liked more than this necessary pretence. It
wasn’t just about physical attraction either, though he acknowledged it was strong. Combined with wit and intelligence it was a heady combination. Her company was more than congenial to him. With her he experienced emotions that he hadn’t expected to feel again. He also knew he couldn’t go there. It would be foolish and wrong. Too much was at stake for both of them. He relinquished his hold on her shoulders.
‘No doubt you would like to rest awhile,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘It would also be good to get out of these clothes.’
‘In that case I shall repair to the dressing room and leave the field to you.’
A knock at the door announced the arrival of Willis and Blakelock with the trunks. It was a welcome diversion. While they carried Falconbridge’s boxes into the dressing room, Jacinta saw to the ordering of hot water and linen towels. When eventually the other servants had gone and the dressing room door was securely closed, she bustled about laying out a change of clothes for her mistress. As she did so she cast a comprehensive and disapproving look around.
‘Only one bed,’ she observed.
‘Yes.’
‘Your reputation…’
‘Will be quite safe. I’ll sleep on the couch over there.’
‘All the same, he should marry you after this.’
‘Nothing is more unlikely.’
‘Would you refuse if he asked you?’
Sabrina drew in a deep breath. ‘He’s not going to ask me. This is a business arrangement, nothing more.’
‘When a man looks at a woman in that way it is because he is thinking of a great deal more, believe me.’
‘Enough, Jacinta.’ The words came out with more force than she had intended and she was immediately ashamed. It was unlike her to get so rattled. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just tension speaking. I’ll be myself again when we get out of here.’
Her companion lifted an eyebrow. ‘Will you?’
‘Of course. Why would I not?’
The maid clearly took it for a rhetorical question, because she made no reply. Sabrina busied herself with removing her travelling dress. In truth she was glad of the distraction for Jacinta’s words had left their mark. What if Robert Falconbridge were to ask her? She gave herself a mental shaking. It was no use to think that way; theirs was just a business arrangement and she must remember it. Had she learned nothing from the past? She had been thrown together with a man who was handsome and charismatic. Although she didn’t think Falconbridge was in any way like that other, if she allowed herself to fall for him it could only result in heartache.
Having removed her outer garments she bathed her hands and face. It was a delight to be rid of the dust of travel. Then she sat while the maid unpinned and brushed her hair before rearranging it into a becoming style, dressing it high so that it fell over Sabrina’s shoulders in a profusion of curls. When it was done she donned the yellow gown that had been laid out for her. It suited her colouring and brought out the warm tones of her skin. The low neckline plunged into a tempting décolletage. A gold necklace and earrings completed the outfit. Looking into the mirror she surveyed her reflection in thoughtful silence.
Falconbridge emerged some time later clad in pale breeches, flawless linen and a lovat coat so expertly cut that it might have been moulded to his form. He looked across the room and opened his mouth to speak but the words dried on his lips. For a moment or two he could only stare, but his critical eye found nothing lacking. She looked every inch the golden girl. For a moment he let his gaze strip away the fabric of her gown and dwell on what lay beneath. He was aware, too, of the bed just a few feet away. In his imagination he laid her down there and made passionate love to her and tasted her passion in return. Recalling himself abruptly, he made her an elegant bow.
‘If you are ready my dear, we will go down.’
She smiled. ‘Quite ready.’
He offered his arm and felt the light pressure of her hand on his sleeve. It felt natural and right, as though it belonged there.
* * *
Dinner that night was a lavish meal with a dozen guests at table. The conversation flowed easily on a variety of topics. Sabrina kept up her part, occasionally glancing across the table at Falconbridge. Once, he met her eye and smiled, but otherwise seemed engrossed in what his companion was saying. She noticed that hers were not the only eyes to turn his way. Several of the ladies present evidently found him attractive, too. He stepped easily into his part, she thought, adopting the aristocratic manners that came so naturally to him. No one would question his identity. With his dark good looks, arrogant bearing and impeccable Spanish he might indeed have been the hidalgo he presented.
‘Do you stay long in Aranjuez, Condesa?’
Sabrina turned to her companion, an ageing and portly gentleman who had been introduced as Señor Jorge Gonzalez, who had some government role in the capital.
‘I regret not,’ she replied.
‘What a pity.’
‘My husband does not like to be long away from home.’
‘Well, in these times it is understandable. No doubt he prefers to live quietly and manage his estates.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘And you, Condesa, do you not hanker after the bright lights of the city?’
‘The social whirl of Madrid holds few charms for me, señor,’ she said. It was true as far as it went.
He snorted. ‘It holds few charms for anyone since the usurper Joseph took the throne.’
‘Can he hold it, do you think?’
‘Not if the Spanish people have their way. He’ll be sent packing and the sooner the better.’
Don Pedro glanced across the table. ‘Our alliance with the English will put paid to Bonaparte’s ambitions in our country.’
‘The way things are going, his upstart family will soon govern most of Europe,’ replied Gonzalez.
Murmurs of agreement greeted this. Sabrina looked across at Falconbridge and met his eye again. His expression was enigmatic. He had not taken a leading role in the discussion that evening, seeming content to listen for the most part. Given his guise as Ordoñez, it was understandable. However, she knew he missed nothing.
‘The French will not long hold Spain,’ said Don Pedro. ‘Already the guerrilla tactics of the partisan forces are telling.’
Gonzalez nodded. ‘Men like El Cuchillo, you mean.’
‘Exactly,’ his host replied. ‘Hit the French and then run. It’s an effective strategy. All the same, there will be more battles before the enemy is driven from our soil.’
As she listened, Sabrina thought of the plans she and her companion had come to collect and hoped that they would provide the key to allied military success. So far as she knew no private conference had yet taken place between Falconbridge and their host, but it would soon enough. Once he had the plans their real task would begin. In the meantime, there was the ball. Part of her was looking forward to it; in her life such events were rare and thus the more valued, but it carried a strong element of risk. If anyone present actually knew the real Conde de Ordoñez. She shivered inwardly. The penalties for spying were severe. It was a chance one took. She had always known that.
* * *
Later, when the ladies withdrew to the drawing room, the conversation took a different direction and Sabrina was content to listen. Once someone asked about her putative son, Miguel, and she made what she hoped was a convincing reply. It occurred to her then for the first time that it might be pleasant to have children of her own one day. Nothing could have been further removed from the life she had been living hitherto, and yet the idea did not displease her. Of course, it would have to be with the right man. Falconbridge’s face imposed itself on her memory. In one of their earlier conversations he had told her he liked children. She thought he would make a good father. That was a foolish notion of course, given what she knew of his past. Besides, he had no interest in her beyond the completion of a duty. He had told her he was married to his career. Knowing that, she was unaccountably sadde
ned.
* * *
The gathering broke up just after eleven. Everyone knew that the following night would be a late one, for the ball would go on into the early hours, and had decided to be well rested for the event. Sabrina could see the point. In any case, the journey had been tiring and the thought of a good night’s sleep was not unwelcome. Then she remembered that tonight she and Falconbridge would be sharing a room again. No one else would think anything of it. After all, were they not supposed to be man and wife? The thought sent a frisson along her skin. She had to trust him.
As she had told Jacinta not to wait up, the room was empty when she returned. Falconbridge had lingered to speak to Don Pedro and she had no idea how long he would remain. Taking advantage of his absence, she undressed and donned her nightgown before sitting down at the dressing table to unpin her hair. She was thus engaged when the door opened to admit him. For a moment he was still, looking on, before closing the door and coming farther into the room. Sabrina forced unsteady hands to continue with their task. In the glass she saw him remove his coat and slowly unfasten his neckcloth. His gaze never left her.
He heard the pins drop into the glass dish on the dressing table and watched her shake her hair loose. It fell over her shoulders in a riot of soft curls. She reached for a brush. Beneath the gentle strokes the wilful gold mass shone in the candlelight. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to run his fingers through it. Conquering the urge he tossed his coat over a chair. The neckcloth followed. He pulled off his shirt and sat down to remove his boots. Having done so, he rose and crossed the intervening space to the bed and retrieved the top cover and a pillow before retiring with them to the nearest couch.
Sabrina’s hands paused at their task. ‘It’s my turn to sleep on the couch.’
He turned, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. ‘I think not.’
‘Truly, I don’t mind.’
‘Maybe not, but I do.’
‘I should not think the worse of you.’
His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) Page 8