‘I just hope he will rejoin us soon.’
The tone was wistful and in that moment he glimpsed the vulnerability that she tried so hard to conceal. Although she undoubtedly knew how to use them, the sword and pistols were merely part of the disguise designed to keep unwanted attention at bay, like the outwardly confident manner she assumed. At times it slipped a little, as now. The effect was to touch him more deeply than he had ever thought possible. Suddenly he found himself wanting to know more, to understand what drove so lovely a young woman to lead such a demanding and often comfortless life. She would not be out of place in London society; indeed, few of the young women there could hold a candle to her.
Aloud he said, ‘I’m sure he will. And he will be very proud when he learns of the part you played in obtaining his freedom.’
‘He hasn’t got it yet. First we have to shake Machart off the scent.’
‘Yes, but I believe it can be done.’
‘I hope so. I should not like to fall into his clutches.’
‘I’ll try by every means to prevent it.’
‘I know you will.’
The tone was soft but something about it and the accompanying look caused his heart to beat a little faster. Could a man be mistaken about such a look? He had been mistaken once before. Yet here was no Clarissa. Nothing in Sabrina’s manner had ever struck him as underhand or devious—unconventional perhaps, but not treacherous. She was a free spirit but, as he had observed before, loyal and brave and, of course, very lovely. Imagination transported him back to a moonlit terrace and the touch of her lips on his. What had been intended as a mere subterfuge had turned into a moment of heart-stopping delight. The spark that had been kindled had not been extinguished and he knew it, but to repeat the experience would be to take advantage of her youth and inexperience. He was responsible for her welfare. He had made a promise to Albermarle and, he now realised, a promise to himself as well. He smiled and squeezed her shoulder gently.
‘Best try to get some rest, Sabrina. We have a long, hard ride ahead of us tomorrow.’
He made his own rude bed close by and, laying his sword beside him, stretched out. Soon she could hear the soft, even tenor of his breathing. Only a few feet separated them. She could still feel the comforting pressure of his hand. He had used her name, too, with an easy familiarity that bore in it not a shade of offence. It sounded so right on his lips. How easy it would be to encourage him, to invite his kiss, to let him lead her aside and lie with him beneath the pines and share his warmth; share his passion. The thought ought to have been displeasing but it was not. She drew her cloak closer and shut her eyes, mentally rebuking herself. She could not afford to think of him in that way. To do so would lead only to heartache.
* * *
The night passed uneventfully and at first light they set out again, keen to use every available hour of daylight to put distance between themselves and pursuit. The pace was slower than Falconbridge would have liked but the trail was narrow and rocky and, in places, steep. Sometimes they had to dismount and walk.
At any other time Sabrina would have admired the scenery more; the peaks of the cordillera, the wooded slopes, the lakes and creeks combined to form a landscape that was spectacular. Once, she glimpsed ibex, and once, an eagle soaring on the warm air currents. Small lizards basked on sunlit rocks and the trees were full of birds. However, she found herself listening not for their songs but for the sound of hoofbeats that would indicate pursuit. She had no fear of their getting lost; Ramon knew this country well and she trusted him to guide them. It was the knowledge of how far they were from help that created the tension she now felt. Rests were few and short and always one of the men was on lookout. Even if they only walked, Falconbridge kept the group moving forwards.
‘We’ll make better speed when we’re through the mountains,’ he said, reining his horse alongside. He did not add barring brigands and accidents, but he didn’t need to. Sabrina had travelled enough to know the risks. Just then, though, her attention was on the man beside her. The apparently casual ease with which he rode and controlled his mount was the mark of the true horseman. She guessed that he had been taught to ride almost as soon as he could walk.
Becoming aware of her quiet scrutiny, he shot her a sideways glance. ‘I’d like to ask if I pass the test,’ he said, ‘but I’m rather afraid of the answer.’
‘Test?’
‘Yes. It’s not often I am the subject of such close obser vation.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ She paused. ‘And, yes, you did pass—with flying colours.’
One dark brow lifted a little. ‘Now I am intrigued. Dare I enquire as to the nature of the test I have passed?’
‘I was just thinking that you ride very well.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Of course, I should know that by now,’ he replied. ‘And, since you are also sparing with your praise, I shall take your remark as a compliment and treasure it. I know I may have to live on it for some time.’
The sober expression that accompanied these words did not deceive her in the least. ‘I cannot imagine any words of mine being taken to heart by you.’
‘Can you not?’
‘No, for you are proof against praise or censure.’
‘I dispute that. No man can consider himself beyond praise or censure, and to do so would argue a considerable degree of conceit.’ He hesitated. ‘Is your opinion of me really so low?’
‘No, for I find that it has improved upon better acquaintance.’
He bit back the laughter that threatened. ‘I am relieved to hear it, truly. I should not like to think I had sunk lower in your estimation since our first meeting.’
‘That would scarcely have been possible, sir.’
This time he could not prevent the laughter from escaping, even as he inwardly acknowledged the hit. ‘Wretched girl! I shall take consolation from your praise of my riding skills.’
‘It’s my belief that you learned from an early age and were taught by someone who knew what he was about.’
‘Yes, an old groom by the name of Jackson. I never met a man who knew more about horses, and he was good with us boys, too.’
‘You and your brother tried his patience a few times I take it.’
‘I think we’d have tried the patience of a saint when we were young. Lord knows we got into enough scrapes.’
‘You were fond of your brother back then?’
‘Yes. We were very close as boys. Hugh was the person I looked up to most.’
‘That must have made the rift between you much worse.’
‘Yes.’ It was an understatement, he thought. The discovery that his adored older brother had feet of clay had proved a shattering experience.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she replied. ‘I never had brothers or sisters; at least none who survived past infancy. I always thought it would be pleasant to have a sister—someone to laugh with and to confide in.’
He heard the underlying wistfulness in her tone and glimpsed the loneliness she must have felt at times. Having a caring father was surely a blessing, but a young woman without a mother or older sister to turn to for guidance was at a distinct disadvantage.
‘There must have been occasions when you would have welcomed some female company and support.’
‘Yes, there were.’ For an instant Jack Denton flashed into her mind. ‘I am sure I would have made fewer mistakes if I’d had that help.’
‘I cannot imagine you making very many mistakes,’ he replied. ‘You have too much common sense.’
‘Yes, now, but I was not always nineteen years old.’ She bit her lip. ‘Experience is a good teacher but sometimes a painful one, is it not?’
He eyed her curiously, wondering what she was alluding to, but knew better than to force a confidence. If she wanted to tell him she would do it of her own volition.
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed, ‘but it makes us wiser.’
‘And warier.
’
‘Yes.’
It was true. Experience had certainly made him warier, but what had prompted her to say that? His curiosity mounted. What had happened in the past to make her say that now? And wary of what? Or whom? Was it that earlier experience that had made her so adept at keeping him at a distance? For the first time it occurred to him that there had been another man in her past. Yet why should there not have been other admirers? Other men had eyes, too. From what she had said it did not seem as if the affair had been entirely happy, but it had clearly left its mark. Was she still in love with him? The notion jarred.
Before he could follow it up, Willis’ voice broke in and claimed their attention.
‘Beg pardon, sir, but my horse is going lame. He’s favouring his near foreleg.’
Falconbridge gritted his teeth and signalled a halt. Then he and Willis dismounted and the latter bent to examine the site of the suspected injury.
‘There’s a lot of heat in the tendon, sir, and some swelling. It’s a sprain, I reckon. Probably take a week to mend.’
Falconbridge also ran a hand down the leg and his fingers verified the words. ‘Unfortunately, you’re quite right. Unsaddle the beast and turn it loose. You’ll have to ride double with Blakelock.’
It was far from ideal, but they were left with no choice now. However, it was going to slow their progress and everyone knew it.
Chapter Eight
It was later that same afternoon when they paused to rest the horses that they first caught sight of their pursuers. The wooded defile they had followed earlier had led into a wider valley. Ramon had climbed to the top of a rocky outcrop, scanning the countryside with a keen eye. Suddenly he became very still, all his attention focused on the spyglass. Then he lowered the instrument and hurried down to rejoin the others.
‘Riders coming, señor.’
Falconbridge swore softly. ‘They stick to the trail like leeches.’
‘I think they have a tracker with them,’ replied Ramon. ‘A man named Valdez.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘I’m not certain, but Valdez rides a dun-coloured horse and there’s a dun leading the way down there.’ He handed Falconbridge the glass. ‘See for yourself, señor.’
He trained the glass on the line of horsemen strung out along the trail. It took only moments to verify what Ramon had said. ‘How do you know this Valdez?’
‘Anyone who knows this region has heard of the man. He has a reputation for hunting and tracking that is second to none.’
Luis regarded him quizzically. ‘Then, if it is he, we are in trouble, I think.’
‘Believe it. He will not give up until he has his quarry.’
‘But why would he help the French? It is not patriotic.’
‘For some men gold outweighs all else.’ Ramon looked at Falconbridge. ‘I think we should not linger, señor.’
The other nodded. Then he snapped the glass shut and stowed it in his saddlebag. ‘Mount up everybody. We’re leaving.’
They rode fast now, pushing the horses harder. From time to time Sabrina looked over her shoulder half-expecting to see their pursuers, but they were not yet in clear view. Occasionally they were forced to stop to let Willis get up behind Ramon or Luis, and thus relieve Blakelock’s mount. She knew they couldn’t afford to lose another horse.
When they halted briefly Ramon put an ear to the ground. ‘Nothing yet, but they won’t be far behind.’
‘Then we ride,’ said Falconbridge.
Sabrina urged her horse on, trying not to heed her aching muscles. She wondered what would happen when eventually they were forced to stop. If it came to a confrontation they would be outnumbered. Suddenly, death or capture was more than a vague possibility. For the first time since their mission began she felt the prickling of fear. Resolutely, she pushed the thought aside, unwilling to dwell on it until she had to.
They rode on until the sun was low on the horizon, and made camp beneath a tall ridge. Having tended to the horses’ needs they ate cold rations, for again it was not prudent to light a fire. Falconbridge organised guard duties so that there would always be someone on watch. Sabrina looked out from their vantage point over the quiet land, blue in the gathering dusk. She could detect no sign of life or movement. Common sense dictated that even their pursuers had to rest at some point, but gradually they would make up the ground until they caught their quarry. She shivered inwardly.
A shadow fell across her and she looked up quickly to see Falconbridge standing there. Not for anything would she let him see her fear and therefore summoned a smile. He returned it.
‘You looked to be deep in thought. Am I intruding?’
‘By no means.’
‘Then may I join you awhile?’
‘Of course.’
He sat down beside her and for a moment or two said nothing. Aware of him to her fingertips, she knew this was to be no casual conversation.
‘There is something on your mind.’
He met her gaze and smiled faintly. ‘Am I so transparent?’
‘No, but under the circumstances it seems likely.’
He nodded. ‘I cannot pretend to be unconcerned by our present situation.’
‘You think that Machart and company will overtake us.’
‘I fear so. If we had not lost a horse we might have outrun them, but as it is.’
‘Then it will come to a fight.’
‘Quite likely.’ He paused. ‘Do you remember the conversation we had in the garden the day you accepted Ward’s offer?’
‘Yes.’ How could she forget, when every detail was etched on her memory?’You think that what we discussed then is about to happen, don’t you?’
‘It is a possibility only. Anything might happen, but it is as well to be prepared for every eventuality.’
The grey eyes were cool, almost sombre now. For a few seconds more they held hers; then he reached into a small pocket inside the waistband of his breeches and withdrew a small package, about an inch square. It looked like a piece of oilcloth.
‘I want you to have this.’
‘What is it?’
‘A last resort.’ He paused. ‘I had hoped it would never be necessary to mention it, but as things stand I can do no other.’
Sabrina’s brow wrinkled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s poison, swift and deadly. In extremis, it offers a way out.’
For a moment she was quite still, staring at the package in his hand. The implication sent a chill along her spine like the touch of iced velvet. Now, the truth of their earlier conversation was forcibly borne upon her.
If you are captured, death is the best you can hope for. Before that there is always interrogation.
‘I may not always be able to protect you, Sabrina.’
‘I see.’ Suddenly she did see, and with awful clarity.
‘It is a precaution only,’ he continued, ‘but it would please me to know that you had this with you.’
For a moment, Machart’s lupine stare imposed itself on her imagination. It was horribly vivid and her mind recoiled. Wordlessly, she nodded and took the package, slipping it into a small inner pocket of her jacket.
Falconbridge watched it safely stowed. He had wondered what her reaction would be. She was so young and, just then, seemed so very vulnerable. If only he and his men had been involved he might have regarded their situation with greater sang-froid. What he felt now was fear, not for himself but for her, and the maid, too. He knew only too well what men like Machart were capable of, and the knowledge filled him with silent fury. The thought of any man doing them hurt was an affront. The idea of any man laying violent hands on Sabrina was past bearing.
‘I wish with all my heart that you had not come on this mission,’ he said, ‘but in truth I have enjoyed your company.’
Rather shyly she said, ‘And I yours.’
‘In spite of my conspicuous lack of gallantry?’
‘I have not found you ungallant.
Well, perhaps once,’ she amended, ‘but I understand the reason for it now.’
He surveyed her closely. ‘Does that mean I might entertain the hope of forgiveness?’
Under that penetrating gaze she reddened a little. ‘I bear you no grudge.’
‘I am glad, for of all people I should least desire your enmity.’
‘I feel none.’
The words caused his heart to beat faster. Unable to help himself he leaned closer, glimpsing in her face what he had unconsciously hoped to see and what she could not hide. For a moment they remained thus, before his lips brushed hers. He felt the familiar spark leap between them, igniting desire. Then his arms were round her shoulders drawing her closer.
She knew she should resist and, equally, knew she did not wish to. Every part of her wanted this, wanted to be in his arms, to taste his mouth on hers, to breathe the scent of him. It felt so right. Surely this could be no act on his part. Yet he had not mentioned any emotion stronger than liking. It would be anathema to have him think her an easy conquest, to forfeit all respect. She never wanted to see him look at her as Jack Denton had once looked at her. His good opinion mattered too much. He mattered too much. That knowledge was enough to make her pull gently away from him.
‘Forgive me, I…’
‘What is it, Sabrina?’
She shook her head, unable to find the words to explain. She had half expected him to be angry, but instead he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently.
‘You need not be afraid of me.’
‘I know.’ That was true, she thought. It was not him she feared.
‘Nor will I ever seek more than you wish to give.’
Her stomach lurched and she lowered her gaze from his, lest he should read the dismay his words had caused. He wanted her, but not in the way she had hoped. If she encouraged him it would lead only to a furtive and illicit coupling, a brief affair that would mean nothing to him beyond the pleasure of the moment, but which she knew would break her heart. Better to lose him than to let that happen.
‘I cannot give you what you want, Robert.’
Her use of his name thrilled through him even while his mind assimilated the rest of what she had said. Was this hesitation urged by love of another man? His throat tightened.
His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) Page 13