His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

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. ‘If 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.

      He continued to regard her steadily. ‘And yet you have been of marriageable age for some time.’

      ‘You make it sound as though I were quite on the shelf.’ The words were spoken without rancour.

      ‘I beg your pardon. It’s just that most young ladies I’ve ever met are on the lookout for a husband from the time of their coming out.’

      ‘I never had a coming out,’ she replied, ‘so perhaps that has coloured my view of the matter. In any case I was enjoying my life too much to want to relinquish it for marriage.’

      ‘You think that all enjoyment ends with marriage then?’

      ‘I don’t know. I didn’t mean to imply that all marriages are dull, especially not where the couple marries for love. That must be agreeable, surely.’

      ‘I’m sure it is.’

      She eyed him curiously. ‘Did you never wish to wed?’

      There followed a brief hesitation. ‘I once fancied myself in love but, as it turned out, I was mistaken.’

      ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

      ‘No need,’ he replied. ‘Besides, I am now happily married to my career. Romantic entanglements are for other men.’

      They lapsed into silence after this, each seeking refuge in private thought. Unable to tell what lay behind that impassive expression, Sabrina could only ponder his words. He had spoken lightly enough but she sensed that more lay beneath. Clearly he considered marriage an unnecessary encumbrance and perhaps in his line of work it really was. The thought caused an unexpected pang. Even in the short time she had known him he had made an impression, more so than any man of her acquaintance—apart from one. While she didn’t equate the two, the first had taught her a valuable lesson. Since then she had kept her male acquaintances at a courteous and professional distance. She intended to do the same now. Her father was the reason she had become embroiled in this affair. His freedom was what really mattered. She must not forget it.

      As usual they stopped that evening at an inn and Falconbridge requested rooms and a private parlour in which to dine. The patrón was delighted to welcome such exalted guests and assured them that he could offer a most excellent parlour. However, he regretted that he only had one bedchamber available. Falconbridge cursed inwardly. He had always realised this was a possibility but had hoped that it wouldn’t arise. He glanced at Sabrina who was just then engaged in conversation with Jacinta. Mistaking that look entirely, the patrón hastened to reassure him that it was a large room.

      ‘A truly commodious chamber, señor. The lady will be most pleased.’

      Falconbridge seriously doubted that. Unfortunately, with dusk coming on, further travel was out of the question. The road was dangerous after dark. He had no desire to run into any of the brigands who frequented the hills, or a French patrol if it came to that.

      ‘We’ll take it.’

      ‘Si, señor. You won’t be disappointed, I guarantee