His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

doesn’t matter.’ He paused as though inwardly debating something. Then he said, ‘It was over a woman, as it happened.’

      ‘Ah, you both liked the same one.’

      The accuracy of the observation startled him. In spite of himself he experienced a certain wry amusement. ‘Yes. My brother won.’

      ‘Was she very beautiful?’

      ‘Very.’

      ‘What happened?’

      He swirled the remaining wine in his glass. ‘She married Hugh.’

      ‘Oh.’ For a moment she was silent, uncomfortably aware of having strayed into dangerous territory. Yet having gone there, she found herself wanting to know more, to understand. ‘That could not have been easy.’

      He bit back a savage laugh. The understatement was huge, though she could not have known it. Did one ever truly recover from a blow like that?’It was some years ago,’ he replied, ‘and one gets over disappointment. The incident belongs to the past and I am content to leave it there.’

      It was a clear hint. They changed the subject after that, but the conversation had given Sabrina much to think about. For all his quiet assertion to the contrary it was evident that the lady had hurt him. Perhaps she hadn’t meant to. She had clearly loved his brother more and one couldn’t dictate to the human heart. Her gaze rested on the man opposite. Had his earlier experience made him wary? Was that why he had never married? It seemed increasingly likely. It was also a reaction she found quite understandable.

      Falconbridge tossed back the rest of his wine and then got to his feet. ‘We have another long day on the road tomorrow and it would be as well to get some rest.’

      Sabrina rose, too, though rather more reluctantly, for the sleeping arrangements were etched on her consciousness. He stood back to let her precede him out of the door, and then accompanied her to the stairs. Then he paused.

      ‘You go on ahead. I need to speak to Willis and Blakelock about arrangements for the morning.’

      It was tactful and once again she was grateful. On returning to the room she found Jacinta waiting. With her help Sabrina undressed and donned her nightgown. Then she sat at the dresser while the maid unpinned her hair and brushed it out. In the looking glass Jacinta’s dark eyes locked with hers.

      ‘Do you wish me to remain here tonight?’ she asked. ‘As a chaperone?’

      Sabrina smiled wryly. ‘I assure you I am quite safe from Major Falconbridge.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Why should you doubt it?’

      ‘Because he is a man.’

      ‘He did not create this situation. It was always possible that it would happen at some point.’

      ‘Maybe so, but I have seen the way he looks at you when he thinks himself unobserved.’

      Sabrina shook her head. ‘You are mistaken. He has never shown the least regard for me, other than as a…a colleague.’

      ‘He does not look at his other colleagues in that way.’

      ‘I am sure there is not the least occasion for concern.’

      ‘Best make certain. Put a pistol beneath your pillow.’

      ‘I cannot afford to shoot the Major, Jacinta.’

      ‘Very well, your knife then. The wound need not be mortal.’

      Sabrina laughed. ‘I have no intention of stabbing him either.’

      ‘Please yourself.’ The maid sniffed. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

      She finished brushing Sabrina’s hair and then, having watched her climb into bed, pulled the covers up to her chin and tucked them in tightly.

      ‘Colonel Albermarle would not approve of this arrangement,’ she told her charge severely.

      ‘Colonel Albermarle isn’t here,’ replied Sabrina. ‘Anyway, it’s only for this one night.’

      ‘That’s what you think. I’ll wager that in future there will be many inns with only one bedchamber.’

      Sabrina gave an involuntary gurgle of laughter. ‘And I suppose you also think that Major Falconbridge arranged it in advance, in order to have his wicked way with me.’

      ‘Man is tinder, woman is flame and the devil is the wind. What man can resist temptation put in his way?’

      ‘He will not be so tempted. There is too much at stake.’

      ‘I hope you are right.’

      With that sobering comment the maid departed. Retrieving Lazarillo de Tormes, Sabrina tried to occupy herself with the book but somehow it was difficult to concentrate. Jacinta’s words lingered in her mind bringing with it an image of Falconbridge’s lithe and powerful form. For all the maid’s assertions to the contrary, Sabrina was fairly certain he wouldn’t do anything foolish. Then, unaccountably, the memory of Jack Denton returned. She had trusted him, too. Involuntarily her gaze went to the trunk across the room where her pistols currently resided. Frowning, she laid aside the book and climbed out of bed.

      Ten minutes later footsteps sounded outside and the door opened to admit her new room-mate. Her heart leapt. Now more than ever she was conscious of his sheer physical presence. It seemed to fill the room. He surveyed her in silence for a moment and then closed the door and locked it. She drew a deep breath.

      ‘Everything is arranged for the morning,’ he said then.

      ‘Good.’

      He crossed the room and peeled off his coat, tossing it over a chair. Sabrina feigned to study her book, comforted by the bulky mass of the pistol beneath her pillow. Under her covert gaze Falconbridge began to unfasten his neckcloth. Having done so, he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of the powerful naked torso beneath did nothing to calm her racing heartbeat. Could she trust him? Irrationally she wondered how it would feel to be held in those strong arms. The idea was as shocking as it was unexpected. She had not considered him in that way before. She certainly could not afford to think of him in that way now. With a start she saw him cross the room and approach the bed. Her throat dried. She must have been mad to send Jacinta away, to get herself into this situation. Her free hand crept towards the pistol butt.

      ‘May I trouble you for a spare pillow and a blanket?’ he asked.

      ‘Er, yes, of course.’

      Having gathered the requisite items he retired to the divan and then glanced across at her.

      ‘Do you want to read awhile longer or shall I blow out the candle?’

      ‘Oh, no. I’m done.’ She laid the book aside and snuggled down beneath the covers.

      ‘Goodnight then, Sabrina.’

      ‘Goodnight.’

      He extinguished the candle and the room was plunged into gloom. She heard the divan creak beneath his weight and then the softer sound of the blanket settling around him. Her hand stole beneath the pillow and closed round the pistol butt. Its reassuring presence drew a faint smile. Then she closed her eyes, trying not to think about the man lying just feet away. It proved much harder than anticipated. She realised then that for the first time he had used her name. The familiarity should have annoyed her. It didn’t. On the contrary, it had sounded a natural thing for him to do so.

      For some time Falconbridge lay awake in the darkness, listening. Once or twice he heard her stir a little but then the room grew quiet. In the silence, thoughts came crowding fast. Chief among them was the semi-dressed figure in the big bed just across the room. Just for a moment he let his imagination go down that route. The response was a wave of heat in his loins as sudden as it was unexpected. He glanced across at the recumbent form and, biting back a mocking groan, turned over, mentally rejecting