His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

stretched luxuriously, opening her eyes to the new day. The details of the room returned but a glance at the divan revealed it to be empty save for the blanket and pillow. A swift glance around the room revealed no sign of Major Falconbridge. She frowned and sat up, wondering what o’clock it might be. As yet the inn was quiet, which argued that it couldn’t be too late. Throwing the covers aside she climbed out of bed and went to the window, opening it wide. The sun was just over the tops of the hills, streaking the heavens with gold and pink. All around the silent land stretched away until the rim of the hills met the sky. The quiet air smelled of wood smoke and baking bread from the kitchen.

      She was so absorbed that she failed to hear the door open. Seeing the figure by the window Falconbridge paused, his breath catching in his throat. The rays of the sun turned her unbound hair to fiery gold. They also rendered her nightgown semi-transparent, outlining the curves beneath. He stood there awhile longer, unashamedly making the most of it. Then he smiled.

      ‘Good morning.’

      Sabrina spun round, heart missing a beat. Recovering herself she returned the greeting. ‘You must have been up early.’

      ‘About an hour ago.’

      ‘You should have wakened me.’

      ‘You looked so peaceful lying there that I didn’t like to.’

      The thought that he had watched her sleeping aroused a mixture of emotions, all of them disquieting. Quickly she changed the subject.

      ‘Did you sleep well?’

      ‘Well enough, I thank you.’

      His gaze never left her, drinking in every detail from the tumbled curls to the small bare feet beneath the hem of her gown. Aided by the sunlight his imagination stripped it away and dwelt agreeably on what it found. The thoughts it engendered led to others, delightful and disturbing in equal measure. He tried to rein them in; for all sorts of reasons he couldn’t afford to think of her in that way. On the other hand, it was damnably difficult not to just then.

      Under that steady scrutiny Sabrina glanced down, suddenly conscious of her present state of undress and then, belatedly, the direction and power of the light. The implications hit her a second later. She darted a look at her companion but nothing could have been more innocent than the expression on that handsome face. It was enough to confirm every suspicion. The knowledge should have been mortifying but somehow it wasn’t. The feeling it awoke was quite different. Striving for an appearance of casual ease she moved away from the window.

      ‘I must dress.’

      ‘Do you need any help?’ he asked. Meeting a startled gaze he hid a smile and added, ‘Would you like me to send for Jacinta?’

      ‘Oh. Oh, yes, thank you.’

      This time he did smile. ‘She’ll be along directly.’ Then he strolled to the door. ‘Breakfast will be ready when you are.’

      When he had gone Sabrina let out the breath she had unconsciously been holding.

      Chapter Four

      During their journey that day they beguiled the time with cards. On this occasion it was piquet, a game which Sabrina enjoyed and at which she was particularly adept, as Falconbridge soon discovered.

      ‘Is this the sign of a misspent youth?’ he asked, having lost three times in succession.

      ‘Misspent?’ She smiled faintly. ‘On the contrary, I had a very good teacher.’

      ‘So I infer. Your father?’

      ‘No, Captain Harcourt of the Light Dragoons.’ Seeing his expression she hurried on, ‘It was all quite respectable. He knew my father, you see, for they had had occasion to work together in Portugal and they became good friends.’

      ‘A trusty mentor then.’

      ‘Yes, he was.’ It was quite true, as far as it went. Yet she knew she could never tell him exactly how much she owed Captain Harcourt. ‘He said that knowledge of gaming was an essential aspect of any young woman’s education.’

      ‘Did he indeed?’

      ‘Oh, yes, and he was right. His instruction has proved useful on several occasions.’

      ‘Such as?’

      ‘Such as the time in Lisbon, when Father and I were invited to supper and cards with the officers. One of them was a lieutenant whose honesty was highly suspect.’

      ‘Ah, he was cheating.’

      ‘Yes, marking cards. It took me a while to work out how he was doing it.’

      ‘And then?’

      ‘I played him at his own game. He lost fifty guineas that evening.’ Her eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘He wasn’t best pleased.’

      Falconbridge’s lips twitched. ‘I imagine he was not.’

      ‘It served him right though.’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      Sabrina tilted her head a little and surveyed him keenly. ‘Are you shocked?’

      ‘By the revelation of a card sharp in the army? Hardly.’

      ‘I mean by my telling you these things.’

      ‘No, only a little surprised.’

      ‘You think it not quite respectable?’

      He smiled. ‘On the contrary, I am fast coming to have the greatest respect for your skills.’

      What she might have said in reply was never known, for suddenly the vehicle slowed and then men’s voices were raised in challenge. The words were French. Falconbridge lowered the window and looked out.

      ‘What is it?’ she asked.

      ‘A French patrol.’

      She drew in a sharp breath. ‘How many?’

      ‘Ten—that I can see. There may be more.’

      ‘Regulars?’

      ‘We’re about to find out.’

      The carriage stopped and Sabrina heard approaching hooves and the jingle of harness. Moments later burnished cuirasses, blue jackets and high cavalry boots appeared in her line of vision. Their officer drew rein opposite the carriage window.

      Falconbridge muttered an expletive under his breath. ‘I think I know this man. Not his name, his face.’

      Sabrina paled. ‘Will he know you?’

      ‘Let’s hope not.’ He glanced at his companion and murmured, ‘Say as little as possible, Sabrina.’

      Almost imperceptibly, she nodded. Then the French officer spoke.

      ‘You will kindly step out of the carriage and identify yourself, Monsieur.’

      With every appearance of ease Falconbridge opened the door and stepped down onto the roadway. The officer dismounted. Sabrina’s hands clenched in her lap. She heard Falconbridge address the man in excellent French. On hearing his own language the officer’s expression lightened visibly. For a moment or two his gaze met and held that of Falconbridge in a look that was distinctly quizzical. Then it was gone. He examined the papers that were passed to him and, apparently satisfied, handed them back.

      ‘These are in order. You will forgive the intrusion, Monsieur le Comte.’ He bowed. Then his glance went to the other passenger in the coach and lingered appreciatively. He bowed again. ‘Madame.’

      For the space of several heartbeats she felt the weight of that lupine stare. It stripped her and seemed to enjoy what it discovered for its owner bared his teeth in a smile. Annoyed and repelled together she lifted her chin and forced herself to meet his gaze. The