‘Don’t look round,’ he murmured. ‘Keep looking at me.’

‘What is it?’

‘Machart is watching us from the doorway yonder.’

‘Why would he?’

‘Perhaps he was hoping to get you alone.’ Falconbridge smiled. ‘I think we should show him how futile his hope is.’

‘How?’

He released his hold on her hand, but only to slide an arm round her waist and draw her against him. His lips brushed hers, tentatively at first, then more assertively. Liquid warmth flooded her body’s core and she swayed against him, her mouth opening beneath his. The kiss grew deeper, more intimate, inflaming her senses, demanding her response. She had no need to pretend now, nor cared any longer who was watching. All that mattered was the two of them and the moonlight and the moment.

AUTHOR NOTE

The Napoleonic Wars provide the backdrop for this novel, which is set in Spain in 1812 in the Peninsular Campaign. The story takes place in the months between the Siege of Badajoz and the Battle of Salamanca.

I was once lucky enough to live in the Spanish capital for a while. Madrid is a beautiful and vibrant city, and also provided a perfect base for exploring the rest of Iberia. The impressions and experiences from that time have stayed with me ever since, and from them I have drawn much of the local material for this book. Other sources of inspiration came from Sunday morning visits to the Prado Museum. Goya’s paintings—in particular Dos de Mayo and Tres de Mayo—give a real flavour of the Napoleonic period and the brutal struggle against foreign oppression. The Spanish waged a highly effective guerrilla campaign against the French, and this forms a strand of the subplot in my novel.

However, El Cuchillo is entirely my own invention. Like so many Spanish towns, Ciudad Rodrigo is a wonderful place to visit—rather like taking a journey back in time. It isn’t hard to imagine Wellington and his staff walking through the halls of the Palacio de los Castro, or red-coat soldiers manning the walls of the town. These still bear the marks of the bombardment. The castillo no longer has a military function; these days it is a parador, one of the many historic state-owned hotels.

About the Author

JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler, with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination, and she has travelled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England, and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles.

Recent novels by the same author:

THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE

(part of the Mills & Boon Presents… anthology, featuring talented new authors) THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE

Visit www.joannafulford.co.uk for more information

HIS

COUNTERFEIT

CONDESA

Joanna Fulford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Catherine Pons, whose friendship has made life so much richer.

Chapter One

Spain 1812

Sabrina surveyed the laden wagon and the damaged wheel and mentally cursed both. Her gaze travelled down the dusty road that snaked through rock and scrub towards the distant sierra. The sun was already past the zenith and they still had many miles to cover before they reached their destination. Now it looked as though they were going to be much later than planned. The wagon driver, a short, wiry individual of indeterminate age, kicked the wheel rim and flung his hat to the ground, muttering an imprecation under his breath. Then he turned towards her, his swarthy face registering an expression that was both doleful and apologetic.

‘Lo siento mucho, Doña Sabrina.’

‘It’s not your fault, Luis. This wagon wasn’t up to much in the first place,’ she replied in Castilian Spanish as fluent as his own.

‘It is no better than firewood on wheels,’ he replied. ‘Or rather, not on wheels any more. Next time I see that donkey, Vasquez, I shall kill him.’

She shook her head. ‘He is an ally, even if he does supply poor transport.’

‘Dios mio! With allies such as this, who needs to worry about the French?’

‘Even so.’

Luis sighed. ‘Very well. I shall let him off with just a beating.’

‘No, Luis, tempting as it is.’ She turned back to the wagon. ‘All that matters now is to get this thing fixed so that we can make the rendezvous with Colonel Albermarle.’

Another voice interjected calmly, ‘There’s a wheelwright in the next town. It’s no more than five miles from here.’

She turned towards the speaker, a man of middle years whose black hair showed strands of grey. His tanned face was deeply lined but the eyes were shrewd and alert. Though he was not tall, his stocky frame suggested compact strength.

Sabrina nodded. ‘All right, Ramon. You and I will ride into town and fetch help. Luis and the others can stay here and guard the wagon.’

With that she swung back astride the bay gelding and waited while Ramon remounted his own horse. She nodded to Luis and the three men with him and then turned the horse’s head towards Casa Verde.

Town was an overstatement she decided when they reached it about an hour later. It was no more than a large sleepy village. Many of the buildings were ramshackle affairs with cracked walls and sagging pantile roofs. Chickens scratched in the dirt and a hog sunned itself beside an adobe wall. Ragged children played knucklebones before the open door of a house. The narrow street led into a small dusty plaza and Sabrina glanced at her companion.

‘Where can we find the wheelwright?’ she asked.

‘Garcia’s premises are located behind the church.’ Ramon nodded in the direction of the imposing whitewashed building on the far side of the square. ‘Not far now.’

They found the place with no difficulty but discovered the proprietor and two others engaged in removing a wheel from a large supply wagon. Another similar vehicle stood nearby, laden with barrels and sacks. A group of red-coated soldiers stood beside it, laughing and talking among themselves. Sabrina and her companion exchanged glances.

‘I’ll go and speak with Garcia,’ he said.

She took his horse’s reins and watched him cross the intervening space. The wright glanced up from his work. There followed an interchange lasting perhaps two minutes. Then Ramon returned, his expression sombre.

‘The man has just begun a new job,’ he said. ‘He will not be able to help us until tomorrow.’

‘What!’

Ramon gestured to the two supply wagons. ‘He says he must fix those first.’

‘But we’re supposed to rendezvous with Albermarle in Ciudad Rodrigo this evening.’

‘I think that won’t be possible. He says the English soldiers are before us and their commanding officer needs these wagons in a hurry.’

‘Yes, and we need ours in a hurry,’ she replied. ‘I’ll speak to the officer. Perhaps he may relent.’

Ramon grimaced. ‘I doubt it.’

‘We’ll see.’

Sabrina swung down off her horse and thrust both sets of reins into his hands. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked across to the group of soldiers by the waiting wagon. As she drew nearer the two facing her looked up, becoming aware of her presence. Their expressions registered surprise and curiosity. Seeing it their companions glanced round and then the conversation stopped. Sabrina fixed her attention on the man immediately in front of her.

‘I need to speak to your commanding officer.’

‘That would be Major Falconbridge, ma’am.’

‘Can you tell me where he is?’

‘Over there, ma’am,’ the soldier replied, nodding towards a dark-haired figure crouching beside one of the draught horses tethered nearby.

Sabrina thanked him and went across. Though the Major must have heard her approach he didn’t look up, his attention focused on the horse’s near foreleg. Strong lean fingers ran gently down the cannon bone and paused on the fetlock joint.

‘Major Falconbridge?’

‘That’s right.’ The voice was pleasant, the accent unmistakably that of a gentleman.

‘I am Sabrina Huntley. May I have a word with you, sir?’

He did look up then and she found herself staring into a tanned and clean-shaven face. Its rugged lines had nothing of classical beauty about them but it made her catch her breath all the same. Moreover, it was dominated by a pair of cool, grey eyes, whose piercing gaze now swept her critically, moving from the tumbled gold curls confined at her neck by a ribbon, and travelling on by way of jacket and shirt to breeches and boots, pausing only to linger a moment on the sword at her side and the pistol thrust into her belt. As it did so a gleam of amusement appeared in the grey depths. Then he straightened slowly.

‘I am all attention, Miss Huntley.’

Sabrina’s startled gaze met the top buttons of his uniform jacket and then moved on, giving her a swift impression of a lithe and powerful frame. Her heart skipped a beat and just for a moment her mind went blank to everything, save the man in front of her. With an effort she recollected herself and, adopting a more businesslike manner, explained briefly what had befallen the wagon.

‘I must get to Ciudad Rodrigo tonight. I need the services of the wheelwright at once.’

‘I regret that I cannot help you,’ he replied, ‘for as you see his services are already engaged.’

‘My business is most urgent, Major.’

‘So is mine, ma’am. Were it not so I would have been delighted to oblige you.’

‘Can you not delay your repairs a little?’

‘Indeed I cannot. I must deliver these supplies today or my men won’t eat.’

The tone was even and courteous enough but it held an inflection of steel. She tried another tack.

‘If I do not get help my men and I will be forced to spend the night in the open.’

‘That’s regrettable, of course, but fortunately the weather is clement at this season,’ he replied.

Her jaw tightened. ‘There is also the chance of encountering a French patrol.’

‘There are no French patrols within twenty miles.’ He paused, eyeing the sword and pistol. ‘Even if there were I think they would be foolhardy to risk an attack on you.’

Her green eyes flashed fire. ‘You are ungallant, sir.’

‘So I’m often told.’

‘Would you leave a lady unaided in such circumstances?’

‘Certainly not, but on your own admission you have several men to help you.’ He paused. ‘May I ask what your wagon is carrying?’

There was an infinitesimal pause. Then, ‘Fruit.’

One dark brow lifted a little. ‘I think your fruit will be safe enough, ma’am.’

Sabrina’s hands clenched at her sides. ‘I do not think you understand the seriousness of the case, Major Falconbridge.’

‘I believe I do.’

‘I must have that wheelwright.’

‘And so you shall—tomorrow.’

‘I have never met with so discourteous and disobliging a man in my life!’

‘You need to get out more.’

Hot colour flooded into her face and dyed her cheeks a most becoming shade of pink. He smiled appreciatively, revealing very white, even teeth. Sabrina fought the urge to hit him.

‘For the last time, Major, will you help me?’

‘For the last time, ma’am, I cannot.’

‘Bruto!’

The only reply was an unrepentant grin. Incensed, Sabrina turned on her heel and marched back to where Ramon waited with the horses. The Spaniard regarded her quizzically.

‘Do I take it that the answer was no?’

‘You do.’

Grabbing the reins, she remounted and turned her horse towards the gate, pausing only to throw Falconbridge one last fulminating glance as she rode on by. As the Major’s grey gaze followed her he laughed softly.

Some time later the army supply wagons set out. Falconbridge rode alongside, keeping the horse to an easy pace. From time to time he let his gaze range across the hills but saw nothing to cause him any concern. For the rest, his mind was more agreeably occupied with the strange encounter in the wheelwright’s yard. He smiled to himself, albeit rather ruefully. His response to the lady’s plight was ungallant as she had rightly said. No doubt his name was mud now. All the same he wouldn’t have missed it for worlds. It had been worth it just to see the fire in those glorious green eyes. For a while there he had wondered if she would hit him; the desire had been writ large in her face. The image returned with force. He knew he wouldn’t forget it in a hurry.

Her unusual mode of dress had, initially, led him to wonder if she was one of the camp followers, but the cut-glass accent of her spoken English precluded that at once. Her whole manner was indicative of one used to giving orders. He chuckled to himself. Miss Huntley didn’t take kindly to being refused. Under other circumstances he would have behaved better, but he had told the truth when he said he needed to deliver the supplies promptly. She had told him her destination was Ciudad Rodrigo. His smile widened. Without a doubt he’d be meeting her again and soon.

These reflections kept him occupied until the town came into view. He saw the supplies safely delivered and then headed straight to the barracks. He arrived at the quarters he shared with Major Brudenell to find the former already there, seated at the table. Though he was of Falconbridge’s age the likeness stopped there. Hair the colour of ripe wheat offset a lightly tanned face whose chiselled lines bespoke his noble heritage. He looked up from the paper on which he had been writing, vivid blue eyes warmed by a smile.

‘Ah, Robert. Everything go as planned?’

‘Yes, pretty much.’

‘The men will be pleased. That last barrel of salt pork was so rancid it could have been used as a weapon of terror. If we’d fired it at the French they’d have been in full retreat by now.’

Falconbridge smiled. ‘Maybe we should try it next time.’ He nodded towards the paper on the table. ‘Letter home, Tony?’

‘Yes. I’ve been meaning to do it for the past fortnight and never got the chance. I must get it finished before I go.’

‘Before you go where?’

‘The Sierra de Gredos. Ward has me lined up for a further meeting with El Cuchillo.’

The name of the guerrilla leader was well known. For some time he had been passing information to the English in exchange for guns. Since the intelligence provided had been reliable, General Ward was keen to maintain the relationship.

‘You’ll be gone for a couple of weeks then.’

‘I expect so.’

Falconbridge glanced towards the partially written letter. ‘I sometimes think war is hardest on those left behind.’

‘As a single man you haven’t got that worry.’

‘Nor would I seek it, notwithstanding your most excellent example.’

Brudenell shook his head. ‘I am hardly an excellent example. Indeed it has been so long since I saw my wife that she has likely forgotten what I look like.’

‘That must be hard.’

‘Not in the least. Ours was an arranged marriage with no choice offered to either party. I am quite sure that Claudia enjoys an agreeable lifestyle in London without being overly troubled by my absence.’

The tone was cheerful enough but Falconbridge glimpsed something very like bleakness in those startling blue eyes. Then it was gone. Privately he owned to surprise, for while he knew that his friend was married, he had only ever referred to the matter in the most general terms, until now. The subject was not one that Falconbridge would have chosen to discuss anyway. Even after all this time it was an aspect of the past that he preferred to forget.

It seemed he wasn’t going to be allowed that luxury as Brudenell continued,

‘Have you never been tempted to take the plunge?’

‘I almost did once but the lady cried off.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

Falconbridge achieved a faint shrug. ‘Don’t be. It was undoubtedly a lucky escape. Ever since then I’ve preferred to take my pleasure where I find it.’

‘Very wise.’

‘You condemn matrimony then?’

‘Not so,’ said Brudenell, ‘though I would certainly caution against arranged matches.’

‘Advice I shall heed, I promise you.’

‘Of course, you might meet the right woman. Have you considered that?’

‘I’ve yet to meet any woman with whom I would wish to spend the rest of my life,’ replied Falconbridge. ‘The fair sex is charming but they are capricious and, in my experience, not to be trusted. Brief liaisons with women of a certain class are far more satisfactory.’

‘You are a cynic, my friend.’

‘No, I am a realist.’

What Brudenell might have said in response was never known because an adjutant appeared at the door. He looked at Falconbridge.

‘Beg pardon, Major, but General Ward requires your presence at once.’

‘Very well. I’ll attend him directly.’

As the adjutant departed, the two men exchanged glances. Falconbridge raised an eyebrow.

‘This should be interesting.’

‘A euphemism if ever I heard one,’ replied his companion.

‘Well, I’ll find out soon enough I expect.’

With that, Falconbridge ducked out of the room and was gone.

It was late afternoon of the following day before Sabrina and her companions crossed the Roman bridge over the Agueda River, and reached the rendezvous in the Castillo at Ciudad Rodrigo. After the siege in January that year, the French had been driven out by British troops. Capture of the town and the big artillery batteries on the Great Teson had opened up the eastern corridor for Wellington’s advance into Spain. The Castillo was a hive of activity. The guards at the gate of the fortress recognised the party in the wagon and sent word of their approach, so that by the time they drew to a halt in the courtyard Albermarle was waiting. The Colonel was in his mid-fifties and of just above the average height, but for all his grey hairs he was of an upright bearing and the blue eyes were sharp and astute. When he saw Sabrina his craggy face lit with a smile.

‘You’re late, my dear. I was getting worried.’

‘We had a damaged wheel, sir, and it took longer than expected to repair.’

‘Unfortunate, but these things happen. Any other trouble on the way?’

For a moment Major Falconbridge’s face swam into her memory. She pushed it aside.

‘No.’

‘Good.’ He eyed the oranges on the wagon. ‘And the guns?’

Sabrina nodded to Ramon. He pushed aside part of the top layer of fruit and lifted the sacking on which it rested to reveal the stocks of the Baker rifles beneath. Albermarle smiled.

‘You’ve done well, my dear, as always.’ He eyed her dusty garments and then went on, ‘Lodgings have been arranged for you nearby. You’ll find Jacinta there with your things. When you’ve had a chance to bathe and change we’ll have dinner together.’

‘That sounds delightful, sir.’

‘Good. We’ll talk then.’

Sabrina rejoined him some time later, elegantly gowned in a sprigged muslin frock and with her hair neatly dressed. The meal was good and so far removed from the rations of the last few days that she ate with real enjoyment. Her companion kept the conversation to general topics but, knowing him of old, she sensed there was something on his mind. In this she was correct, though the matter was not broached until they had finished eating and were lingering over the remains of the wine. The colonel leaned back in his chair, surveying her keenly.

‘Have you thought any more about our last conversation, my dear?’

‘Yes, and my answer is the same.’

‘I thought it might be.’ He smiled gently. ‘Does England hold no charms for you then?’

‘I barely remember the place, much less my aunt’s family. It is kind of her to offer me a home but I would feel like a fish out of water. My life has revolved around the army. Father could have left me behind in England when he went abroad, but he chose not to and I’m glad of it.’

‘I have known your father a long time. John Huntley was always an unusual man, some might even say eccentric, but he is brave and honourable and I am proud to count him among my friends. He is also a very fine cartographer.’

‘Yes, he is, and it’s thanks to him that I have received such an unusual education. How many young women have been where I’ve been or done what I’ve done?’

He chuckled. ‘Precious few I imagine.’

‘I have sometimes thought that it might be pleasant to have a permanent home and to attend parties and balls and the like, but the bohemian life is not without its charms, too. I suppose the habit has become ingrained, even though Father is gone.’

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

‘It has been four months now, but not a day passes when I don’t think of him.’

‘His capture was a severe blow to the army.’

‘I can’t bear to think of him languishing somewhere in a French prison. I cling to the hope that one day he will be freed and I shall see him again.’

‘When the war is over who knows what may happen?’

She sighed. ‘I think that day is far off.’

‘I know how lonely you must be without him.’ He hesitated. ‘Did you never think about settling down?’

‘Marriage?’ She shook her head. ‘I have never been in one place long enough to form that kind of attachment.’

‘Just so, my dear, and it worries me.’

‘There is no need, sir, truly. Father took pains to ensure I was well provided for.’

‘It is a godfather’s privilege to be concerned,’ he replied.

She returned his smile. ‘When I find another man like you I may consider settling down. In the meantime it is my duty to do my part for king and country.’

‘Are you sure, my dear?’

‘Quite sure.’ She paused, her gaze searching his face. ‘There’s something in the wind, isn’t there?’

‘Am I so transparent?’

‘I’ve known you a long time, sir.’

‘True. And you’re right. There is a mission in the offing.’

‘May I know what it is?’

‘Even I don’t have all the details yet. All I can tell you is that it is top level. I have a meeting in the morning with General Ward and Major Forbes.’

‘Major Forbes is one of Wellington’s leading intelligence officers.’

‘Yes, he is.’ He paused. ‘What is more, he has asked that you should be present at the briefing tomorrow.’

Her astonishment was unfeigned. While she had undertaken several missions in the last year they were all low-key affairs involving relatively small risk. This appeared to be rather different. Curiosity vied with a strange feeling of unease. What kind of mission was it that required her involvement? What part would she be asked to play?

For a long time after she retired that night she lay awake pondering what her godfather had said. It wasn’t just the business of the mysterious mission. It was the matter of her future. At some point the war would end and, God willing, her father might be released. However, conditions in French prisons were notoriously bad and she had to face the possibility that he might not survive. What then? Likely she would have no choice but to return to England. However, she had been independent too long ever to live by someone else’s rules. Her aunt meant well but the prospect of life in a small town held no charms. Besides, the only career open to a woman was marriage, an indescribably dull fate after a lifetime of adventure. Happily, that was one problem that wouldn’t affect her. She had learned early that, when it came to matters of the heart, what men said and what they meant were very different things.

For an instant Captain Jack Denton’s image returned, along with its false smile and equally false assurances. Of course, she had been much younger then, barely fifteen. Having no mother or older sisters to advise her, she had been easy prey for a handsome face and polished manner. They had met at her first dance. Ten years older than she, Denton’s attentions had been flattering, and had awakened something inside her whose existence had remained unknown till then. He had recognised it at once. And he had been clever, careful not to move too fast yet leaving her in no doubt of his admiration. Smiles and soft looks and compliments developed into brief stolen meetings, always when her father or his friends were not by, and eventually a tender kiss. It had kindled the spark to a flame that lit her whole being. Utterly infatuated, she never questioned his sincerity or the depth of his feelings.

She swallowed hard. No woman in her right mind would risk making that mistake again. Nor would any woman risk her reputation so foolishly. Her relationships with men were almost entirely professional now. On those occasions when she met them socially she was unfailingly courteous but also careful to keep them at arm’s length. It was better to be free and independent. The only person she could rely on was herself.

In the meantime she must find out what Ward and Forbes were planning, and the only way to do that was to accompany her godfather tomorrow.

Falconbridge lay on his cot, staring into the darkness, his mind too crowded with thoughts for sleep to take him. The meeting with General Ward was still vivid. Though his skills as an intelligence agent had been used many times on different missions, Falconbridge knew this one was different. If it succeeded it could change the whole course of the war, but the hazards were great for all sorts of reasons. It had been madness to agree to do it. The fact that Ward had given him a choice showed that he knew just how much he was asking. However, the offered inducement was also considerable—for an ambitious officer. Ward was fully aware of it, of course, and calculated accordingly. He knew his man. There was no knowing if this would work, but doing nothing was not an option. Had it involved only himself, Falconbridge would have taken on the challenge without demur, even knowing the risks were great. As it was…He had expressed his reservations in the strongest possible terms, and been ignored, of course. He thumped the pillow hard. The General had made up his mind and would not be deterred. It argued a degree of calculated ruthlessness that was almost enviable.

The meeting was arranged for ten o’clock. Sabrina had dressed with care for the occasion, donning a smart primrose-yellow gown. Her hair was neatly arranged beneath a pretty straw bonnet. Having surveyed her reflection in the glass with a critical eye she decided the outfit would pass muster. She and Colonel Albermarle presented themselves at the appointed time. Knowing the army as she did, Sabrina had expected a lengthy wait, but to her surprise they were shown straight in.

General Ward was seated behind the desk at the far end of a large room, and Major Forbes was standing beside him. Both men were poring over a map. As they entered Ward looked up.

‘Ah, Colonel Albermarle.’ As the Colonel came to attention, Ward rose from his seat and bowed to Sabrina. ‘Miss Huntley.’

Sabrina returned the greeting and accepted the offer of a chair. For a moment there was silence and she saw the General exchange glances with Forbes. Then he drew a deep breath.

‘We have requested your presence today in order to put forward a proposition, Miss Huntley.’

‘A proposition, sir?’

‘Yes. One of the carrier pigeons recently returned bearing a coded message. In essence, the Spanish agent who sent it has obtained vital military documents concerning French troop movements. However, his responsibilities in Madrid make it impossible for him to deliver the information to us. Like everyone else in senior government positions he is watched, and cannot afford to do anything that might appear unusual. That means someone must go and collect the information from him.’

Sabrina’s brow wrinkled for a moment. ‘But surely it would be equally suspicious, sir, if he were suddenly visited by a total stranger.’

‘Ordinarily it would. However, the gentleman’s wife is celebrating her birthday next week and he is holding a ball at his mansion near Aranjuez to mark the occasion. It is to be a lavish affair. Everyone who is anyone will be there. It will also provide a perfect opportunity to get hold of the information he has obtained.’

She nodded slowly. ‘I can see that, but I confess to being at a loss as to my role in all this.’

‘Our agent is to impersonate this gentleman’s cousin, the Conde de Ordoñez y Casal. The real one lives on his estate in Extremadura. Apparently he prefers the pleasures of country life to those of the city and almost never goes there.’

‘But isn’t there a chance someone will know him and spot the deception?’

‘It’s an outside chance but one we have to take,’ the General replied.

‘I still don’t understand how all this involves me.’

‘The Conde de Ordoñez is a married man. As such, his wife would certainly attend the ball with him. Our agent must therefore be so accompanied.’ Ward glanced at Forbes who nodded. ‘My informants tell me that Ordoñez’s wife is French and blonde. As I am sure you will appreciate, ma’am, there are not many blonde-haired women hereabouts, and even fewer who speak fluent French as well as their native tongue. Your skill in both languages is well known to us.’ He paused. ‘And you have helped us before.’

‘You want me to pose as the Conde’s wife?’

‘Just so.’

Beside her Colonel Albermarle gave an exclamation of astonishment and disgust.

‘The whole thing is highly improper, sir, and I would in no way sanction it,’ he said. ‘Besides, which, it would be unthinkable to put my goddaughter in such a dangerous situation.’

The General regarded him with a cool and level stare. ‘I have not said all.’

‘You mean there’s more to this confounded business, sir?’

‘Yes. We are not expecting Miss Huntley to take such a risk without offering something in return.’

Ward paused and glanced at his companion. Forbes smiled.

‘Your father is unfortunately confined in prison in France,’ he said. ‘Negotiations are underway for the release of certain English military personnel in exchange for high-ranking French officers currently in our hands. If you agree to help us we’ll make your father’s release part of those negotiations.’

Sabrina swallowed hard as she tried to marshal her thoughts. ‘If I were to agree, what guarantee would there be that my father would be released?’

‘We would ensure the man we offered in exchange was of sufficient importance that the French would be most unlikely to refuse.’

‘How soon would my father be free?’

‘In a matter of weeks.’

A matter of weeks! Her heart thumped in her breast. Her father need not die in a foreign prison after all. They would be reunited at last. Surely that was worth any risk, wasn’t it? She bit her lip, unable to ignore the ramifications of her decision. If she agreed she might be putting her life on the line; would be reliant on the help and cooperation of a complete stranger. She did not think that Ward and Forbes would have chosen anyone but the best for this task; they couldn’t afford to. All the same, this man’s first care was to see that those plans got back to Wellington. If it came to a choice between that and her safety it didn’t take a savant to work out which would come first. She would be expendable. The intelligence service needed those plans and its agents were prepared to go to considerable lengths to get them. That also included the ruthless exploitation of her emotions. Her father was of no real monument to them. Had it been otherwise they would have negotiated his release already. The knowledge caused the first faint stirrings of anger. It was an emotion she couldn’t afford. Forcing it down she met the General’s gaze with apparent composure.

‘May I have some time to reflect?’

‘Time is of the essence. The ball is eleven days hence. The journey will take nine. I need an answer today.’

Her godfather laid a gentle hand on her arm. ‘You don’t have to do this, my dear. Your father would never ask it of you. I know how much he means to you and I care for him, too, but as your guardian I urge you to think most carefully.’

‘I cannot leave him to die in prison, sir.’

‘Consider, Sabrina. You know nothing about this man they would have you accompany.’

‘I assure you, sir, that the gentleman is of good family,’ Ward replied. ‘He is the younger son of the Earl of Ellingham and is currently carving out a distinguished career for himself as a member of Wellington’s intelligence staff.’ He paused. ‘His background might be considered among the best in England. Good enough, one would think, to be a fit companion for your goddaughter.’

Seeing Ward’s haughty expression, Albermarle reddened. ‘My goddaughter is also of good family, General. John Huntley has no reason to be ashamed of his connections.’

‘I never meant to imply any such thing, Colonel.’

Recognising the signs of impending wrath on her godfather’s face Sabrina interjected quickly. ‘I am sure you did not, sir.’

Albermarle threw her a swift glance and held his temper. ‘Connections are all very well,’ he went on, ‘but what is the man’s character?’

‘I have never heard anything to his detriment. On the contrary, he has shown himself to be capable and resourceful in the undertaking of his duties.’

‘I am quite sure of that or you would never have chosen him. What concerns me is his moral character. After all, my goddaughter will be alone in his company for weeks. Her reputation…’

‘Will be untarnished,’ said Ward. ‘The proprieties will be observed, sir. Miss Huntley will take her maid, as befits a lady of rank, and our agent will be accompanied by some of his men, in the guise of servants.’ He paused. ‘It goes without saying that arrangements for accommodation will be quite separate.’

‘My goddaughter will have more than just her maid for protection. If she goes at all I insist upon Ramon and Luis attending her as well.’

Forbes raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Ramon and Luis?’

‘Partisans, I believe,’ said Ward.

‘Two of my father’s most trusted companions, sir,’ Sabrina explained. ‘They have guided him on numerous expeditions and have accompanied me on every mission I’ve been on. They are most able men.’

Forbes and Ward exchanged another glance. Then the latter nodded.

‘Agreed.’

However, Albermarle wasn’t finished. ‘Apart from the dubious nature of this proposal, Aranjuez is deep in the heart of enemy territory,’ he said. ‘If anything were to go wrong there would be no possibility of outside help. The consequences mean death or imprisonment.’

‘That’s true,’ said the General. ‘It is a risk, albeit a calculated one.’

‘In my view the whole thing is utter madness, but the final decision is not mine.’

Ward turned to Sabrina. ‘Then may we know your mind, madam, or do you wish a little more time to consider?’

Sabrina knew that time would make no difference in this case. The choice was made as soon as he had talked of her father’s freedom.

‘I’ll do it.’

There came a muffled exclamation from Albermarle, but he said nothing.

Ward smiled. ‘Good. It’s a brave decision, Miss Huntley. Believe me, we are most grateful.’

‘Does your agent know about all this?’ she asked.

‘Yes, he was briefed earlier.’

‘What did you offer him?’

For a second he seemed taken aback, as much by the dryness of her tone as by the directness of the question, but he recovered quickly. ‘Promotion to Lieutenant Colonel.’

‘I see.’ An ambitious man, she thought. That knowledge wasn’t particularly reassuring. ‘When do I meet him?’

‘At once,’ replied Ward. He glanced at Forbes. ‘Tell him to come in.’

Sabrina closed her eyes for a moment, willing herself to calm. She must do this thing. There was no other choice. Her father’s liberty was all that mattered. She heard the Major’s footsteps cross the floor and then the sound of the door opening. He spoke briefly to someone outside. Two sets of footsteps returned. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep them still and forced herself to look up. Then her heart leapt towards her throat and she found herself staring into the grey eyes of Major Falconbridge.

Chapter Two

Suddenly it was harder to breathe and her cheeks, so pink before, went pale. Impossible! It couldn’t be he! Of all the men in His Majesty’s army…Sabrina came out of her chair and darted a glance at Ward and then at Forbes but saw nothing in their expressions to contradict it. Dear God, what had she agreed to? The idea of walking the length of the street with this man was unappealing, never mind spending weeks in his company. The temptation to renege on her promise and walk away was almost overpowering. Then she thought of her father and took a deep breath.

If Major Falconbridge had noticed aught amiss it wasn’t evident. Having observed the necessary social courtesies he got straight to the point.

‘I believe that you are to accompany me on this mission, Miss Huntley.’

Somehow she found her voice. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘I take it that you understand exactly what that entails.’

‘I understand.’

‘All the same, I should be grateful if you would afford me an opportunity for private speech later.’

With an effort she kept her tone neutral. ‘As you will, Major.’

In fact, Falconbridge had seen the fleeting expression of dismay when she realised who he was. Under any other circumstances such a meeting would have been most entertaining, but just now he felt no inclination to laugh. For a moment he had expected her to refuse point-blank to enter into the bargain, but then she had seemed to regain her composure. Forbes had apprised him of her situation and he understood now just how much her father meant to her. After their first meeting Falconbridge knew he must be the last man in the world she would ever have chosen to go anywhere with, let alone Aranjuez. He also knew that his memory hadn’t done her justice. From the beginning he had considered her attractive. Seeing her now he realised she was much more than that—spirited, too. However, looks and spirit were only part of it; she had other attributes. Ward had assured him of her linguistic ability in French and Spanish and of her usefulness to them in the past. It still hadn’t stifled his doubts. Yet somehow those documents had to be obtained and brought back for Wellington. Promotion and the release of John Huntley, though highly desirable, were secondary considerations.

His thoughts were interrupted by General Ward. ‘You will complete your briefing today and leave for Aranjuez in the morning.’

Sabrina’s heart lurched. So little time! Then she reflected that it might be better so; if she had more space to consider she might well refuse to go through with it. This man unsettled her too much. Such a mission required clear-headedness and a certain amount of detachment. The knowledge that she was failing in both areas only added to her mortification.

Ward drew the meeting to a close shortly afterwards. Since Falconbridge was to be detained for a while he asked for directions to Sabrina’s present accommodation.

‘I will call upon you there very soon,’ he said.

With that they said their temporary farewells and she and Albermarle left the room. For a while they walked in silence, but when they were away from the headquarters building he paused and drew her round to face him.

‘Are you quite sure you know what you’re doing, my dear? This mission truly is most dangerous.’

She nodded. ‘I know but my mind is made up.’

‘Very well. It’s your decision, of course, but I cannot pretend that I like it.’

The words stayed with her long after he had gone. Though her reply had sounded confident, she was far from feeling it. However, the die was cast. Unwilling to spend too long thinking about the possibly dire consequences of her actions, she turned her mind to the practicalities. She would need to speak to Jacinta and then the two of them would pack all the necessary items for the trip. Later she would talk to Ramon and Luis. It was all very well for others to commandeer their services for this mission, but it was not the usual low-key affair, nor were they soldiers being paid to risk their lives. They needed to know of the dangers and be given the chance to opt out if they wanted to.

Jacinta listened impassively while Sabrina explained where she would be going. She did not go into details about why, since it was classified information, but only said that it concerned her father’s safety, an explanation that she knew the maid would accept without question.

‘Aranjuez?’ she said then. ‘I know of it, of course, but I have never been there. It will be interesting to see.’

‘It will also be dangerous, Jacinta. Are you sure you want to come?’

The girl lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘Do you think you can prevent it?’

Sabrina smiled ruefully. ‘I doubt it, but I wanted you to know what you’re agreeing to first.’

‘If it were not for your father I would be dead now. He saved me after French dragoons burned and looted my village, and gave me a place in his household. Never shall I forget what I owe to him.’ Jacinta’s dark eyes burned now with inner fire. Her face, too angular for beauty, was nevertheless arresting and it concealed a sharp brain. In her mid-twenties, she had been with the Huntleys for the last five years. Ordinarily she never spoke of the past and Sabrina did not pry, though she knew the broad outlines of the story. If Jacinta wanted her to know the details she would tell her.

‘I miss Father so much.’

‘I, also,’ Jacinta replied, ‘but he is a brave and resourceful man. God will surely help him to win through.’

‘I pray he may.’

‘Meanwhile, not everything can be left to God. We play our part too, no?’

‘As well as we can.’

Jacinta turned towards the clothes press. ‘Then perhaps we should begin by relieving the Almighty of the task of packing.’

They were thus engaged when a servant appeared to say that Major Falconbridge had just arrived. Sabrina drew in a deep breath. This had to be faced and it would be as well to get it over with.

He was waiting in the small salon. Hearing her step he turned, watching her approach. For a moment or two they surveyed each other in silence. Then he made her a neat bow.

‘Miss Huntley. Thank you for receiving me. I am sure you must be busy.’

She kept her expression studiedly neutral. ‘It is of no consequence, sir.’

‘I shall not keep you long, but there are things that must be said.’ He gestured to the open French windows that gave out onto the garden. ‘Will you oblige me?’

As he stood aside to let her pass, she was keenly aware of the gaze burning into her back. It was one thing to be with this man in the company of others and quite another to meet him alone. It ought not to have bothered her; after all, the army had been a large part of her life. She was quite used to the company of men but none of them discomposed her like this one. But then none of them had his rugged good looks either, or that confoundedly assured manner. He had presence, no doubt about that. It was only enhanced by the scarlet regimentals; the jacket with its gold lacings might have been moulded to those broad shoulders. She had thought she was tall, until now. It gave him an annoying advantage since she was forced to look up all the time.

It was warm in the garden, the sunlight brilliant after the relative gloom indoors. They walked a little way down the path between the flower beds until they came to a wooden bench. There he paused.

‘Shall we sit awhile, Miss Huntley?’

She made no demur and watched as he joined her. His gaze met and held hers.

‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ he said. ‘I was not…am not…in favour of your coming on this mission. It is difficult and dangerous and certainly no place for a woman.’

‘And I am the last woman you would have chosen into the bargain.’

One dark brow lifted a little. ‘I did not say so.’

‘You didn’t have to,’ she replied. ‘But then you are the last man I would have chosen, so in that way there is balance.’

‘I am well aware that our first encounter was not calculated to make us friends, Miss Huntley, but personal feelings do not enter into this. My objections are based solely on the risks involved.’

Sabrina’s chin lifted. ‘It was my choice to come, Major. The risks were explained to me.’

‘Were they?’

‘Colonel Ward made it clear that capture would probably mean death.’

‘Death is the best you can hope for if you are captured,’ he replied. ‘Before that there is always interrogation, and the French are not noted for their gentleness in such matters.’

‘Are you afraid I would talk?’

‘Everyone talks by the third day, Miss Huntley.’

Suddenly the sunshine wasn’t quite as warm as it had been. ‘Are you trying to frighten me, sir?’

‘No, only to make you fully aware of what you are agreeing to.’ He paused. ‘The fact that you are a woman brings very particular perils.’

It was impossible to mistake his meaning and, under that cool scrutiny, she felt a hot blush rising from her neck to the roots of her hair. Immediately she was furious with herself. He saw the deepening colour and thought it became her. It was a most agreeable foil for her eyes.

‘I consider the end to be worth the possible perils,’ she replied.

‘General Ward told me about your father. I’m truly sorry.’

The tone sounded sincere and it took her by surprise. ‘If there is any chance that he might be released I have to take it. Surely you see that?’

‘I understand your motives and applaud your courage, but…’

‘You cannot dissuade me. I am set on going.’

‘Very well, but know this: I shall expect you to obey my orders to the letter. Both our lives may depend upon it.’

‘I understand.’

‘I hope you do because I shall not brook disobedience.’

The threat was plain and she had not the least doubt that he meant it. Did he think her so unreliable?

‘I assure you, Major, that I will do nothing to jeopardise the success of this mission.’

‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Then we may be able to deal tolerably well together after all.’

It was, she knew, an oblique reference to their first encounter. Unwilling to go there she sought safer ground.

‘There must be many things I need to know, about the Condesa de Ordoñez, I mean.’

‘I shall brief you on those while we travel. There will be time enough for you to assimilate the details.’

‘As you wish.’

He stood. ‘Until tomorrow morning then, Miss Huntley.’

Sabrina rose, too, and held out her hand. It was in part a conciliatory gesture. Whatever had happened before, it must not be allowed to get in the way now.

‘Until tomorrow, sir.’

She had wondered if he would shake hands with her or consider a curt bow sufficient. Strong fingers closed around hers and, unexpectedly, lifted her hand to his lips. The touch sent a tremor through her entire being. For a moment the grey eyes held hers, but she could not read the expression there. Then she was free and he turned to go. She watched until he was lost to view.

Early next morning, as the trunks were loaded onto the carriage and the horses put to, Sabrina came down to find her godfather and her large travelling companion already waiting. With a small start of surprise she saw that Major Falconbridge had changed his uniform for civilian dress. He was clad now in fawn breeches, Hessian boots and a coat of dark blue superfine that might have been moulded to his shoulders. Snowy linen showed at wrist and throat and a single fob hung from a cream-coloured waistcoat, completing an outfit that was at once simple and elegant. It also enhanced every line of that powerful frame and rendered it more imposing.

Unwilling to let her mind travel too far down that road, she turned her attention to their escort. Ramon and Luis were reassuring presences. As Jacinta had told her, when asked they had made it quite clear that they took their presence on this journey as read. Nor would they be dissuaded.

‘Your concern does you credit, Doña Sabrina,’ replied Ramon when she had told them her plans, ‘but I believe I will make up my own mind.’ The words were quietly spoken but carried an undertone that she recognised all too well.

She made a last-ditch attempt. ‘Aranjuez is far behind French lines.’

‘Madre de Dios! Can it be true?’ Luis threw up his hands in mock horror. ‘In that case, Ramon and I shall remain safely here and tell your father later that we let you go alone into the lion’s den. I am sure he will understand.’

‘My father would not ask this of you.’

‘Your father is not here,’ said Ramon, ‘which means that we two are in loco parentis until his return.’

‘Loco is right,’ replied Luis, ‘but even crazy parents are better than none, eh?’

Unable to think of an immediate answer to this, Sabrina had given in. With Ramon and Luis now were two of Falconbridge’s men, Corporal Blakelock and Private Willis. She recognised them from the encounter in Casa Verde. Both men seemed to be in their mid-twenties but there the resemblance ended: Blakelock’s thin, rangy frame and shock of fair hair were a complete contrast to Willis’s shorter, more compact build and straggling brown locks. They touched their caps and greeted her respectfully, neither one giving any indication that they recalled what had taken place that day in the wheelwright’s yard. She wondered whether it was natural tact on their part or whether Falconbridge had spoken to them. They were to travel in the chaise with Jacinta. Ramon and Luis would take it in turns to drive the coach. The entourage certainly looked like that of a wealthy man and, in this instance, appearances were everything.

Sabrina had not expected that the farewell to Albermarle would be easy, and in this she was right. The craggy face surveyed her for a moment in silence and the blue eyes softened.

‘God bless you, my dear. I wish you all good fortune.’ He hugged her closely. Then he shook hands with Falconbridge. ‘Take care of her, Major.’

‘You have my word on it, sir.’

Albermarle handed Sabrina into the carriage before turning back to the man beside him and bestowing on him a vulpine smile. Then he leaned closer and lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear.

‘If you let any harm come to her I’ll personally cut out your liver.’

The Major met his eye. ‘I’ll try by every means to keep her safe, sir.’

‘You’d better.’ Albermarle smiled at Sabrina and watched her companion climb into the coach. Then he stepped back and rapped out a command to Luis on the box. The horses leapt forwards.

Sabrina drew in a deep breath as the coach pulled away; this was it, the beginning of the adventure. Yet she knew nothing about this man with whom she was to spend the next few weeks. This was only the second time they had been alone together. She would have preferred it to have been somewhere other than the close confines of the carriage, for she was only too keenly aware of the virile form opposite. Just then she would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking, but his expression gave nothing away.

What was running through his mind just then was a strange mixture of emotions. Chiefly he wished with all his heart that she had not come. He was also hoping with all his heart that their mission would go without a hitch. The thought of what might happen if she ever fell into enemy hands turned him cold. Any woman would have been in danger, but a woman who looked like Sabrina…It was why he had tried to talk her out of coming along. She really was lovely. The green travelling dress and matching bonnet became her well, enhancing the colour of her eyes. The shade was unusual, reminding him just now of sun-shot sea water. Those same eyes darkened to emerald when she was angry, he remembered. At that moment their expression was unfathomable. He sighed inwardly. Like it or not she was with him now and he knew it would be better if they could at least get along. The fact that they didn’t was, he admitted, in great measure due to him.

‘It doesn’t seem quite real, does it?’ he said then.

The words were so exactly what had been going through her own mind that she wondered if he had somehow read her thoughts.

‘No, indeed it doesn’t.’

She wondered if he would attempt to make polite conversation now. In truth she had no wish for it. However, it seemed that was not his intention.

‘Since we are to spend some time together perhaps I should begin by telling you something of the lady you are to impersonate.’

She acknowledged privately that it was an adroit touch. He had her full attention now. ‘I would be glad if you did. I know so little, apart from the fact that the Condesa is French—and blonde.’

‘Her family’s name was De Courcy. They came from Toulouse but left France during the revolution, just before the Terror, and settled in Asturias where, I understand, the family had lands.’ He paused. ‘Marianne de Courcy married Antonio Ordoñez three years ago.’

‘Was it an arranged marriage?’

‘Yes, though with the consent of both parties apparently.’

‘Children?’

‘A son called Miguel.’

‘And they live retired.’

‘Happily for our purposes, yes. The Conde prefers country life.’

‘All the same, there might be someone at this party who knows him or his wife.’

The grey gaze met hers. ‘Let us hope not, for both our sakes.’ He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and drew out the object that reposed there. ‘Incidentally, you will need this.’

‘What is it?’

‘A small detail, but an important one if our subterfuge is to be believed.’ He held up a gold ring.

She stared at it for a moment and then at him. ‘I had not thought of that.’

‘How should you? It is a husband’s concern, is it not?’

He reached across and took her hand, sliding the ring on her finger. It fitted well, almost as though it belonged there. However, she was not so much aware of the gold band as of the hand holding hers, a strong lean hand whose touch set her pulse racing. It lingered a few seconds longer and then relinquished its hold. He smiled faintly.

‘The adventure begins, my dear, for better or for worse.’

They settled into silence for a while after this, each occupied in private thought. Sabrina’s gaze went to the window but in truth she saw little of the passing countryside. The presence of the wedding band on her finger was a tangible reminder of the role she was expected to play now. It might have been easier if the man opposite had been a less charismatic, less attractive figure. A plainer, duller man might have made it easier to concentrate. She forced her attention back to what she had been told, committing the detail to memory. She couldn’t afford to make a slip. Thus far she had not allowed herself to think too far ahead but now the implications of their mission crowded in, and the dangers it posed to them both.

At noon they stopped to rest the horses and to partake of a light luncheon. The inn was humble but clean and boasted a vine-covered terrace to the rear overlooking the hills. It was a far more appealing prospect than sitting indoors, and Sabrina readily agreed when he suggested they repair thither to eat. It was good to be out of the swaying vehicle for a while, and to have the opportunity to stretch her cramped limbs. While the Major bespoke luncheon, she walked to the end of the terrace and stood for a while looking out towards hills now hazy in the heat that shimmered over rock and scrub. Nothing moved in the stillness save a buzzard circling high on the warm air currents.

‘It is a fine view, is it not?’

She had not heard him approach but a swift glance revealed the tall figure at her shoulder. His closeness was disconcerting so she returned her gaze to the hills.

‘Very fine.’

‘Spain is a beautiful country, at least those parts of it I have seen.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, it is. My father always thought so, too.’

The mention of her father brought unwelcome emotions to the fore and she resolutely changed the subject.

‘The journey has made me hungry. Shall we eat?’

He could hardly miss the hint and smiled faintly. They moved back under the shade of the vines. The meal was simple and unpretentious: tender, home-cured ham, slices of Manchego cheese, green olives, pieces of spicy chorizo, freshly baked bread and a jug of red wine, but Sabrina had no fault to find with it. On the contrary, she ate with enjoyment. The ham was particularly good, almost melting in the mouth.

Falconbridge owned to some surprise, initially wondering if she would turn up her nose at such plain fare. Perhaps the lengthy travels with her father had accustomed her to such things. It pleased him to find it so. This mission would be difficult enough without being saddled with a captious female.

For the most part they ate in silence. When at last they had finished he leaned back in his chair, surveying her keenly.

‘Would you care to walk a little? It may be some time before we get another chance.’

She nodded acquiescence and rose with him. By tacit consent they strolled together towards the arroyo some hundred yards off.

‘I find that I know nothing about you, or almost nothing,’ he said then.

She glanced up at him. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Now that’s a leading question.’

‘I have nothing to hide.’ That wasn’t completely true but she had no intention of mentioning Jack Denton. Anyway it had no bearing on their mission.

‘Then tell me a little about your background, the things that General Ward did not say.’

‘There is not a great deal to tell. My mother was a Frenchwoman whose family fled Paris when the revolution came. She died when I was twelve. Father refused to leave me with relatives and brought me with him to Iberia.’

‘An unusual upbringing for a young woman.’

‘I suppose it must seem that way to other people, though I have never considered it so.’

‘You clearly have a gift for languages.’

‘We spoke both French and English at home so the facility came early. I learned Portuguese and Spanish after my father’s posting to the Peninsula.’

‘I see. Did you never have any formal schooling?’

‘I had a governess when I was little. My father also taught me many things; more perhaps than most young ladies learn.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as learning how to defend myself.’

Recalling their first meeting, Falconbridge smiled. ‘So the sword and pistol weren’t just for show, then?’

‘Hardly.’

‘Have you ever been called upon to use them?’

‘Yes. Father’s work took us to some remote places and once we were attacked by robbers. Fortunately Ramon and Luis were with us and we were able to drive our attackers off, but it’s not an experience I would choose to have again.’

‘I can well believe it,’ he replied. His curiosity mounted. ‘Did you never settle in one place?’

‘No, though there were some fairly lengthy spells in different locations.’

‘Did it not bother you to be always on the move?’

‘Home was wherever we happened to be. So long as Father and I were together I didn’t mind.’

‘His capture must have come as a severe blow.’

‘Yes, it did.’

‘I take it you were not there on that occasion.’

She shook her head. ‘My horse was lame and Father was only going to be away for two or three days. That was four months ago. I have not seen him since.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Sabrina was struck again by the apparent sincerity in his tone. It was much at variance with the man she had met before.

‘I should have been with him,’ she said. ‘Perhaps then I could have done something to help.’

‘If you had been with him, my dear, you would have been killed or captured yourself.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Soldiers are not known for their chivalrous behaviour.’

She smiled innocently. ‘So I’ve noticed, sir.’

‘Touché!’

Her riposte had been justified, he admitted. All the same he hadn’t missed the mischievous glance that had accompanied it. There had been no malice in the look. On the contrary, it had been quite unwittingly seductive. The fact that it had been unintended made it all the more effective. He smiled in self-mockery. Any overture to Miss Huntley would likely result in him getting shot, or run through with a sword. She was more than capable of holding her own. It didn’t displease him. Whatever else, it meant that the journey wasn’t going to be dull.

Their stroll had brought them to the arroyo, but the stream in its stony bed was reduced to a mere trickle now. A few stunted trees clung to the margins. Heat struck upwards from the baked earth and carried with it the scent of wild thyme and dry grass.

‘Despite the shortcomings of some members of the military,’ he continued, ‘you are fortunate to have a friend in Colonel Albermarle.’

‘He has been kindness itself. He and my father go back many years.’

‘When this mission is over you will see your father again.’

‘I pray that I may. I cannot bear to think of him in a foreign prison.’

Her expression grew wistful and he was unexpectedly touched. Her affection for her parent was clearly genuine, as was her desire for his freedom. Her youth made her seem more vulnerable. Once again he felt the weight of his responsibility.

‘How old are you, Sabrina?’

‘I’m nineteen.’ Her eyes met and held his. ‘How old are you?’

His lips twitched. ‘Eight and twenty.’

‘Now you know about me will you not tell me something of yourself?’

‘You will find it dull. Unlike you I had a most conventional upbringing: Eton, Cambridge and the army. As the younger son I was expected to carve out a career for myself. My father bought me a commission and then let me get on with it.’

‘Do you have any sisters?’

‘One. Her name is Harriet. She is four years younger than I and married now with children of her own.’

‘And your brother?’

There was an infinitesimal pause. ‘Hugh, who is two years older.’

‘Are you close?’

‘Not especially.’ It was, he thought, a massive understatement. The antipathy he had come to feel for his brother had, at one point, come perilously close to hatred.

‘Is he married?’

The grey eyes glinted. ‘Yes. His wife is called Clarissa and they have two children.’

It had been easier to say than he had imagined. It was said that time salved all wounds; it must have made more of a difference than he had ever envisaged.

Sabrina smiled. ‘I find it hard to see you as an uncle.’

He regarded her steadily. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes, the soldier in you seems to preclude it.’

‘In truth I have seen little of my nieces and nephews,’ he admitted, ‘but that is due to the demands of the army and not to any shortcomings of theirs. I happen to like children.’

The statement was surprising and oddly pleasing. It was a side to him that she would never have suspected. They turned and began to walk back towards the inn.

‘How came you to be involved in army work?’ he continued. ‘It is an unusual occupation for a young woman.’

‘It was at my own request,’ she replied. ‘I wanted to do something towards the war effort.’

‘A noble aspiration, but not entirely without risk.’

‘The risk has been minimal, until now.’

He regarded her steadily. ‘You’ve taken a dangerous gamble, my dear.’

‘So have you.’

‘True, though I think the odds are stacked more in my favour.’

Sabrina was unable to decipher what lay behind that for the tone was compounded of several things.

‘The odds are always stacked in a man’s favour,’ she replied.

‘Doesn’t that worry you?’

‘Of course, but then much depends on the man, does it not?’

‘And I have done little to impress you thus far.’ He paused. ‘I admit that on the occasion of our first meeting my behaviour was abysmal. I suppose there’s no chance of my being forgiven?’

‘Not the least chance, sir.’

He sighed. ‘No, I imagine not.’ There followed another brief pause. Then, ‘Did you deliver your fruit safely, by the way?’

For a moment she stared at him, unable to believe her ears. Then she saw the gleam in his eyes and, unable to help herself, gave a gurgle of laughter.

‘Yes, I did deliver it, no thanks to you, you odious man.’

His enjoyment grew. ‘I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.’

It was hard to know what to make of that either, but she had a strong suspicion he was quizzing her.

‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘it wasn’t just fruit.’

‘What then?’

‘Guns for the army.’

‘Good lord! Did your godfather know?’

‘He sent me.’ Seeing his expression she lifted one finely arched brow. ‘Why should he not? The risk was small. Besides, I can take care of myself.’

‘No doubt,’ he replied, ‘but now that responsibility falls to me.’

‘A worrying thought, sir.’

‘Do you doubt my ability to protect you?’

The green eyes gleamed in their turn. ‘Well, yes. Did you not abandon me to spend a night in the open with five men and a broken wagon?’

‘Wretch! You’re not going to let me forget it, are you?’

‘Certainly not,’ she replied.

At this point all his preconceived ideas had vanished; she was unlike anyone he had ever met. In his experience young women did not usually meet his eye in just that way, and certainly didn’t engage in verbal sparring. Beauty and wit were an attractive combination. She wasn’t afraid of him either. He wasn’t even sure if she liked him. On balance, he suspected not.

They returned to the inn and paid their shot before resuming the journey in a more companionable silence. Sabrina’s gaze went to the window but in truth she saw little of the passing countryside. Her mind was focused on the man sitting opposite. Thus far she had not allowed herself to think too far ahead, but now the implications of their relationship crowded in. For the first time in her life she was thrown together with a man whom she knew hardly at all and in circumstances that required a certain amount of intimacy. Falconbridge was unlikely to do anything that might jeopardise the success of their mission, and he didn’t seem the type to force unwanted attentions on any woman. However, she had learned early not to put her trust in appearances. Faith was a loaded pistol and she had a brace of them, should the need arise.

As for the rest, the villages they passed were few and mean, little more than clusters of hovels whose inhabitants eked a subsistence living from a grudging soil. It didn’t shock her for she had seen it many times on her travels, but it did occur to her to wonder where they would spend the night. In the past she had slept in many places and knew that she would infinitely prefer a well-kept barn to a dirty inn. Even sleeping in the open was better than that. She decided to ask. The answer was immediately forthcoming.

‘We shall stay at La Posada del Rey.’

‘The King’s Inn. It 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 it.’

Just then disappointment was the last thing on Falconbridge’s mind, which was turning instead on Sabrina’s probable reaction. In spite of the extraordinary circumstances in which they found themselves, a shared bedchamber was a step too far and, hitherto, separate accommodation had been obtained as a matter of course. Thus the proprieties had been observed. He could well understand the importance of that to any woman. Now though, matters were about to become deucedly awkward. Taking Sabrina aside he explained the situation briefly, watching her face, bracing himself for the explosion of wrath, which must surely follow.

‘I’m truly sorry about this,’ he said, ‘but it cannot be avoided. There isn’t another decent inn for twenty miles.’

Contrary to his expectation she didn’t fly into a passion or refuse to stay a moment longer, though she could not quite conceal the expression of alarm fast enough to escape his notice. He could not know how hard her heart was thumping.

‘We’ll have to manage as best we may,’ she replied.

Once again he owned to surprise and, privately, to relief. She was proving to be a much easier travelling companion than he had ever envisaged.

When inspected, the room was indeed quite spacious and, she noted with relief, it was clean. It was dominated by a large bed. A dresser and washstand occupied much of one wall. A low divan stood opposite. It was the first time she had been in a bedchamber with any man, other than her father. Major Falconbridge’s presence was different in every way from the gentle reassuring figure of her parent. Somehow he seemed to fill the space.

‘You take the bed,’ he said. Then, glancing at the divan, ‘I’ll sleep over there.’

She nodded, forcing herself to a calm she was far from feeling, reminding herself that she had elected to come on this mission. What had happened was a temporary but unavoidable inconvenience. When their luggage had been carried up, Falconbridge took himself off for a mug of beer, leaving the room free for Sabrina. She was grateful for the courtesy. With Jacinta’s help she washed and dressed for dinner, donning a green muslin gown. A matching ribbon was threaded through her curls. Sabrina surveyed her reflection critically. It was hardly sensational but at least she looked neat and presentable.

‘It will serve,’ she said.

Jacinta smiled. ‘It looks very well.’

‘Good enough for present circumstances.’

Sabrina did not add, ‘and for present company’. In all likelihood Falconbridge would not notice what frock she had on. Not that there was any reason why he should. Theirs was a purely business arrangement. He had never given the least sign that he was attracted to her at all, and that, of course, was a great relief.

A short time later she heard a tap on the door. On being bidden to enter Falconbridge stepped into the room. For a moment they faced each other in silence; his practised eye took in every detail of her costume. He had no fault to find. The cut of the gown was fashionable and elegant. That shade of green really suited her, too, enhancing the colour of her eyes. For the rest she looked as neat as wax.

‘I need to change,’ he said. ‘I beg you will forgive the intrusion.’

‘Of course.’

He spoke to Willis, who had been waiting outside the door. The acting valet touched his forelock to Sabrina and then busied himself with a chest of clothes. Jacinta eyed both men with cold disapproval and then, with determined slowness, began collecting up her mistress’s discarded garments.

Sabrina bit back a smile and, taking a book from her own travelling case, retired with it to the divan on the far side of the room. Aware of Falconbridge’s presence to her very fingertips she kept her attention sedulously on the pages in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him peel off coat, waistcoat and linen, affording a view of a hard-muscled torso. Water splashed into the basin on the washstand. He bathed his face and hands and sluiced his neck. Willis handed him a towel and he dried himself vigorously. Once, he threw a glance her way but Sabrina’s attention was apparently fixed on the book. Jacinta glared. He smiled faintly.

Then he turned and took the clean shirt offered him. Sabrina glanced up from beneath her lashes, caught a glimpse of a lean waist and narrow hips and very long legs, and looked away again. Spots of colour leapt into her face. Years spent in the wake of the army meant that she was no stranger to the sight of semi-dressed men, but this one possessed an almost sculptural beauty. Its effect was to make the room seem a lot warmer.

Unaware of the sensations he was creating, Falconbridge finished dressing. Sabrina surveyed him closely now, making no more pretence at reading. The dark coat might have been moulded to his shoulders. Waistcoat and linen were faultless. The cream-coloured breeches fitted like a second skin. She drew in a deep breath. Becoming aware of her regard he smiled faintly.

‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’

‘Oh, no, I beg you will not regard it,’ she replied. ‘I have been quite entertained.’

Across the room Willis made a strange choking sound and received an icy stare from Jacinta. Falconbridge raised an eyebrow. Sabrina’s cheeks went scarlet.

‘With my book, I mean.’

‘But of course,’ he replied. ‘What else?’

The innocent tone didn’t deceive her for a moment. He was outrageous. Moreover, he was enjoying himself. She heard him dismiss the two servants. When they had gone, he took the volume from her hand and examined the cover.

‘Lazarillo de Tormes. Does your father know?’

‘Of course he knows. He lent—’ She broke off, seeing the slow grin spread across his face. The gleam in the grey eyes was deeply disconcerting.

‘Did he? Well, he really has attended to every part of his daughter’s education.’

She wondered if he were shocked. It was, she admitted, a real possibility, for, while the concept of the picaresque novel was hardly new, this one could be read on different levels—particularly its numerous sexual metaphors.

‘Do you disapprove?’

‘Not at all.’ He paused. ‘Do you care?’

‘No.’ The word was out before she could stop it. She hurried on, ‘I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘You weren’t—just beautifully frank.’

‘Father always encouraged me to read widely.’

‘So I gather.’ He glanced again at the cover. ‘And it is a wickedly good book, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes, very.’

‘Wicked or good?’

His expression drew a reluctant laugh. ‘Both, since you ask.’

‘Good girl.’

Unsure how to take this, she eyed him quizzically. He laid the book aside and then gestured to the door.

‘Shall we?’

Dinner that evening comprised local fare but it was well cooked. Sabrina was hungry, too, after their day on the road. The conversation was kept to general topics but she found her companion informed on a wide variety of subjects. It came as no surprise now. She was forced to acknowledge that none of the officers she had met in recent times had interested her half so much. He had told her something of his background but only the essentials. All in all, she thought, he volunteered very little about himself. It roused her curiosity.

‘Tell me some more about your family,’ she said. ‘Your brother, for instance.’

The genial expression became more guarded. ‘What about him?’

‘You said you weren’t close. May I ask why?’

His fingers tightened on the stem of his wine glass, but when he spoke his voice was perfectly level. ‘We had a disagreement. It was some years ago.’

‘And you’ve never been reconciled?’

‘No.’

‘How sad. What did you argue about?’ The question had been innocent enough but the grey eyes hardened. Sabrina was mortified. ‘Forgive me. I had no right to ask that.’

‘It 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 the temptation. For all manner of reasons she was forbidden fruit, and for both their sakes he must remember it.

When Sabrina woke the next morning it was with a sense of well-being. She 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 rugged and moustachioed face suggested a man in his early forties, an impression reinforced by the grizzled brown hair that hung below the rim of his helmet.

‘Colonel Claude Machart at your service,’ he said then.

She inclined her head in token acknowledgement of the greeting while her mind dwelled regretfully on the pistols locked in her trunk.

‘May I enquire whither you are bound, madame?’ he continued.

‘Aranjuez,’ she replied.

‘Aranjuez? That is some way off. May I ask your business there?’

Before she could reply Falconbridge cut in. ‘A social gathering.’ His tone conveyed ennui. ‘One would rather not travel in these uncertain times, but on this occasion it cannot be avoided. Noblesse oblige, you understand.’

‘Of course.’ Machart smiled, an expression that did not reach his eyes. ‘And you will be staying where?’

‘At the house of Don Pedro de la Torre.’

‘Then you must be attending the ball.’

Falconbridge evinced faint surprise. ‘You are well informed, Colonel.’

‘It is my business to be well informed, monsieur.’

‘I’m sure it is.’

Machart threw him another penetrating look. ‘Well, let me not detain you further. Madame, monsieur, I bid you good day and a pleasant journey.’

Falconbridge climbed back into the coach and regained his seat. As he did so the Colonel remounted and, having favoured the travellers with a nod, barked an order to his men and the patrol thundered away. Sabrina made herself relax.

‘He didn’t recognise you.’

‘No, or we would be under arrest now.’

‘Do you recall where you saw him before?’

‘Yes, on the battlefield at Arroyo de Molinos last October. He was leading a detachment of cavalry.’ He paused. ‘My men engaged with them at close quarters. But it was many months ago and the scene chaotic. It is unlikely he would remember every face he saw that day.’

She knew the battle had resulted in a heavy defeat for the French. That would certainly have been held against them if Machart had remembered Falconbridge.

‘He struck me as being an unpleasant character,’ she said.

Her comment drew a faint smile. ‘What makes you think so?’

‘I’ve met enough military men to recognise the type. Let’s hope we’ve seen the last of him.’

Falconbridge mentally echoed the sentiment. He had a good memory for faces and the ability to read those he met. For that reason he could only agree with her assessment.

Sabrina felt more than a little shaken by the incident, and suddenly Aranjuez did indeed begin to assume the quality of a lion’s den. One false step would put them at the mercy of the French, of men like Machart. She shuddered inwardly, recalling what Falconbridge had told her earlier about the risks of capture and interrogation: Everyone talks by the third day. He had warned her but she had elected to come. There was no choice now but to see this through. Her father’s freedom depended on it.

She was distracted from these thoughts by a strong hand closing on hers. Its clasp was reassuring, like its owner’s smile. The effect was to create a sense of melting warmth deep inside her.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Our stay in Aranjuez will be brief. Once the ball is over I shall have urgent business requiring my return.’

‘That’s good to hear.’

He gave her hand another gentle squeeze and then released his hold again, leaning back in his seat, surveying her quietly. The sensation of inner warmth intensified. She resisted it. He had meant only to be kind. It would be foolish to refine on something so trivial.

‘I should not like to spend much more time in Colonel Machart’s company.’

‘No, though I believe he would not say the same of yours.’

‘It means nothing. He’s French so he can’t help it.’

Falconbridge bit back the urge to laugh. ‘How so?’

‘All Frenchmen are demonstrative in that regard.’

‘Are they?’

Sabrina saw the bait and refused to rise. ‘So it is said.’

‘And Englishmen are not demonstrative?’

‘Not in the same way.’

His expression was wounded. ‘What a body blow.’

‘I never meant it to apply to you. I was speaking in general terms.’

‘Based on your considerable experience, of course.’

‘Certainly not. I never meant to suggest…’ Too late she saw the expression in his eyes and knew he had been teasing her again. ‘You knew that, you horror.’

‘I beg your pardon.’ The apology was belied by a smile. ‘It was irresistible.’

Her chin came up at once. His smile widened. For a short space neither one spoke, though every fibre of her being was aware of the gaze fixed on her face. Even worse was the creeping blush she could feel rising from her neck to her cheeks.

‘I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.’

‘Forgive me. I was trying to be more…demonstrative.’

For a second or two she could only stare back but his smile was infectious and, unable to help it, she began to laugh.

‘No you weren’t. You were roasting me and enjoying it.’

The accusation left him unabashed. ‘I can’t deny it.’

‘You are quite shameless.’

‘So I’ve been told. I fear the habit is deeply ingrained now.’

‘I am sure of it,’ she retorted. ‘However, I shall try not to be so easy a prey in future.’

His enjoyment increased. Better still, the apprehension he had glimpsed in her face after the encounter with Machart was gone, just as he had hoped.

‘Good. I like a challenge.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s no use, sir. I shall not succumb. I’m wise to you now.’

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