скачать книгу бесплатно
‘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.’
