His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

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.