His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) by Joanna Fulford Page A

decided to be well rested for the event. Sabrina could see the point. In any case, the journey had been tiring and the thought of a good night’s sleep was not unwelcome. Then she remembered that tonight she and Falconbridge would be sharing a room again. No one else would think anything of it. After all, were they not supposed to be man and wife? The thought sent a frisson along her skin. She had to trust him.
    As she had told Jacinta not to wait up, the room was empty when she returned. Falconbridge had lingered to speak to Don Pedro and she had no idea how long he would remain. Taking advantage of his absence, she undressed and donned her nightgown before sitting down at the dressing table to unpin her hair. She was thus engaged when the door opened to admit him. For a moment he was still, looking on, before closing the door and coming farther into the room. Sabrina forced unsteady hands to continue with their task. In the glassshe saw him remove his coat and slowly unfasten his neckcloth. His gaze never left her.
    He heard the pins drop into the glass dish on the dressing table and watched her shake her hair loose. It fell over her shoulders in a riot of soft curls. She reached for a brush. Beneath the gentle strokes the wilful gold mass shone in the candlelight. He wanted to reach out and touch it, to run his fingers through it. Conquering the urge he tossed his coat over a chair. The neckcloth followed. He pulled off his shirt and sat down to remove his boots. Having done so, he rose and crossed the intervening space to the bed and retrieved the top cover and a pillow before retiring with them to the nearest couch.
    Sabrina’s hands paused at their task. ‘It’s my turn to sleep on the couch.’
    He turned, regarding her with a raised eyebrow. ‘I think not.’
    ‘Truly, I don’t mind.’
    ‘Maybe not, but I do.’
    ‘I should not think the worse of you.’
    He smiled faintly. ‘No, I believe you would not. Even so, I shall sleep here.’
    The tone, though quiet, was implacable. Sabrina had come to recognise it, and also the futility of argument.
    ‘As you will.’ She paused. ‘Thank you.’
    ‘My pleasure, ma’am.’
    ‘I doubt that somehow, but I appreciate the gesture.’
    She laid aside the brush. The mirror showed him the soft swell of her breast beneath the low neckline of her nightdress. The filmy material revealed every line and curve of her body. Almost at once he felt the answering heat in his loins. He wanted her and at the same timeknew beyond doubt that to follow his inclination would offend every notion of honour. She was under his protection, and to take advantage of this highly desirable situation would be to violate all trust between them. The only reason she was here was to obtain her father’s freedom. She had no interest in anything else.
    Drawing a deep breath he watched her cross to the bed and climb in, settling herself beneath the covers. She had shown no fear, he thought, but he guessed at some of the thoughts in her mind. He could not destroy the relationship they had built up over the past days by one ill-judged and lustful act. She deserved better from him.
    Sabrina lay still as he blew out the candle and returned to his makeshift bed. Then he finished undressing and climbed in. She closed her eyes, every sense attuned to him, heart thumping in her breast. Once he had spoken about intimacy, of the need to play a part. It had occurred to her then to wonder if he would use that to take advantage and insist she play her part to the full. She knew better now. The thought of sharing Falconbridge’s bed should have filled her with horror, but that was not the emotion uppermost in her mind. Horror did not cause the melting warmth at the core of her pelvis, or the sensation of painful longing in her heart. After Jack Denton’s betrayal she had thought never to feel desire for a man again. Yet somehow, with no apparent effort, Robert Falconbridge had broken through her guard. It had