Free His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) by Joanna Fulford

shall not succumb. I’m wise to you now.’
    ‘What a pity.’ He sighed, eyeing her speculatively for a moment. Then, ‘Now that you mention it, I think we should both be more demonstrative, don’t you?’ He watched the green eyes darken to emerald, their expression most attractively indignant, and waited in anticipation.
    ‘Do you?’ The tone was icy. ‘And what put that thought in your mind?’
    ‘Aranjuez. People must believe we are man and wife.’
    Sabrina bit her lip. ‘Oh, yes. I see.’
    His expression registered concern. ‘You did not think I meant anything else by it?’
    ‘No, of course not.’ Scarlet cheeks belied the words. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast. ‘I will do whatever is necessary to convince people.’ She paused, eyeing him with less than perfect trust. ‘What did you have in mind?’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know. The usual sort of thing: tender looks, melting smiles—a kiss or two.’
    Her heart turned over. This was beyond all bounds. ‘I will not kiss you, sir!’
    Then she saw the familiar glint in his eye and knew he’d done it again. Furious with him and with herself she glared at him, only to see that he appeared to be choking. Her immediate response was alarm. Then she realised it was nothing of the sort; he was suppressing laughter. In reply she hurled the folded travelling rug at him.
    * * *
    They saw no more evidence of French troops that day, a fact for which Sabrina was devoutly thankful. However, the road became increasingly bumpy. The mud of winter had long since dried but it had left some deep ruts and although Luis did his best to avoid them, the vehicle lurched and swayed. It was well sprung but Sabrina knew she wouldn’t be sorry to reach their destination that evening. It seemed that her companion’s thoughts were moving along the same lines.
    ‘Not far now,’ he said.
    ‘I’m glad to hear it. This is one of the worst stretches of road I’ve experienced in a long time.’
    ‘One day someone is going to lay a good permanent surface,’ he replied. ‘I suspect that the last people to try were the Romans.’
    She smiled. ‘I’d guess no one has touched this road since then.’
    ‘Maybe not even then.’
    Before she could answer him the vehicle gave another violent lurch. Sabrina was thrown sideways, unable to save herself. She gasped as her head hit the side of the carriage. The blow was cushioned by upholstery but the impact jarred nevertheless. Then she realised they were no longer moving and that the coach was leaning at a drunken angle. Outside she could hear voices swearing in Spanish. Then a strong arm drew her upright and she was pressed against her companion. Her cheek brushed his coat. The cloth smelled faintly of spice—cedar or sandalwood perhaps. Underneath it was the scent of the man, sensual and disturbing.
    ‘Are you all right, Sabrina?’
    ‘Yes, I think so.’
    Subjected to close scrutiny she felt the familiar warmth rising into her face. He was so close that if he bent his head their lips would touch. Almost immediately she recalled their earlier conversation and his teasing, and felt ashamed. Of course he wouldn’t kiss her. The husband-and-wife act was precisely that, and anyway there was no one nearby who needed convincing. Just then the door opened and Ramon’s face appeared.
    ‘Are you hurt,
Doña
Sabrina?
Señor?’
    On hearing them answer in the negative he looked relieved.
    Falconbridge straightened. ‘What the devil happened?’
    ‘A deep rut,
señor.’
    ‘Confound it.’
    Sabrina watched him reach for the edge of the door and climb out of the vehicle. Then he turned and leaned in, holding out a hand to her. She felt the strong clasp tighten. Then it swung her up and out of the interior with what appeared to be a minimum of effort. A hard-muscled arm lifted her down beside him. It remained casually round her waist while he surveyed the damage to the coach. The offside rear wheel was sunk deep in the road surface.