Joanna Fulford - The Caged Countess

Then he saw her. His blue gaze meshed with hers, steely and quietly intent. Its expression sent a frisson down her spine. In that look she read many things, none of them in the least bit reassuring. He had found her and there would be a reckoning. There was no way of knowing what form it might take, but suddenly it was much harder to breathe and a rabble of butterflies took wing in her stomach.

For a moment she stood transfixed as he made his way unhurriedly but inexorably through the throng towards her. It was effortless too: a word here, a touch there and the company parted to allow his advance. Claudia swallowed hard. Then, recovering some of her wits, she excused herself from the group and moved a few paces away, waiting.

And then he was in front of her, his gaze coolly appraising, taking in every last detail of her costume. In heart-thumping silence she watched him bow, then possess himself of her hand and lift it to his lips. The touch seemed to scorch.

‘I believe the next dance is mine, my lady.’

When I was writing HIS COUNTERFEIT CONDESA Anthony Brudenell was a minor character who played a small but significant role in events. An unwilling participant in an arranged marriage, estranged from his wife, he raised some interesting questions, and it struck me then that his personal situation had the potential to become a novel in its own right. My editor agreed.

This book picks up the story three years later, but it appears Anthony has become a different man. After sustaining horrific injuries at Vittoria he is forced to resign his commission in the army. Cast out from everything he knows and values, he continues to serve his country by taking up a posting in the intelligence service.

This was a shadowy world which featured some fascinating characters—like the English spymaster William Wickham and Napoleon’s Minister of Police, Joseph Fouché. The latter seems to have wielded enormous power, to the point where even Napoleon feared him. Although Fouché was out of office for a short time during the Emperor’s exile on Elba, I have bent the facts slightly and brought him back a couple of months early to suit the events in my story.

As it turns out, Fouché’s agents are only the beginning of Anthony’s problems—because fate is about to reunite him with the beautiful and angry wife he abandoned eight years earlier.

Trapped in a marriage of convenience, Claudia has found fulfilment elsewhere and made a new life for herself—a life she conceals from fashionable London society. She has learned to enjoy freedom and independence, and has no intention of giving them up just because her absent husband has inconveniently returned. Claudia is determined to outwit him, but she has reckoned without the dangerously charismatic and powerful man who is equally determined to make her his wife in fact as well as name.

JOANNA FULFORDis 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. Visit Joanna’s website at www.joannafulford.co.uk

THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE

(part of the Mills & Boon Presents … anthology, featuring talented new authors)

THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS

THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE

THE COUNTERFEIT CONDESA

THE VIKING’S TOUCH

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Joanna Fulford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Barbara Smock and the Tally-Ho Arabians

Claudine settled back against the worn leather upholstery, letting her body relax into the swaying rhythm of the vehicle. Once or twice she glanced out of the window. Although it was still only early evening, the February rain had discouraged people from venturing abroad so the streets were quieter than usual. In truth she had no great desire to be out of doors either, but, on this occasion, it was unavoidable. Besides, it had been her choice to come to Paris and her choice to take up this post. One took the rough with the smooth. The risk had been part of the attraction. At the start of her career, this had been minimal. Since then it had increased significantly; not foolish dare-devilry but calculated risk taken for a good cause. What better cause than the service of one’s country?

If her London acquaintance could see her now … She smiled wryly. It wasn’t hard to envisage their shocked reactions. Her relatives would probably disown her. Most of them already viewed her actions with disapproval. The knowledge ought to have been disturbing but, instead, all she felt was a curious sense of detachment. She had been a pawn in their game for long enough. Independence had been hard won and she intended to keep it. For better or for worse it was she now who made the choices that affected the course of her life.

The fiacre turned off the main thoroughfare and into a quiet side street, eventually pulling up outside a house on the left-hand side. A lamp illuminated the number on the pillar by the door. With its stone frontage and shuttered windows there was little to distinguish this building from the others round it but, for the clientele who visited the establishment, its discreet appearance was part of its attraction. Discretion was the watchword of its proprietress too, and that made the premises useful for very different reasons. Even so, it wasn’t a venue Claudine would have chosen. Her smile grew mocking. In her old life it would have been unthinkable to have gone there at all. ‘But that was in another country,’ she murmured, ‘and, besides, the wench is dead.’ She was someone else now.

Her hand moved involuntarily to the reticule in her lap, feeling the familiar shape of the pistol hidden there. It was a precaution only. Thus far she had never needed it but its presence was always reassuring. Drawing up the hood of her cloak she stepped out of the fiacre and paid the driver. He grunted an acknowledgement and then urged the horse on. As the vehicle rumbled away, Claudine hurried up the steps to the front door and reached for the bell pull.