Redemption of a Fallen Woman Page 0,1

hooves distracted her momentarily and she glanced out of the window to the street below to see a carriage approaching. Instead of driving past as she expected it stopped outside the house. To judge by the heavily sweating horses and the dust on the bodywork the vehicle had travelled some way. All the same, under the grime, it was a handsome equipage and certainly the property of a nobleman.

As she watched, a servant jumped down to open the door and let down the steps. A single passenger emerged, a gentleman, very elegantly dressed. He paused on the paved walkway and glanced up at the house. Elena caught her breath. Problems temporarily forgotten, she stared, arrested by a face in which strong lines accentuated the chiselled planes of cheek and nose and jaw. The hair visible below his hat was dark. He seemed to be tall too, certainly much taller than the servant with him, and carried himself with the air of one used to command.

Concha came to join her by the window and now stared in her turn. 'Dios mio! Who is that?'

'I don't know. One of my uncle's acquaintances from the embassy, perhaps?'

'I imagined all his acquaintances must be old and ugly but I take it back now - unreservedly.'

They had no time for further observation because the unknown caller entered the house and was lost to view. Elena turned away from the window. She must be in more mental turmoil than she'd realised to be staring so at a complete stranger. Men were of no interest other than in a purely professional capacity. Besides, as things stood, she couldn't afford to let herself become distracted, even briefly. All her thoughts had to focus on a means of escape.

* * *

Having presented his credentials, Harry Montague waited in the marbled hallway. It was cool and quiet in here, a welcome relief from the jolting rhythm and stifling heat of the carriage. He had almost forgotten the power of the Spanish sun. Forgetting had been deliberate and, mostly, successful, though he had been aided in that by work. Spain was a land of contrasts - a beautiful and blood-soaked land that was associated with some of the best and all of the worst days of his life. When the war had concluded he hadn't expected that he would ever return, would never have chosen to - until circumstances made it imperative.

One swift glance around at the elegant furnishings was sufficient to suggest that the man he had come to see was both wealthy and possessed of impeccable taste. Whether he would be able to help as well remained to be seen. Coming here might be a fool's errand but he had to try. He had promised his cousin Ross. Besides, the revelations of their last conversation were burned into his brain. Until then he'd had no idea how seriously compromised the family's financial situation was. If he couldn't obtain the proof he needed about Jamie's death... He pulled himself up sharply. He would get the proof, one way or another.

Presently, the servant returned. 'Don Manuel will receive you now, senor.'

Harry was shown into a downstairs salon, also elegantly furnished, where his host was waiting. Don Manuel Urbieta was in his middle years, his thinning hair more grey than dark, like the neat goatee beard he wore. Though slightly above average height, he was still several inches shorter than his visitor. For all that he had the proud, upright bearing that proclaimed a grandee of the hidalgo class.

When the necessary courtesies had been observed the don invited Harry to sit and, having plied him with liquid refreshment, took the chair opposite.

'Now, my lord, won't you tell me how I can be of service?'

Harry nodded. 'I have come to Spain on urgent family business. It concerns my elder brother, James. He served with the British army during the war, but he was lost during the push into France.'

'I am sorry to hear it.'

'He was apparently swept away while crossing a flooded river.'

'Apparently?'

'My brother's body was never found. The news of his death was by report only. The only witness, a man called Xavier Sanchez, disappeared shortly afterwards.'

'I see.'

'I made enquiries at the time, but the situation was chaotic and all attention was on the push for Toulouse. No one at headquarters was able to tell me very much, giving only the briefest account of the accident. When I tried to find the witness he had vanished too. It was like being confronted