Read Online Beyond the Sunrise by Mary Balogh - Free Book Online

marriage with a Portuguese nobleman, now unfortunately deceased. As far as any Frenchman knew, she was a loyal daughter of the Revolution, a loyal subject of the Emperor Napoleon.
    Hence her not infrequent visits to Spain—wherever the French happened to be—to visit “aunts.” Lately the visits had been to Salamanca. And hence her usefulness to Viscount Wellington and his willingness to trust her despite the fact that she was half-French. And hence her refusal ever to let him talk her out of doing anything as dangerous as going behind enemy lines in order to spy for him.
    And hence her willingness to go there again and to act, not alone this time, as she usually did, but in some mysterious conjunction with Captain Robert Blake—who was to know nothing about her except that she was the rather fragile and flirtatious and helpless Marquesa das Minas. One of her disguises.
    Not only was it not clear where she belonged, Joana thoughtruefully. It was not even clear just who she was. Sometimes she was not quite sure herself.
    â€œYou are unusually quiet and serious, Joana,” the colonel said, looking down into her face.
    She smiled up at him and tapped his arm with her gloved hand. “I was merely thinking,” she said, “how sad it is that the afternoon must come to an end. Such beautiful weather and such delightful company. Yes, thank you,” she said to a pleased and surprised young lieutenant, handing him her parasol and watching him close it with clumsy fingers. “The sun is no longer as strong as it was. I wish to feel it against my face.”
    Rather than feeling foolish to be carrying such a feminine confection as a lady’s parasol on a public footpath, the lieutenant looked about him with some pity on his companions, whose hands were empty of such a sign of the lady’s favor.

    *   *   *
    During the morning of that same day, the surgeon told Captain Blake that he could return to his regiment in one more week if he absolutely insisted. It would be better, of course, he advised his patient, to convalesce through the summer and forget about that year’s campaign. After all, he had been severely wounded and had hovered at death’s door for several months, what with the effects of the wound and the killing fever that had set in soon afterward.
    â€œOf course,” he added, looking at the war-hardened face of the tall veteran standing before him, “I might as well save my breath to cool my tea with, might I not?”
    The captain grinned unexpectedly. “Yes, sir,” he said.
    â€œWell, one more week,” the surgeon said abruptly. “Come to see me then and I shall discharge you, provided there is no relapse in the meanwhile.”
    But Captain Blake was released sooner than that, much to hisrelief. The next day a staff officer from Viseu, in central Portugal, brought him a verbal message from headquarters there.
    â€œCaptain Blake?” he said when he was joined in the reception room of the hospital. “Yes, of course. I have seen you before, have I not? I trust you have recovered from your wounds?”
    â€œWell enough to be climbing walls and marching across ceilings for exercise,” the captain said. “Is there any action at the front yet?”
    The officer ignored the question. “You are to present yourself at headquarters within the week for further instructions,” he said. “Provided you are well enough, of course.”
    â€œWell enough!” The captain made the words an exclamation. “I could fight two duels before breakfast and wonder as I ate why the morning was so dull. Who wants to see me at headquarters?”
    The staff officer looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Who ever wants to see anyone at headquarters?” he said.
    Captain Blake raised his eyebrows. “The Beau?” he said. “Wellington?”
    â€œWithin the week,” the officer said. “You must