A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance Britton, Sally (smart ebook reader TXT) 📖

her, Luca. Please do not ask me to. Not anymore. I love Lady Josephine as I would a sister, and though I find you to be a good man and certainly worthy of her, I do not think either of you would be happy if you succeeded. And she truly is not ready to give her heart to anyone.”

Luca said nothing, and his expression gave nothing away. His eyes darkened, but whether with emotion or with thought she could not tell, so Emma sat quietly and said nothing. She waited for him to reply without fear of anger, though. Luca had a temperate nature and would do nothing to make another uncomfortable in his presence. A natural characteristic, it would seem, that lent itself well to his role as ambassador.

He leaned back, the movement slow, and unclasped his hands. He rested one on the chair and ran the other through his hair, ruining the careful style his valet had likely spent more than a few minutes on that morning given how well it disguised the way his hair curled at the ends.

“I understand, Emma. Please know that this does not hurt our friendship. I must confess, during my time away, I thought on our purpose many times. You are right, of course. I will put aside my pursuit of Lady Josephine and focus my efforts on other matters.”

Emma relaxed, taking in a shuddering, relieved breath. “Thank you, Luca. For understanding.”

His smile appeared, though fleeting. “Of course. I am grateful you spoke honestly. This must have weighed heavy in your thoughts.”

“Yes.” She rubbed her hand down the arm of the couch, trying to steady herself. Her nerves. She had told him, and he hadn’t dismissed her. In fact, he had agreed with her. Luca wouldn’t continue his pursuit of Josephine, and Emma would not have to give him up.

Give his friendship up, she corrected herself.

Luca’s smile, when it reappeared a moment later, was perfectly natural and unforced. “What else did you do while I was away? We have spent all this time talking of me. How does an English lady pass the hours while the men are away on their hunt?”

The sudden change of topic gave them both permission to relax, and Emma spent the next quarter of an hour entertaining him with stories of her visits to the schoolroom and reading romantic poetry to the dowager duchess, who grumbled about it all being nonsense yet asked for it every time Emma read to her.

The room warmed as morning sunlight shifted into early afternoon, and the distant chime of a long-case clock finally brought Emma to remember her schedule. As she stood to take her leave, Luca seemed reluctant to return to his work, too.

“It is a family dinner tonight?” he asked when she went to the door.

“Yes, only family,” Emma confirmed.

“Good. The informal evenings here are among my favorites.” Luca walked to the door, standing next to her, looking down. “Perhaps I can bring up Italian love poems and see what the dowager makes of them.”

Emma giggled, then adopted an air of disapproval. “That would be amusing for you, perhaps, but if she makes me read Italian poetry to her afterward—”

“Then that would also be beneficial to me,” he countered loftily. “Such reading would perhaps inspire you to learn my language. A beautiful language. Allora ti direi cose bellissime.” 

Emma’s jaw dropped. “You cannot do that. What did you say? I insist on a translation, sir.”

Luca leaned closer, his hand on the doorknob. “I promised to tell you beautiful things in my beautiful language.” Then he stepped back before she could respond, before she could even determine why her cheeks turned warm, and he opened the door at the same moment.

She gave the briefest, most negligent of curtsies, then took the escape route he offered. But no matter how quickly she walked down the corridors and up the steps, no matter how she tried to outrun her feelings, the pleasure curled around her heart purred like a contented kitten.

“Friends,” she whispered as she turned another corner in the suddenly too-large castle. She stopped and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. “He is my friend. I want nothing more.”

If she kept pretending that was true, she might convince herself in time. Because she couldn’t leave Josephine. She wasn’t ready for courtship. So Emma could not be ready for courtship. That was the right thing for her to decide.

Wasn’t it?

Chapter Seventeen

Luca stood at the edge of Lambsthorpe, riding gloves in hand, watching the crowd gather near the horses. Grooms from the duke’s stables kept the horses either lined up along the blacksmith’s fence or else walked them in a circle nearby. Men from the surrounding villages and estates had come with their finest animals, including all levels of English Society.

Lord Farleigh stood beside Luca, though he carried on a conversation with Sir Andrew and another gentleman. “There are several new entries this year, so I cannot say for certain which of you will come in second place.”

“You cannot mean to say you will take first,” Sir Andrew protested. “Even with your new horse, there are finer steeds on the starting line. Our friend the ambassador has an impressive mount, too. How did you come by your mare, Lord Atella?”

Luca turned his attention to the tall mare, a fine bay color with excellent lines, and spoke without looking at the others. “If you mean for me to thank you again for the loan of the horse, Sir Andrew, you ought to be more direct. The subtlety of the English is at times lost to me.”

The two younger men laughed, and Farleigh struck the ground with his walking stick. “Well done, Atella. Put him in his place as often as possible.”

Sir Andrew put his hand over his heart. “I am shocked either of you would think I am anything less than sincere. You start to sound like your sister, Farleigh.” The baronet jerked his chin toward the line of