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

house. His horse waited for him, held by a boy who received more pennies than he’d likely ever held in his life.

Luca pulled the horse’s head around and dashed through the streets as fast as he could, without causing incident. He arrived back at the hotel and hurried to the suite of rooms he and Torlonia had taken.

Torlonia was in the common room, writing a letter at the desk near the window. He jumped when Luca slammed the door behind him, then stood. Luca remained near the door, knowing if he approached the other man he would certainly lay hands upon him. He seethed in silence, every possible start to the conversation he wished to have something that would shame him to say.

“My lord.” Torlonia edged away from the desk. “You seem disquieted. Was something wrong at the future embassy?”

Luca’s hands curled into fists, then uncurled. “I received a letter while I was there. A letter from Ferdinand’s secretary.”

The other man paled. “All letters are supposed to come through me—”

“This one was misdelivered and came directly to my hands.” Luca stalked forward, and Torlonia backed up against the window. “And a good thing, too. This letter, it demands an answer. From me. Directly. Because our king grows tired of hearing your accounts of my inadequacy. It would seem that you, Torlonia, have been writing the court weekly with reports of my failures.”

“That—that isn’t true. How would you even know—?” Torlonia lifted his chin, affecting his usual haughty expression. “What proof do you have of such lies?”

With a violent speed, Luca tore the letter from inside his coat and threw it to the table in the middle of the room. He didn’t dare take another step near the dishonorable man. “This letter, signed by the king’s secretary and bearing the royal seal. It demands that I answer the accusations against me—accusations made by you. What have you done, Torlonia?”

“Nothing.” Torlonia sniffed and cowered. “These are lies.”

“No. This is not a lie.” Luca pointed at the paper. “Sei un bugiardo. You are the liar. I know you disapproved of me. My lack of experience. But we have worked together all this time, and I have valued your counsel. Why would you tell our king that I mock him to his political enemies?” He pointed an accusing finger at the paper. “That I disregard what is best for our people, that I am slothful?”

Torlonia drew himself together, like a man preparing for an attack. “They were supposed to recall you. Not send another letter after I told them you discarded the last. Then I would stay here, the ambassador in your place.” His gaze turned icy, his words dripping with venom. “You are a disgrace. You are not even true nobility. Your family was nothing before Napoleon, and it will be nothing again. I am descended from the greatest Italians—from Michelangelo, from the princes of Rome.”

Luca released his breath in a hiss. “Carbonari.”

For a moment, Torlonia seemed surprised by the word. Then he smiled. “You can prove nothing.”

The door to Luca’s room opened. Bruno came out, looking between both men. “Mio Signore,” he said, his voice shaking. “Please. He has said he will hurt the family—your sisters—you must stop him.”

“Traitor,” Torlonia barked angrily. “I believe in a free Italy,” he shouted, his calm gone again. “And as ambassador to England, I can make certain that happens. The connections, the power, would strengthen our cause. Do you not love your country, Atella? Ferdinand is nothing—he is not Italian, he should not be our king. He is nothing more than an Austrian puppet, and he will run our people into the grave—”

“Silence!” Luca stalked forward, and Torlonia backed up. “You are under arrest, by my order, and charged with treason.”

The traitorous man balked, but puffed his chest out one last time, like a rooster. “No one will believe you. And when you send me back, my friends will see that I am free within hours.”

“We will see,” Luca warned. “Bruno, send for the constables.”

Bruno bobbed a hasty bow. “Sì, mio ​​Signore.”

“I have friends everywhere, Atella.” Torlonia glowered as he spoke, and Luca wanted nothing more than to place a fist through the man’s horrible face.

Luca loomed closer, glaring down at the shorter man just before he took Torlonia’s arm in a tight grip. The monks had a phrase they’d said, time and again, to encourage Luca’s caution when he entered the world once more. “Non ci sono amici tra i serpenti. There are no friends among snakes. I will give my king your scent, Torlonia, and he will set the hounds loose. They will find the den, and that will be the end of your friends.”

In less than an hour, Torlonia’s escort to prison arrived. Luca spent the remainder of the day going through his former secretary’s letters, with Bruno’s help, and contacting every citizen of his kingdom in or near enough London with the news and asking for more information. And help. He needed testimonies to add to his own, and he had a great deal of explaining to do in his letters back to Ferdinand’s court.

Always in the back of his mind, and settled in his heart, were thoughts of Emma. Could she have written him and Torlonia concealed the letter? He found nothing of the kind in the other man’s notes and books. The longer he worked at sorting through the mess, the more he realized the precariousness of his position as ambassador.

If the king didn’t believe him, Luca would lose his position. He would return home to his family’s modest holdings and be nothing more than a landlord of a small village for the rest of his days. If that happened, he could offer Emma nothing. And she deserved everything—all that was good and beautiful in the world, all the adventures she wished, all the experiences that she had read about and yearned to make her own.

He closed his eyes in the early hours of the morning, and he tried to