A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance by Britton, Sally (open ebook TXT) 📕

Chapter Eleven

The mount Luca had borrowed from Lord Farleigh danced impatiently to the side, not fond of the slow pace Luca and Sir Andrew had set. They rode across the duke’s lands, up one rolling hill and down another, passing sheep and orchards both. The baronet had invited Luca out to enjoy the crisp fall air, and the trees in the surrounding land had filled more of their branches with orange and gold than Luca had seen in the previous week.

They had spoken little, despite how close they rode to one another. Luca’s thoughts lingered on Torlonia’s frustrated conversation after dinner the previous evening. His secretary had sputtered indignantly when he’d learned Luca had taken the advice of a mere woman over his trusted advisor, appointed by the king himself. Never mind how sound the advice had seemed in the moment Miss Arlen had given it.

Luca paused at the crest of a hill, looking out over farmland rolling away from their location, most of it empty, though some fields bore wheat meant to be harvested later in the season.

Sir Andrew brought his horse to a halt as well. The baronet wore an unusually sober countenance, his jaw tight, as though he contemplated weighty matters of his own.

Riding along in silence, and at a tortoise’s pace, couldn’t keep up all afternoon.

“My cousin is unusually fond of you.”

Luca’s horse flinched at the sound of the baronet’s voice. Luca nearly did the same.

“Miss Arlen?” Luca spared himself a moment’s thought by calming the horse with a pat along its powerful neck. “She is kind to a man who is a stranger among you. I am most grateful.” He had no intention of sharing the fact that he had won her help in his pursuit of another lady. What man would admit to such a thing?

“Excessively kind,” Sir Andrew muttered, adjusting his seat on the horse. “Did you know I am her closest kin? Her mother was sister to my father. I think, had I not lost my own mother, Emma would’ve come to live with us when her parents died, instead of joining the duke’s household. But my father felt unequal to raising both a son and a niece without a woman in his home.”

The personal revelations were unwarranted. Yet, when Luca thought of the vulnerability of his own sisters when it came to gentlemen, he understood. Every gentleman with a female relative ought to do his duty in protecting them. Sir Andrew’s invitation came into the appropriate perspective at last.

“You are close to her.” Luca spoke gently. “I understand. I must reassure you that my intentions are—how do you English say it?—honorable. I want nothing more than friendship, which Miss Arlen has offered. She pities me, I think.”

Sir Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “Pities you? I doubt it. Emma might seem all sweetness and contentment, but that woman has ambition of her own. And a mind sharper than most. If she has befriended you, then I am willing to wager she has reasons beyond friendship.”

Although the other man’s suspicion likely had root in knowing his cousin well, Luca had to shake his head. “I cannot think what she would gain from helping me that she could not do without our association. Her mind, as you say, is sharp. I have seen ample evidence of this already. If anything, she only wishes to support the duke’s efforts to see me comfortable during my stay.”

Sir Andrew grunted a grudging agreement. “Perhaps.” Then he pointed his horse back toward the castle, which rose high enough on its hill for them to see it above the trees. “Fancy a race back to the stables? Your horse certainly does.”

“I have barely kept this beast in check.” Luca wheeled his mount around, too. “Lord Farleigh likes his animals spirited.”

“Lord Farleigh is competitive and likes to win races.” Sir Andrew’s countenance lightened somewhat. “Shall we make a wager on ours?”

“I am not a gambling man.” Luca made the admission somewhat reluctantly. Every English lord he’d met placed wagers on the oddest things. He’d even heard of gambling books kept in London clubs filled with wagers on everything from drops of water falling down windowpanes to how long a man would court a woman before proposing. Luca’s time among the monks had taught him a stricter morality and an aversion to excess that his English contemporaries did not practice.

“A prize, then?” Sir Andrew’s horse nickered impatiently, and Luca’s mount responded in kind.

That was acceptable. Luca nodded. “What sort of prize?”

“A favor, to be named by the winner and be paid by the loser, at the victor’s pleasure. We’ll add the stipulation that the favor can be nothing immoral or dishonorable. How does that suit?” The scheming gleam in the baronet’s eye clearly relayed his confidence in victory.

The coiled muscles of the horse beneath him, its energy in every twitch of ear and stamp of hoof, gave Luca a matching faith in his borrowed mount. “Very well. I accept your challenge, prize, and stipulations. You may call the start.”

“On three.” Sir Andrew’s open expression as he called out the start was all eagerness. “One. Two. Three!”

The two of them gave their horses leave to leap forward at last, the animals snorting and tossing their heads before stretching their necks and stride into a gallop. The animals were well-matched, with neither pulling much ahead of the other as they dipped into small valleys and up again through the hills. The castle was nearly always in sight.

What had taken half an hour of a leisurely pace they covered again in mere minutes, clods of dirt flying up behind them, the men bent low over their horses.

Freedom from the confines of Luca’s former life felt like this. Riding with abandon, the ground speeding by beneath him and the wind tugging at his coat, reminded him to enjoy living. At least in that moment.

When they came to the winding drive leading to the castle stables, Luca encouraged a last burst of