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

women standing behind a ribbon-covered rope to the east of the starting line.

Luca turned to search out Emma, certain she would be next to Lady Josephine. His assumption proved correct when he found them both holding on to the rope, wearing their richly colored walking gowns and surrounded by ladies dressed in every shade in the rainbow. Despite the bright tapestry around her, Emma stood out in her gown the color of roses at dusk, pink and purple-hued, with a wide-brimmed velvet bonnet of the same color.

He could read the excitement in her expression and in the enthusiasm of her gestures despite the distance between them. She spoke to a woman at her side, not Lady Josephine, and suddenly tilted her head back to laugh. He caught himself straining to hear her at the same moment she turned her head and caught him watching.

Emma paused and bowed her head in acknowledgement. He reached up to touch the brim of his hat, his gaze never leaving hers.

“…hasn’t heard a word we said, has he?” Sir Andrew said, forcing Luca’s attention back to the men on either side of him. The other gentleman had gone off to the horses, leaving the three of them alone.

Luca pulled his riding gloves on at last and successfully avoided looking directly at either of them. “Scusatemi, Sir Andrew. Farleigh. What were you saying? Is it time to mount?”

“I was saying that Farleigh is as skeptical as his sister when it comes to someone’s good intentions,” Sir Andrew supplied.

“And I told him Josephine is a fine judge of character, so perhaps it is my taste in friendship that ought to be in question,” Farleigh added with good humor. “Then we asked you what you thought.”

“However, you were ogling the ladies.” Sir Andrew leaned around Luca to stare at the crowd. “Anyone in particular capturing your interest, Atella? I could mention it to my cousin. She might be persuaded to play at matchmaking.”

Avoiding answering that question would be in Luca’s best interests. “What does this word mean, ‘ogling?’ I have never heard it.”

Farleigh twirled his walking stick in one hand, looking at the women himself. Children had joined the throng in the crowd of villagers and the knot of nobility standing behind the ribbons. “To stare at someone with flirtatious intent.”

“Ah, a most useful word.” Luca pointed at the line of horses, most of which had riders mounted or in the process of mounting. “It is time, I think. Shall we go?”

“Do you intend to wager on your win today, Atella?” Sir Andrew asked as they walked, the three of them abreast, along the line of horses and riders. There were at least thirty participants in all.

Luca clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth before slanting a look at Sir Andrew. “No. Why? Would you like to owe me another favor?”

Farleigh chuckled. “I’ll lay a bet that Atella comes before you.”

“Excellent.” Sir Andrew clapped his hands and rubbed them as though he relished the idea. “What is at stake?”

Luca stopped listening, though he thought the two spoke of ridiculous things rather than seriously exchanging funds as they kept walking ahead of him to their horses. Bets and wagers were certain to lose a man friends if he won too often.

When he arrived at the borrowed mare, the groom held the horse steady while Luca mounted. The moment he had his seat, he looked again at the crowd of brightly colored gowns and parasols. He found Lady Josephine again, though Emma’s rose-colored walking gown and coat were not in the same place. His eyes swept along the rope, searching for her, until the duke appeared on a large black horse, the animal appearing to belong on a battlefield rather than in a quiet country setting.

“Men, welcome to today’s Harvest Race,” he said, his deep voice booming across the field. The watching crowds hushed as all attention focused on the man whose generosity had provided most of the entertainment the crowds would enjoy that day.

“The course has changed this year, as it will always change, to keep each of you guessing and give no man the advantage his mount and talent do not already provide.” He went on to name the roads through which a three-mile course had been planned, with the duke’s men along the way to ensure no farmer’s cart or innocent child stumbled into the path of the horses. They would go nearly all the way around the castle on tracks primarily used by carts making deliveries to the castle.

The duke raised a pistol in the air, pointing it upward. “As usual, I offer the sternest warning to those who do not conduct themselves honorably. Be you yeoman or earl, if I receive word of cheating or cruelty on the race, you will feel my displeasure.” He made that dire pronouncement with a stern glare which lingered on each man in turn. “A prize goes to the man who wins. You will begin on my signal. Come to the line, men.”

Someone had scattered chalk dust in a line lightly dug into the dirt of the field, making it quite clear where they were expected to wait for the duke’s mark.

Luca steadied his horse. The mare had started to twitch with anticipation. The crowd started talking again, buzzing like a hive of bees. He looked again for Emma, wondering if she had no desire to watch, even though her cousin raced. Even though Luca took part, despite there being no need to impress Lady Josephine.

Would Emma care about him racing? Perhaps not.

Then he saw her, at the end of the line farthest from the start. She leaned as far over the rope as she could and waved to him. Luca’s ambition came back, a competitiveness he hadn’t known took hold, and suddenly, he had to win. Because Emma watched.

He bent over his horse, ears pricked and waiting; the duke fired the starting shot, and thunder filled Luca’s ears as his and all the other horses pounded