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

Her heart fluttered along with her stomach. Dratted dandelion puffs.

“Oh? Have you something in particular you wish to discuss?” Emma neatly stepped around him and started forward on the path again. Toward the only escape route through the grotto.

Luca kept pace with her easily. “I do. I am wondering if I owe you an apology.”

She laughed, the sound almost hysterical. “An apology? Whatever for? No, Luca. You do not owe me any apologies.”

“I have not offended you?” he asked, confusion upon his face. “Then why—? Emma. Emma, please stop.” He put his hand gently on her arm. So gently she could have ignored him and kept walking. But she stopped as requested, though she refused to meet his gaze. She kept her eyes on the stickpin in his cravat. It was lovely. A stylized silver lion with little blue gems for eyes. A masterpiece by an artisan, of course.

“You haven’t offended me,” she said to the lion. Its eye winked back at her in the sunlight.

“You say that, yet I find no relief in your words.” He released a very eloquent and disappointed sigh. “You will not even look at me.”

She stole herself against allowing more lions to disturb her and raised her eyes to his. “There. I am looking at you. You have done nothing to offend me, Luca.” She tightened her jaw and smiled.

Luca held his hand out to her, palm-up. “Do you promise?”

What could she do but lay a hand in his, as though to seal her agreement? “I promise.”

The instant her palm touched his, he closed his hand around hers and drew closer. Too close. Almost as close as they had stood together in the kitchen when he’d taught her how to make pasta.

“Emma.” Her name upon his lips was like a caress, and it drew her gaze to his mouth. She had always loved the hint of his accent in his words. Had anyone else noticed how the accent grew stronger when he spoke on subjects that had nothing to do with politics? The shift was subtle, but she always heard it—and always knew when he spoke on a matter which genuinely interested him.

“Yes, Luca? Now that you know we are not at odds, is there anything else?” She peered up at him from beneath her bonnet brim, trying not to expose too much of her feelings through her eyes. “Perhaps you wished to speak of Josephine again?”

He blinked, then slowly shook his head. “Why do you think that?”

“You have a very earnest look about you,” she observed, keeping her tone soft. “As though you are on a deeply personal mission that has little to do with politics.”

His lips twitched in that way that made her want to coax them into a full smile. “You already know me so well. Yes. I wish to speak of something personal.”

Personal? Could he wish to speak to her about the difference that she sensed between them? If he had noticed her change in demeanor, he was clever enough to guess what it meant.

No. To get her hopes up at that moment would prove foolish. And yet…. “Very well. How may I help you?” Because that was what friends did. They helped one another. And he said it was not to do with Josephine. He had given her up.

“You understand why I wish to take an English bride,” he said suddenly, without warning, diving deeply into the subject she least wanted to discuss.

Her mouth went dry. The way he held her hand, looked so seriously at her—he could not mean for her to be his bride, surely? “Of course. It would cement your relationship with England and prove to everyone that you are here permanently, as well as facilitate your desire to connect our kingdoms through more than just trade negotiations.” Her interest in politics made her a bit of a realist when it came to political matches.

His smile appeared, though relieved rather than broad. “Yes. That is part of it. But marriage is not something to enter in lightly, especially given the way Catholics are treated here and Protestants are treated in my country.”

“That could pose difficulty, yes.” And she had done enough research in the matter to know that an Anglican could never marry in a Catholic church, though a Catholic might marry under the supervision of an Anglican priest, and with exceptions made by higher church authorities. She had looked into the matter when Luca had first mentioned the differences between weddings after Alice and Rupert wed.

Her heart started racing.

She had no great hope of seeing such a wedding performed. Or being part of one. Not at all. Unless. What if Luca wished to speak to her on the matter because he needed to know if Emma would consider such a marriage?

Luca still had hold of her hand. “Then as we are friends, and you know me so well, how would you advise I pay court to an English woman who must necessarily join herself to my cause and my life?”

Her heart sank all the way down to the ground beneath her feet. Perhaps even further, given how cold she felt in its absence. He wanted her advice to court another woman. Not Josephine. Then whom?

The words stumbled from her, tripping and tumbling form her tongue. “I-I must think on it. Marrying into such a situation is no small thing. The woman you chose would need to dedicate her life to helping your position and your work.” Why had her voice betrayed her by quivering?

She stared at their joined hands, blinking back tears. “Let me consider the issue. Then we may talk of it later.”

She couldn’t look at him; she kept her head turned slightly away.

“Thank you, Emma.” His voice had a strange quality to it, too. It sounded deeper, almost making her shiver. And then he leaned in close to her, unexpectedly, and his lips pressed gently against her cheek.

She closed her eyes, memorizing the sensation despite its brevity. It