A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance, Britton, Sally [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

forward. The dirt flew, each man pushing his animal for speed to get ahead before the field narrowed to a road where no more than three or four could ride abreast of each other.

Luca had no time to look for Farleigh or Sir Andrew nor to see if he had many other competitors near him. He had been introduced to almost a dozen others who rode that day. But they didn’t matter. Only the thought of Emma, delighted by his victory, mattered.

He fell behind five other riders as they came to the road, then had to bide his time to take a curve faster than another man and move into the fourth-place position. The horses snorted, their breathing heavy and fast, their hooves striking the hard dirt sharply before flying forward again.

Up a rise they went toward the castle, the trees a blur on either side, and Luca took third by the time they had made the loop. Halfway, and Sir Andrew rode beside him with the duke’s son ahead of them both.

“Atella, watch out!” Sir Andrew’s shout saved Luca from the formerly second-place horse and rider stumbling ahead of him. Luca jerked his horse’s reins, pulling up enough to dance around the unfortunate rider and horse.

The fallen man’s cursing and the horse bolting in another direction at least meant no lasting harm had occurred. But Luca had lost ground between himself and the remaining two ahead of him. Sir Andrew remained nearly even with Luca and his mount.

Luca leaned low over his horse’s neck, urging the animal on in his native tongue. “Forza, forza!”

The mare kept her legs flying beneath her, and Luca closed the distance between himself and Farleigh when the end of the race came in sight. A ribbon of bright yellow stretched between two trees, held by boys on either side. He drew even with the duke’s son, then surpassed him, but—

The man in the lead, a gentleman who lived near town, crossed the line first.

Luca’s horse snorted, carrying him through to the end, then paced and tossed her head as Luca guided her to the field. She stamped and resisted slowing down, but through calming her, Luca calmed his own racing heart. And his disappointment. The duke congratulated the winner, his voice raised as more riders and horses came through to the end.

“Congratulations, Mr. Bydwell. The first-place prize is yours. All who raced may have a drink as my thanks for a race well-run. Please, enjoy the festivities today.”

A cheer went up from the crowd, and Luca looked up for the first time. How foolish of him, to lose his head over a woman in such a way. As though Emma Arlen cared one whit about him racing, let alone winning the race.

A dusky rose bonnet appeared, but not in the crowd. Coming toward him instead, with her hand holding her hat in place, Emma wore a bright smile. He dismounted at the same moment she stopped, only two paces from him.

“You were brilliant, Luca. I cannot believe how near you came to winning. I thought for certain you would overtake Mr. Bydwell in those last moments, and that is quite the accomplishment on a borrowed horse.” Her smile shone up at him, and her cheeks were flushed pink with obvious good cheer.

Coming second suddenly seemed the best thing in the world.

* * *

In the past, Emma might have laughed at a woman for praising a man so much. Especially for something as simple as good horsemanship. But she hadn’t wanted to wait to tell Luca what she thought, or to greet him after his near-victory. Luca deserved to know she admired his abilities. A friend would tell him he had done well.

When his lips quirked upward, Emma wanted very much to make him smile more. His broad smiles were too infrequent.

“Thank you, Miss Arlen.” He bowed. “You do me great honor and soothe my wounded pride.”

“Wounded pride?” she repeated, her free hand going to her hip. “Lord Atella, we both know you did well. I doubt your pride suffered so much as a scratch.”

“Well done, Atella,” Sir Andrew called. Emma turned to see her cousin approaching, leading his horse while a groom walked alongside them. “You won Farleigh theater tickets at my expense.”

“Then I have accomplished my goal,” Luca said, his tone dry. “Perhaps if you lose more bets, you will stop making them.”

Andrew laughed. “I never wager anything I cannot afford to lose, my friend. That would be a fool’s mark.” He turned to Emma. “And you, Cousin? Did you cheer for the ambassador rather than your own flesh and blood?”

“Most happily, yes.” Emma laughed at his feigned shock. “Do not be too distressed. I have learned that Punch and Judy have arrived and will begin their show very soon. Is that still one of your favorites? It ought to cheer you.”

"That might have been my favorite when I was seven years of age. At five and twenty, it is far beneath me to laugh at violent puppets.” Andrew put his nose high in the air. “But if there is a group planning to watch together—”

“With mince pies and cider, of course.” Emma looked to Luca. “Many of our local friends tend to follow each other about like a flock of chickens at the harvest market. I hope you will join us.”

“It would be my pleasure. As I said before, there is much more to my position as ambassador than politics. I must enjoy the culture of the English, too.”

The groom successfully took possession of the reins for both horses and promised Andrew to have them ready to return to his estate within the hour. Andrew fell into step beside Emma but did not offer his arm. Neither did Luca, sadly, but she knew well enough why. There was no use in starting rumors about the two of them, not when he intended friendship, and not when he still appeared interested in Lady Josephine.

Yes, she had seen him watching Lady Josephine