A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance

would introduce me to your favorite shelves.” He pivoted to face her again. “Are you available to do so now?”
Emma narrowed her eyes at him, and when she did so, his lips curled upward at last. The man wore propriety like a mask, and any break in that mask made him instantly more attractive. Or, Emma corrected herself, more approachable. She gestured to a set of shelves on the opposite side of the room. “My favorites are on that side of the room. The classic literature.”
She crossed the room, skirting the enormous globe and a small table, and the ambassador followed on her heels until she stopped before a bookcase with rows of her favorite old tales.
The ambassador leaned in to inspect the titles, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. “Ah. Shakespeare, Arabian Nights, and what else do you consider a classic?”
“Oh. Well.” She pointed up near the top. “They are in order by author. Here is Daniel Defoe—Moll Flanders and Robinson Crusoe are both here. John Dryden’s books.” She pointed lower on the shelves. “Milton. Pope. Swift. Oh, and Pamela, by Samuel Richardson.” She let her gaze linger on English translations of the Iliad and Odyssey. “There are other books I enjoy, of course, but the more modern novels and poetry collections are in other rooms.”
“I see.” He bent to examine a lower shelf and removed Pamela.
“If you read that, you will need to read a later book by Richardson. You see, in this one, a moral woman reforms a rake. He wrote another later in which a good man does the same for a woman.”
He blinked at her. “A rake?” He straightened with the book in hand. “You do not mean a garden tool.”
Oh. He didn’t know that word? Emma’s cheeks warmed as she contemplated how to explain. “A—a bad man?” When his eyebrows pulled together in a frown, she realized her wording was too simplistic. “He tries to take advantage of her—she is lower than he in Society, and without protection, so he attempts to make her his—” She winced. “But she doesn’t—that is, she maintains her virtue.” Her cheeks positively burned as she realized how the book sounded. How she must sound, admitting she claimed a book with scandalous subject matter as a favorite.
“You enjoy this book?” he asked, his words slow and his tone giving away none of his thoughts. “Even though a man approaches a woman dishonorably?”
Releasing a nervous laugh, she shrugged helplessly. “I am explaining the story very poorly.” She rubbed at her temple, ordering her thoughts. “Pamela defends herself in a way that was—is still—somewhat revolutionary. In the end, she wins a place in the world above what most would deem appropriate for her station. It is not a perfect book—I do not think such a thing exists. But I believe it is one people ought to read and discuss.”
He stared at her, his dark eyebrows lifting at last. “You enjoy it for the controversy and discussion it inspires.”
She put a cool hand to her cheek and turned back to the shelves. “Yes. That is precisely it. I enjoy vigorous conversation and debate.”
A touch on her forearm had her turning her head to look at him, her cheeks still warm.
His dark brown eyes glowed with interest. He tipped his head to one side as he spoke. “I enjoy those things too, Miss Arlen. That is how I gained my king’s notice.” His smile reappeared, larger than before. “I will read this book if you promise to discuss it with me later.”
A knot in her chest formed and then tightened. “Yes. Of course. But if you would prefer to read something lighter—”
He shook his head, dislodging a lock of hair so it fell across his forehead, instantly giving a touch of boyish charm to his expression. “No, this will do.” He held the book against his chest. He appeared thoughtful a moment before speaking again. “Tell me. Does your mistress enjoy the same books as you?”
He meant Josephine. Emma had to laugh at that. “No. I am afraid not. Lady Josephine prefers adventure novels or love stories. Mrs. Radcliffe is a favorite of hers, and of late she is enamored with the books Persuasion and Rob Roy. If you wish to read those, I will find them for you.”
The ambassador’s smile tightened, then vanished. “Perhaps after I have enjoyed Pamela. I have not heard of these other titles.”
“They are quite entertaining.” She shrugged, then pointedly looked to the long case clock in the room, checking the time. “Oh, you must excuse me, Signore. I must prepare for a ride with Lady Josephine and Her Grace.” She dropped into a curtsy.
“Of course. Thank you for the book.” He bowed, but she did not meet his eyes again as she hurried from the room.
Despite his age, his position in Society, and his reason for being in England, he was just like all the other gentlemen she met: he spoke to her only to gain an understanding of the ducal family, and perhaps to get closer to Josephine, as her friend had suspected.
Not that it mattered to Emma. It never mattered to her. She would be loyal to the family, as always, and not give insult to the duke’s guest.
The conte wasn’t different or special. There was no need to feel insulted or used. This was simply the way things were.
The knot in Emma’s chest grew larger, making it difficult to swallow, as she went back to her room to change for her ride.
* * *
Luca stood before the long mirror in the dressing room adjacent his bedroom, with Bruno brushing off the coat he’d helped Luca into only moments before. His valet hummed an Italian love song to himself as he worked, the familiar tune and cadence soothing Luca’s troubled mind.
Not that anything had gone wrong that day. Quite the opposite. The conversation with the duke had proven fruitful, given the duke’s immediate desire to send for legal documents regarding trade between their countries.