A Companion for the Count: A Regency Romance by Britton, Sally (story reading .txt) 📗

time had passed, Luca reluctantly left his seat on the bench and took up a knife. He divided the pasta into smaller portions, setting half of the blocks of dough in front of Miss Arlen.

“Gerry, will you start a pot of water boiling for us, please?”

“Yes, my lord.” The boy took off again, eager to help.

Luca sprinkled flour over his side of the table and tasked Miss Arlen to do the same. Then they worked the dough flat with the rolling pins Gerry had brought back with him before Luca showed her how to cut the noodles into strips for the pot.

“We could dry them, of course,” he explained, carefully forming loose balls of noodles on a tray. “But fresh is much better, and we will eat them tonight.”

“I cannot believe it,” she said, her voice a mixture of awe and amusement. “I have never made any of the food I have eaten before. The closest I have come is buttering my own bread or eating strawberries I’ve picked.” She stepped back from the finished work, looking at the table in front of them while wearing a look of such satisfaction that Luca’s heart warmed toward her.

This was what his mother said good food did for people. It brought them closer together. He nudged Miss Arlen with one elbow—the only part of his arm or hand not covered in flour. “You did very well. Everything looks edible, at least.”

She nudged him back and laughed. “Edible will make me happy enough. I trust if we made any mistakes, Monsieur Dupont will correct them with some sort of special sauce or spice.”

They used damp towels to brush off their arms and clean their hands. Gerry took the tray and left while Luca untied his apron and rolled his sleeves down. “Thank you for your help and encouragement.”

“You are most welcome, my lord. I enjoyed myself immensely.”

Luca spoke without stopping to consider what he said. “Please, call me Luca. We have made pasta together. That makes us good friends now.”

She hesitated, her hands at her back to untie her apron and her eyes upon his face. “Luca. I had nearly forgotten your given name.”

He picked up his coat and slid his arms into it, avoiding her gaze when he said, “I did not forget yours, Emma.” He had written it down in his book immediately after meeting her, beneath his initial thoughts on meeting Lady Josephine.

He froze mid-motion, his coat not quite settled on his shoulders. He had not thought of Lady Josephine even once since Emma Arlen had entered the kitchen, wearing her bright smile and embroidered apron with the air of one going on a delightful adventure rather than seeing to a ridiculous guest.

“Luca. It’s a very nice name.” She bundled up her apron, not quite looking at him. “I am grateful you consider us good friends. One can never have too many of those.”

He relaxed and looked at her, that warmth in his chest spreading outward. “No. I suppose not.” His eyes lingered on the smudge of white across her cheek. “And as your friend, I cannot let you go about looking like this. You have flour on your cheek.” He held his hand up, nearly touching her face. “May I?”

Her eyes, so large and deep, glittering up at him, made everything feel softer. More peaceful.

She nodded silently and lifted her chin, granting him better access as his thumb passed gently over the streak of flour, rubbing it away. His fingers cupped her jaw, her skin warm against his touch.

Emma’s lips parted, then her lashes lowered as she leaned toward him. Luca leaned closer, a word on his lips—her name. “Emma, I—”

A scuff in the doorway sent him into a retreat, his hand gliding through his hair as though it had not lingered upon the softest skin he had ever felt.

“Is there anything else, my lord? Miss Arlen?” the boy asked, bouncing on his heels. “The cook has the pasta in hand, he says.”

Emma Arlen walked by the boy, not looking back. “I think we are finished here, Gerry. Thank you for all your help.” She made it to the door, and just before Luca could curse himself for a fool, she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Thank you for a wonderful experience, Luca.”

Then she was through the door, out of his sight, and Luca’s universe burned more brightly.

Chapter Fourteen

More than a week had passed since working with Luca in the kitchen, and Emma still could not stop thinking about that afternoon. Even on her morning ride with Josephine, dressed against the cold, her cheeks stinging from the wind, she remembered exactly how it had felt the moment he’d touched her.

He had left with the duke the next day to visit a friend at a hunting lodge, along with several other men, and he would not return for another day or two. Despite him being out of her sight, far away from the castle, Emma’s thoughts lingered on their time together.

Josephine circled her mare back to meet Emma on the path. “You are morose today, Emma,” she accused. “What weighty matters are spoiling the fun of a morning ride?”

Emma stuck her tongue out at Josephine. “I am not morose. Only thoughtful.”

“Too thoughtful. One would almost think you are plotting something devious. I know Grandmother was severe upon your pianoforte practice yesterday, but we needn’t plan her demise just yet, if that is what you are thinking of.” Josephine grinned jauntily and brought her horse to ride evenly with Emma.

“I have never planned anyone’s demise, thank you very much. I am far too gentle a soul for that. I would rather keep the peace than hire assassins.” Emma sniffed disdainfully. “Horrible dirty work, that. I’ll leave it to you.”

“I cannot even think how one would do such a thing, though I imagine you’ve read about it somewhere.” The duke’s daughter looked over her shoulder where a groom followed behind them, several horse-lengths back