Page 23

P erhaps staying at home would have been better than this.

Daphne found herself riding alone through the forest. She had fallen behind a bit, but she could still see the other men in the distance.

Out of all the hunts she had engaged in her life, this one was the most uneventful. Not only did they fail to catch anything, she had barely been able to assist with tracking.

Richard, who had spoken so enthusiastically about accompanying her, had spent most of the morning riding ahead with the other men, barely glancing her way. Daphne sighed, tightening her grip on the reins.

Was it wrong for me to expect... more? Certainly, she thought that they would get a chance to spend some more time together than they had managed to.

But instead, Richard had been more interested in swapping hunting stories and banter with the men than paying any attention to her.

He had left her behind more times than she cared to count, only slowing when absolutely necessary.

It makes no sense. He had sounded so eager when he was talking to Ambrose, assuring him that he would stay by her side. But his actions didn't match his words. It was strange, and it left her feeling more isolated than ever.

She cast a glance ahead, noticing how far behind she had fallen. The others were barely in sight now, just shadows among the trees, and her horse seemed to sense her discontent, slowing even further.

Maybe I should have just stayed behind with Violet and Isadora. At least then, I wouldn't feel so ? —

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off as the world suddenly tilted.

In a swift, unexpected movement, her horse reared slightly, its hooves slipping on the uneven ground.

Daphne's grip on the reins faltered, and before she could steady herself, she felt her body lurch sideways.

She landed on the ground a hard thud, a small scream escaping her lips.

For a moment, all she could hear was the pounding in her ears and the frantic snorting of her horse. Her horse, now jittery and stamping nervously, moved a few paces away, its reins dragging along the ground. Daphne groaned softly, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

"Is anyone here?" she called out but there was no response. "Wonderful. Just... wonderful. "

Now, not only had she been left behind, but she had fallen, and no one even noticed.

Taking a deep breath, Daphne slowly got to her feet, brushing the dirt from her riding skirt.

"Easy, boy," she whispered as she approached her horse, running a hand along the horse's neck. "We're all right. Just a little fall."

Daphne tugged lightly at the reins, trying to coax him forward. But the horse stood firm, stomping his hooves and shaking his head. He wasn't going anywhere.

Panic began to flicker in the pit of her stomach. The sky was already beginning to dim. Nightfall wasn't far off, and the realization that she was alone in the forest with an uncooperative horse sent a chill down her spine.

"Please, we need to move," she urged, tugging the reins a little harder this time, but the horse still refused. He merely snorted, stamping the ground in defiance.

She did not have much time. Richard and the others were likely far ahead by now, completely unaware that she'd fallen behind.

"I should have just stayed back," she muttered to herself, her gaze nervously darting around the area. She was in the middle of a thick forest cover, and would only get lost if she tried to tread by foot.

This hunt had just taken a turn from being an uneventful one to the worst one of her entire life.

And then, her heart leapt into her throat as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps, her breath catching in the stillness of the forest.

" Who is it? " the words came out as a whisper as she hid behind her mare.

"Lady Daphne!"

Relief flooded over her. "You found me."

She had never thought she would be happy to see Ambrose.

Ambrose's expression was hard to read at first, his eyes scanning her from head to toe as if assessing her condition. But then his brows furrowed, and the scolding began. "What in heaven's name were you thinking? Do you have any idea how foolish it was to wander off on your own?"

Daphne blinked at him, "I didn't exactly wander off. My horse?—"

"Your horse?" Ambrose shot back, gesturing to the stubborn animal that stood nearby. "Your horse isn't the one who decided to ride away from the group."

She opened her mouth to argue, but Ambrose cut her off, his tone sharper now. "Do you realize how dangerous this is? You could've been injured—or worse." His gaze darkened. "We're not in some well-manicured garden, Daphne. This is a forest."

Daphne stared at him, a little taken aback by the intensity of his words.

He had called her by her name. No Lady Daphne, no formalities. It was a slip of the tongue, of course. But it was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

The way he was speaking to her, despite the harshness of his words, there was something different about it.

Something she had never seen in him before like this. If she did not know any better, she would think that he is... worried.

The realization made her heart feel a bit funny.

Ambrose's gaze flicked downward, and he inhaled sharply. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, his voice gruff.

He stepped closer, examining her.

Daphne frowned, confused by the sudden shift in his tone. "No, I'm perfectly?—"

"There's blood on you," Ambrose interrupted, alarmed.

She blinked again, glancing down at her own clothes before noticing a stain of red.

On his sleeve.

Some of it seemed to have dripped onto her.

"Wait... That's not mine, it's yours!" she exclaimed, finally understanding. "You're bleeding!"

Ambrose glanced down at his arm as if just realizing the wound existed. "Oh. Well, that is nothing to worry about," he yanked his sleeve down, as if it was something that happened to him all the time and deserved not even a second thought.

Daphne could hardly control the protective feeling that surged inside of her.

"You've been hurt this entire time and you're yelling at me?" she said, incredulous. Without a second thought, she moved towards him, intent on inspecting the wound herself.

Ambrose stepped back, his face a mix of surprise and irritation. "I don't need?—"

"Please," her voice was pleading. "The stain is getting larger. You will lose a lot of blood if you do not tend to it."

Something shifted in his expression, and he relented. Grumbling, he mumbled a faint agreement.

"Thank you," she said, relieved. "Sit on that rock. I will tend to your wound."

She towered over him as he sat down. It was a strange feeling – usually it was the other way around. Swiftly, she tore a piece of fabric from her own dress, quickly fashioning a makeshift bandage.

"This is unnecessary," he grumbled.

"It's completely necessary. What if it gets infected?"

Ambrose scoffed. "It's a scratch."

"A scratch does not bleed like that," she said, kneeling down in front of him and grabbing onto his arm with her thin fingers. She expected him to pull back, but he kept steady. His gaze seemed fixed on her, making her breath coming out faster.

Focus.

"More fabric," she muttered, going to tear another piece of her dress, exposing her legs for a brief moment before Ambrose stopped her.

"This is too much," he said, firmly. "You're tearing your dress... and I... saw your knees."

For the first time in her life, she saw him get flustered. But the blood from his wound had still not stopped.

"I think your wound is a bit more important than propriety right now, Your Grace."

Ambrose's jaw tightened as he glanced away. "This is highly inappropriate," he mumbled but did not try to stop her again.

"And yet, here we are," Daphne retorted.

"Somehow I was the one who was here to save you," he commented. "But you found a way to become the savior."

"Would you rather I be a damsel in distress?" she replied.

"Well, I would prefer if you stayed out of trouble."

"I have no interest in being both of those things. Nor did I intend to get myself into any sort of trouble, Your Grace," she said. "But I cannot let you walk around with an infected wound either."

For two people that could not stand each other, they sure found themselves in situations where they were looking out for each other.

"You were reckless," he muttered, though his tone had lost its earlier harshness. "And I..."

He could not complete the sentence.

"You what?" she demanded, crossing her arms out in front of him. "You wanted to be the hero and are mad at me for not lying dead in a ditch somewhere?"

He glared at her, "Do not say that."

"Then what is it?"

His face contorted as though someone had made him swallow the thorns on a fish. "I.. well I was worried."

Daphne blinked.

Had she misheard him?

"You... worried?" she said, his comment throwing her off for a moment.

"You are my guest."He added quickly.

"Of course," she muttered. It was that. It could not be anything more than that. Quickly she finished up the bandage with a satisfied nod. "There, done."

"Are you always this stubborn?" he inquired, as she stood up to her full height, brushing off her clothes.

"Only when I need to be," she admitted.

"And you have decided that this moment is one where the occasion requires it?" he challenged.

"Yes," she said immediately. "Our differences aside, I cannot let you bleed to death in the forest."

"So not only are you stubborn, but you are also very dramatic," he replied.

"I believe the word you are missing is a thank you. "

"Oh, right," he scoffed, "thank you for disappearing in the forest."

"And you are missing one more thing," she gestured at his bandage.

"What am I missing then, tell me?" the traces of banter left his voice, and suddenly he sounded a lot more intense.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and the tension between them shifted, becoming something else entirely. Ambrose's features softened, and for the first time, Daphne saw something other than irritation in his eyes.