Page 27

A mbrose watched as Daphne left the room in a hurry.

Had he said something wrong?

He replayed their brief exchange in his head. All he had meant was that she shouldn't occupy his thoughts the way she did. It was more of an admission to himself than anything meant to be spoken aloud. Yet, it seemed to have struck a nerve.

Now with Daphne absent, the frustration that simmered within him had nowhere to go, and so he turned his attention to Richard, who sat nearby, obliviously engaged in conversation with one of the other guests.

"Did you notice her leave?" Ambrose blurted out.

Richard blinked and glanced around, realizing only now that Daphne was no longer there. "Oh, I suppose she needed some air," he said dismissively, waving it off. "Nothing to worry about. She's fine."

"Really?" Ambrose pressed. "Is that the case?"

"I do not know what reason she would have to be otherwise. We've been getting along rather well."

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. "You've been getting along so well that she slips your mind often, does she? Like, say... when you left her behind in the forest during the hunt?"

Richard's easygoing smile faltered, and his brows knitted in confusion. "What? I didn't—" He frowned, "She was right behind me the entire time. I?—"

"You lost track of her," Ambrose interjected, "It was your responsibility to ensure she was safe, was it not? Especially after you so confidently reassured me."

Richard shrugged. "She's more capable than you give her credit for."

"And yet, you didn't even notice when she wasn't there anymore," Ambrose shot back. "If this is how you intend to show your ‘closeness' to her, then I'd advise you to keep a better eye on her."

The tension between the two brothers crackled in the air.

It was not often that they argued — especially never over a woman.

And if they rarely ever did, Ambrose was never the aggressor, as he had been in this instance.

The younger brother shifted uncomfortably, not used to being on the receiving end of such scrutiny.

Ambrose stood abruptly, straightening his coat. "Excuse me," he said curtly, not waiting for Richard's response. He needed to get out of there. He did not know what was going on with him but he was out of sorts.

For the rest of the day, Ambrose busied himself with tasks that required his undivided attention, or so he tried to convince himself. He made sure to avoid any situation where he might cross paths with Daphne, though the thought of her lingered incessantly in the corners of his mind.

Even now that the day had ended, he found himself in his study instead of his chambers – pacing the length of the room in order to occupy his mind.

It felt like he was engaged in a ceaseless tug of war with his own self, and it was beginning to wear him out. For instance, he had reacted so unlike himself with Richard, letting his irritation show so blatantly. That was not the composure expected of a duke.

And then, there was the moment with Daphne... He had held her hand. Willingly.

The memory made him pause mid-step, his eyes narrowing as if he could stare the thought out of existence. It was a risky move, especially for someone of his stature, and yet, when it came to her, he seemed willing to take such risks. What madness had taken hold of him?

Whatever was going on with Daphne in his mind felt like an ailment, something that had no business existing. The only cure he could think of was distance—he needed space, time away from her to regain control of himself.

Earlier, he had even considered sabotaging her chances of marrying into his family, of aligning herself with Richard, but now... Now he wasn't sure he had it in him. Being around her was making him act like someone he did not recognize.

"You are thinking of her again," he chided himself. Like you would a child with a slap on the wrist. He needed more of a distraction – something that would make him stop thinking of her entirely for the remainder of the night.

A book.

Yes, that was it. He could find solace in a good book, he decided. His library would offer him the quiet he needed.

Ambrose strode out of the study, making his way down the hall to the vast room that housed his private collection. Of all the rooms in this Estate, his library was his favorite one.

And it was only for him to enter. That was why he felt startled when he saw a faint light seep from under the door. Someone was in there, trespassing.

Was it a servant? Unlikely. They knew better than to intrude in the library after dark.

He quietly pushed open the door, the hinges barely making a sound.

As Ambrose walked into the library, his suspicion was confirmed. There was someone in there. A figure moved behind one of the towering shelves.

A thief?

Who else would be sneaking around at this hour? His jaw tightened as anger bubbled up within him, and without hesitation, he strode over, ready to confront whoever had the nerve to break into his sanctuary.

"What on earth do you think you're—" he started loudly, ready to give the intruder a piece of his mind.

But then, as the figure stepped into the dim light, he stopped short. His eyes widened in disbelief as recognition dawned.

It was Daphne.

They both froze, caught in the sudden tension that filled the room.

Ambrose's heart pounded in his chest as his initial anger gave way to something else—something he couldn't quite place.

He noticed how startled she looked, fearful at having been caught at this hour.

But there was something else, too, something that made his breath catch for a moment—she looked. .. pretty. No, more than pretty.

The thought hit him like a strike of lightning, and he immediately shoved it away.

"What are you doing here?" His voice came out harsher than he intended, taking a step back.

It felt like the world was playing some kind of a cruel joke on him. He had sought out the library as a refuge from her, but ended up running into her.

"I..." she steadied herself, the initial shock of being discovered slowly wearing off. She gestured at the books. "What do you think I might be doing, Your Grace? I simply came here to read, as I could not sleep."

"To read? " Ambrose snapped. "At this hour?"

"I was not aware that the practice of reading is dedicated to a select few hours," she folded her arms in front of her chest.

"Now, if you can please excuse yourself, I shall like to return to these books."

Ambrose's eyes narrowed. Her audacity surprised him every day. "This is my home. You have no right to tell me what to do."

He was not used to being ordered around in his own estate, least of all by her.

For a brief moment, Daphne looked like she wanted to argue, her lips parting as though a retort was ready to spill from them.

But instead, she took a deep breath, her expression softening into something more composed.

Slowly, almost with exaggerated calmness, she placed the book in her hands back on the shelf, her movements deliberate.

"I apologize," she said quietly, "for disturbing you in your own home. It is another thing I must add to my never ending ledger to sins, right next to not being worthy of your attention."

Worthy of my attention? Ambrose blinked, utterly stunned by her words. It was unlike Daphne to utter something so defeatist. He had not even begun to process what she had just said when she began to shimmy out of the narrow space between himself and the wooden shelf.

"Good night, Your Grace," she said as she turned.

Out of impulse, Ambrose's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, pulling her back toward him. "No," he said, his voice low and urgent. "You cannot leave."

Daphne froze, her breath catching as she turned her head slightly, her eyes wide with disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

They were close enough that he could feel her breath as her chest swelled, and fell.

"You cannot leave," Ambrose repeated, tightening his grip ever so slightly. His pulse quickened. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"There is nothing wrong," Daphne replied stiffly, attempting to pull her wrist free, though halfheartedly.

Ambrose didn't let go. "I do not believe you."

He didn't know why it mattered to him—why her words, her sudden shift in mood, her retreat, affected him so—but it did. And now, he couldn't let her leave like this.

"Why do you care?" Daphne seemed to echo his own thoughts. She met his gaze, her eyes searching his for an answer.

Ambrose hesitated. For the first time, she might have rendered him entirely speechless. They held each other's gaze, the moment feeling all the more intense at the late hour and under the dim candle light.

"I don't know," he finally admitted after what felt like an eternity, his grip on her wrist loosening just a fraction. "But I do."

It was the truth. Honest, plain and simple truth.

Daphne had so far been using up all of her restraint. She did not wish to argue with Ambrose – she simply wanted the both of them to co-exist in their own separate lives. But now as she watched his figure towering over her, demanding to know answers... her resolve wavered.

And she snapped.

"I'm tired of this!" she blurted out, her words spilling out like a dam that had broken. "All of it."

He gave her a weary look, but she continued on. "I'm tired of being treated poorly by you, of constantly feeling like I don't belong—like I'm worthless, unladylike, like I should stay away from you. I know what everyone is saying about me. I know how they look at me. How you look at me."

Now that she had started, it felt almost cathartic to go on. Like she was finally getting a chance to express what was truly in her heart – something that she could not even express to her sisters, or her friends.

"All I wish for is to be happy, to be myself. I have no interest in bothering anyone, or meddling in their affairs. Is that so wrong?"

But Ambrose seemed to be still stuck on a particular part of her statement.