Page 22 of The Duke that I Lost

Ambrosia nodded. “Thank you. It’s been… a while.

My father became ill a few days after my twelfth birthday.

It was slow… relentless. But those afternoon drives—those were the last moments of pure happiness we had as a family.

” Her eyes softened with the memory. “How strange it is, that we never recognize such magic until it’s gone. ”

“It is,” he agreed quietly.

She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, trying to think of something she could ask that might lead back to more neutral ground. “Tell me something you wish you had valued more.”

“Innocence.” The word left him swiftly, surprising her with his frankness.

Ambrosia stilled. If he was willing to answer, perhaps he might also be willing to explain.

But then he added, “Don’t we all?” The muscles clenched all along his throat and he rose to his feet. “We’d best break camp if we’re going to get on the road before half the day is gone.”

He dropped the curtain over his life once again.

With her belly full, but yearning to know more about this man, Ambrosia scraped the remainder of the food into Mr. Dog’s small bowl and poured what was left of the milk onto it. The more he shared about himself, the more mysterious he became.

The more she wanted to know.

And as she watched the pup eat, she pondered everything Dash had told her. And all he had not.

“Help me shake these out, princesse ?” He had taken down the tent and was holding up one of the quilts.

Happy to make herself useful, she left Mr. Dog to his food and took hold of one end of the quilt. They shook it a few times and then folded it perfectly, as though they’d done it a thousand times together.

“Will your sister be at the party?” Ambrosia tried to turn the conversation.

“Beatrice is at home with my mother. She… isn’t fond of Society.”

But his family, she deduced, was well off. He owned an estate. So… “Did she make a debut?”

“She did.”

“But she never married?”

Dash took the corners of a second quilt from her and executed the last fold. “After five seasons, she determined she was better off escaping the institution.” He turned away and stuffed the quilt into the larger of her two trunks.

Having been married to Harrison, Ambrosia approved. But… “What happened?”

Dash’s eyes narrowed and his hands stilled. “It’s not that she lacked suitors. But one morning, after a rather lively ball, she just… up and announced that she’d had enough.”

“She was not compelled, then.” But not wanting to dwell on the lack of choices she’d had, Ambrosia steered their talk elsewhere. “After I settle in London, I want to purchase Mr. Dog a jeweled collar. Nothing expensive, mind you. But something to build his confidence, something he can be proud of.”

“A jeweled collar? Mon Dieu , the other hounds of Mayfair will take him for a dandy. Pauvre garcon .” Yet the fond glance he cast at Mr. Dog and the ripple of laughter in his voice eased the tightness in her chest.

Then, with a careless lift of his brow, he added, “But tell me—are you truly in such a hurry to reach London?”

Ambrosia’s heart stilled. “Not particularly. But I thought you were.”

“We make good enough time, I think.” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “What would you say to a little détour … perhaps?”

“But why?”

“Why not? We will explore, non ?”

“You mean, for fun?” The idea was such a foreign one that she could hardly wrap her mind around it.

“Yes, Madame Bloomington , for fun.” Something in the way he addressed her formally, in a gravelly tone, sent a shiver down her spine.

“But where would we explore?”

He gave a teasing smile, eyes gleaming. “Ah, mais non . That is a secret. For me to know… and for you to discover.” Then, more softly: “Do you trust me, princesse ?”

Crazily enough, she did. “Fun. Hmmm… How can I not?”

“See how brave you are?” he laughed, and with a glance around, he closed the lid of the trunk, fastening the closure, and then hefted it onto the back of the carriage. “We’d best head out then.”

Feeling excited, not only to be going somewhere special today, but at the slight lengthening of the time she would spend with Dash Beckman, Ambrosia scooped Mr. Dog into the carriage and watched while Mr. Beckman had a few words with Mr. Daniels.

The driver scowled at first, shaking his head. Within moments, however, he seemed to come around to Mr. Beckman’s way of seeing things.

Dash climbed in beside her, and a few seconds later, they were on the road again.

“Have you made this excursion before?” Ambrosia couldn’t contain her curiosity completely.

With his feet resting on the bench opposite them, Mr. Beckman leaned back and closed his eyes. “A walkabout, before the war.”

“With school friends?”

“Yes.” He smiled.

“With the boy who bullied you?” She smiled. “Hawk?”

“There were five of us… But enough questions.” Not opening his eyes, he oh, so easily pulled her into his arms, tucking her head onto his chest. “I doubt you slept much better than I did, but we’ve plenty of time before we get there. Be comfortable and hush, princesse , so we can both sleep.”

She wanted to be offended at his bossiness, but that was difficult with his spicy manliness assaulting all of her senses and his powerful body cushioning her protectively.

So instead, she lifted her feet onto the seat beside her and burrowed a little deeper. He was right. Sleep had not come easily the night before. How could he make her feel so protected and comfortable sometimes, and so utterly off kilter at others?

Before she could examine the question much closer, she put one hand on his chest, took a deep breath, and allowed the motion of the carriage to rock her to sleep.

* * *

They’d stopped.

Rubbing her eyes, Ambrosia sat up and then stretched. Mr. Beckman had exited the carriage without waking her and was outside talking with Mr. Daniels.

They seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

Nothing but open fields stretched out in every direction with a scattering of cows dotting the landscape. Ambrosia leaned forward to better study her surroundings, but just as she reached for the carriage door, something gave her pause.

Mr. Beckman had taken hold of Mr. Daniels by the shoulder, his stance unusually firm for what ought to be a routine exchange.

His tone, though too quiet to discern, carried an unmistakable weight.

Then she watched as Dash reached into his coat and withdrew what appeared to be a substantial stack of banknotes.

Mr. Daniels accepted the money and carefully tucked it away.

Ambrosia frowned.

Why had Dash given him money? She’d said that she trusted him. And she did! But she couldn’t help the flicker of unease that sparked at the back of her mind.

Dash clapped his hands together, brushing them off like a man who’d just dealt with something tiresome, and turned back toward the carriage—back toward her.

She quickly composed herself and pushed open the door. “Where are we?” she asked lightly, careful to keep her tone cheerful. She didn’t want to question him. Not really. Not after the camaraderie they’d finally settled into.

But still… money? Was it a bribe, or simply payment for something innocuous? And why was he giving orders to her driver?

What wasn’t he telling her?

“We are but a few miles from Amesbury.” He looked distinctly pleased with himself.

“ Monsieur Daniels will change the horses and return for us later. But for you, for me—and for your son—our next leg of the journey will be upon our own two feet.” His gaze dropped pointedly to Mr. Dog.

“Or four, bien s?r … if his little legs can manage it.”

Perhaps the money had something to do with repairs for the carriage? In which case, she ought to be consulted. Or maybe it had to do with locating Guinevere?

She hopped to the ground before he could reach her.

“Walk where?” She’d never heard of Amesbury. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

But instead of answering, he took Mr. Dog’s lead in one hand and extended the other toward her, palm up, waiting.

“This way, princesse .”

She’d seen the money. She’d seen the look on his face, the one he used when he wasn’t being entirely honest. But when his fingers curled gently around hers, all her hesitation melted.

Maybe she was besotted.

She didn’t care.

Because something about the way he touched her made her feel brave enough to follow him anywhere.

“Won’t you give me a clue?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the teasing glint in his.

“ Regardez là-bas ,” he said, tipping his chin toward the horizon. His hand was warm around hers, his fingers brushing her knuckles as he pointed. In the distance, a dark, jagged shape disrupted the gentle roll of the green hills.

She blinked. “Is that…?” Her breath caught. “Stonehenge? Is that really so near?”

“ Mais oui, princesse .” His grin was swift and boyish, and entirely charming. “You sound surprised.”

“I am!” she admitted. “I mean—I’ve read about it—the mysterious field of stones. But I never paid much attention to where it was. I certainly never imagined visiting it.” Her eyes flicked toward him. “You’ve been before.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Every English boy must visit, no? —with mis camarades.”

“Ah yes. Your infamous four friends.” Still holding his hand, she gave a few little skips, excitement bubbling in her chest. “What a perfect secret.”

Seeing the configuration on the horizon, her pace quickened. Mr. Dog trotted alongside them with increasing enthusiasm, sniffing tufts of grass and inspecting rocks and pebbles like an archaeologist in his own right.

As the structure came into sharper view, Ambrosia’s chest rose with wonder. The stones—impossibly large, precisely arranged—were even more magnificent than she’d imagined.

“The tall ones are sarsens,” Dash murmured beside her. “The smaller, the bluestones. Très ancien .”

She felt his hand squeeze hers, and when she turned, he was watching the site with a look of quiet reverence.