Page 23 of The Duke that I Lost

“They say it’s magical,” she whispered. “Aligned with the stars. Some give it religious meaning.”

“Or maybe it’s just a tribute to the stubbornness of man,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “Men displacing nature—from one spot to another. C’est absurde. But no one really knows, do they?”

“Perhaps that’s the point.” She stepped beneath one of the outer lintels, running her fingertips along the rough-hewn surface. “They wanted us to wonder. To never be certain.”

“But one does not build something like this”—he lifted his hand to rest flat against one of the sarsens— “without purpose. There must be an inner drive, no? Something to hold onto when your back aches and your hands bleed. Otherwise…” He shook his head. “You stop.”

Something was driving him.

What drove her? The simple desire to go on?

For a long moment, they stood in silence, surrounded by the quiet hush of wind and stone.

Ambrosia felt the strangeness of time pressing in—centuries of mystery carved into rock, survivors of fire and frost. She couldn’t help but see a reflection of mankind: layered, misunderstood, determined. Beautiful and broken at once.

“Thank you,” she said at last, turning to him. “For bringing me here.”

His gaze found hers. “ C’est mon plaisir .”

It felt like more than just politeness. She saw it in the way his eyes lingered, in the soft furrow between his brows—as though he too felt the moment slipping away.

Voices drifted toward them, footsteps crunching on gravel. A group of visitors approached from the path, and with them came the end of the illusion—that only the two of them existed.

Dash gave a rueful shrug and tugged her a little closer. “I’m happy to see that look in your eyes. There’s a wonder about you… It ought to be encouraged.” He turned and dropped one hand on her shoulder, staring at her lips in a way that made her believe he might be meaning to kiss her again.

She would not stop him if he did.

She tilted her chin, parted her lips, but just as she was about to close her eyes, the voices suddenly became much louder, bouncing off of the stones as they meandered into the circle.

The moment slipped away.

Dash let his hand fall and leaned back against one of the towering stones, while Ambrosia released a sigh she hardly bothered to conceal.

Foolish of her, really—had they not agreed there would be no repetition of that?

He had brought her here only to share something wondrous, to give her a memory worth keeping.

That was all. They were friends now. Nothing more.

She stared at the rocks around her.

Why were they brought here? Why were they lined up so perfectly?

Why had Dash Beckman come along when he did?

“This is a great example of all we don’t know, about those that came before us, about the world, about ourselves.” She stared straight ahead as she spoke.

“Ambrosia.” He seemed as though he was going to make some sort of apology.

“It’s the perfect reflection of how I feel about my future.”

She didn’t want to hear the reasons he had for not kissing her, and so she forged onward. “About what is going to happen after I get to London. You say I’ll be fine, but… I’m not as confident.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“I’m afraid… that I’ll be lonelier there than I was at home.” She laughed at herself, at her own insignificance.

“You will not be lonely.” He stood very close to her, both of them still leaning against the giant stone.

She turned her head to see his face, if only his profile. “But how can you know?” Genuine curiosity compelled her to ask.

“Because of who you are. You are smart, you are beautiful, you are warm and real. You are…special. Never forget that.” A raw edge in his voice sent warmth flooding through her. But she shook her head.

“I am not beautiful.” She was just…Ambrosia.

“You are. Tres belle. ” At some point he’d taken hold of her hand again, and he squeezed it.

“Some gentlemen, many, I imagine, are going to pursue you. And none of them will be good enough, but you will marry one of them.” He finally turned his head and met her gaze, his eyes looking even more brilliant against the gray sky.

“You will have children, and then grandchildren, and they will all love you.”

Ambrosia hadn’t even considered that. “But I wasn’t going to marry again. Ever.” She surprised herself in that she put her intentions in the past tense, as though knowing him had caused her to change her mind about something so important already.

“Just choose carefully. Know him the way you know me.”

“I should not care who his family are or what he does or who his acquaintances are?” she asked, only half teasing, her throat thickening.

“Know all those things—him—better than you know me.” He smiled faintly. “But you understand, oui ? Know also the other… who he is inside. Make him show you, prove he is worthy of you.”

The trouble was, Ambrosia couldn’t imagine any other man making her trust him the way she’d come to trust this one.

And yet… he was preparing her. Warning her.

“What of you? Will you marry? Do you plan to have children?”

He turned his head away again. “Perhaps.”

The thought of him marrying some other woman… It hurt. To imagine him holding another lady’s hand, of smiling at her with those laughing eyes, of another woman having the right to touch that dimple whenever she wanted…

It hurt Ambrosia’s soul. “Will you marry for love?”

She watched his throat move as he swallowed hard. “I will marry for duty. I always hoped love would play a part, though.”

Oh, but this conversation had grown far too heavy.

She didn’t like it.

“I am picturing a roomful of tiny little Mister Beckmans… creating havoc and tearing through a giant castle.” Because at some point, she’d decided in her imagination that he must live in a castle. What she did not know of him, she filled in with her own inventiveness.

“And you shall raise tiny little princesses, with hair the color of sunset and wide emerald eyes. Each of them exquisitely lovely, filled with compassion and wonder and courage… just like their mother.”

He sounded serious again.

“Absurd,” she said, her voice shaking. Because he was not suggesting in any way that any of those girls would have cinnamon hair, or that any might have eyes that were blue but could also appear gray.

What was she thinking?

Oh, but why would he say such things?

“We shall see.” In the wake of the warmth of his compliments, uncertainty brought a chill.

She pushed away from the stone, and also away from him. Away from the tumultuous feelings he sent spiraling inside.

One minute he’d make a comment that led her to believe he esteemed her, held her in affection even, and then his next words seemed intent on ensuring that she did not build any expectations of him for the future.

And that was fine, wasn’t it?

“First, I must establish myself in London.” This must remain her immediate concern. “As a widow, not some countrified debutante in search of a husband. As for the other…”

“You’ll be fine, princesse .”

She didn’t need him to complete the thought. That she’d be fine, without him .