Page 24 of The Duke that I Lost

A NOT SO MERRY CHASE

W alking back, they were quiet, and this time he did not attempt to take hold of her hand. Even Mr. Dog seemed to have lost his enthusiasm, slowing so much that Mr. Beckman scooped the pup into his arms to carry him the rest of the way.

She was sad that the natural pleasure they’d taken from one another’s company for most of this journey seemed to have fled.

But she had to be practical. She needed to protect herself. Perhaps that was something else she could learn from him; the ability to put up a wall so that not just any charming gentleman could disarm her.

“Ah… Here comes Mr. Daniels now.”

Which reminded her… “Why did you give him money? Earlier, before you sent him ahead.” It was not necessary. Mr. Daniels was being paid his salary to bring her to London.

Dash glanced at her sideways but then shifted his gaze away quickly. “To secure rooms for us in Amesbury. Why did you think I gave him money?”

She’d not thought of that. And of course, his explanation made perfect sense… only, it had seemed like considerably more money than would have been required to rent two rooms at a small village inn.

Perhaps she’d seen wrong. Perhaps it hadn’t been that much money after all.

“I will pay for my own,” she eventually settled on saying, though she wasn’t really upset about that.

Mr. Beckman and his secrets. It was such a part of his manner that she couldn’t even tell if this was another one or not.

The tension between them felt even thicker after that, as they climbed back into the carriage and rode the short distance into the very old town located conveniently close to the ancient landmark.

Only Mr. Dog, who’d quite worn himself out, seemed comfortable as he took his spot between them, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he immediately fell asleep—eyelids not quite closed, of course.

And then…

“I want to kiss you again, princesse . You must know that.” Mr. Beckman didn’t look at her as he spoke, but continued staring out the window instead.

“And I wish...” He ran a hand through his hair.

His words jolted her. Just when she thought she had him figured out he said something to cause her to question her judgment.

“You wish?”

“I am… When I’m with you, I feel… mon dieu .” Finally, he turned to stare into her eyes. “I simply like being with you, and I don’t want to ruin the time we have left.” He looked more confused than she’d ever seen him, his eyes almost tormented, a frown of worry lining his forehead. “And I want…”

All she could do was stare back at him, holding her breath.

Whatever was supposed to happen in Margate was definitely not something he looked forward to.

She hated that he wouldn’t tell her what caused him so much anguish.

Because, yes, she’d felt this anguish growing.

She might be na?ve, but she wasn’t obtuse.

“What do you want, Dash?” she finally asked when he did not finish his sentence.

His eyes blazed at her question. Although they sat side by side without touching, she felt his need.

And her…? Every inch of her skin craved his touch, her breasts ached, and deep inside of her, a throbbing, a wanting , made her want to cry.

“I want… what I cannot have.” He ground the words out. “But even more than that, I do not want to hurt you.” He placed one hand along the back of the bench and his fingers played with her hair. “Will you forgive me for all of this? Will you smile for me again, princesse ?”

Ambrosia swallowed hard, wanting to throw herself into his arms so badly that she needed to grasp the edge of the seat to prevent herself from doing so.

“S’il te pla?t?”

There was nothing she could deny him. And so, she held back her tears and lifted the corners of her mouth instead, wishing she could laugh. Because laughing was normal between the two of them. “There is nothing to forgive.”

She was saved from saying anything that would make them both even more uncomfortable as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of yet another inn, The King’s Arms. Mr. Beckman smiled weakly and then assisted her outside once again.

She was becoming far too dependent on his assistance.

“Here are your keys, ahem, Mr. Beckman. Rooms seven and eight.” Mr. Daniels handed them down from the driver’s box with surprising precision.

Ambrosia blinked at the change in tone. Had he just cleared his throat… deferentially?

“I’ll see to the horses and have everything ready for an early departure,” he added, dipping his head slightly before hopping down and leading the team toward the stables.

That was new.

Gone was the grumbling, eye-rolling driver who’d muttered under his breath and sighed with every turn of the road. This Mr. Daniels stood straighter. Spoke crisply. Seemed suddenly eager to please.

She glanced at Dash, who accepted the keys with an amused quirk of his mouth and a low, “ Merci.”

Something had changed between them, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Perhaps that was what the money had purchased.

She didn’t want to think about it. Although she’d slept through most of the morning’s drive, she wanted nothing more than to lock herself away in a private chamber for a few hours and settle her wayward heart.

“Do you need anything from your trunks?” Mr. Beckman asked her as he lifted a hand to halt Mr. Daniels’ departure.

Most everything inside of them held the scent of smoke from the campfire and memories she’d save for later. Nothing she needed now. She had her cotton nightrail, of course, and a day dress that she could brush out in her small valise.

“I’m fine.” She held up the small suitcase, which Mr. Beckman then insisted on taking from her so that she could manage Mr. Dog. The dog’s legs were so short that it was easier to simply carry him most of the time.

Mr. Beckman led her inside and upstairs and after inspecting both rooms, insisted she take one that faced the back of the inn, where it would be quieter overnight.

It was also the larger of the two. After he left her and Mr. Dog alone, reminding her to lock the door after he closed it, she threw herself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.

His eyes had been begging her to understand all the things he couldn’t say out loud.

I want… what I can’t have. But even more than that, I do not want to hurt you.

Had he been going to say that he wanted her ? After enduring Mr. Bloomington through that first year of her marriage, Ambrosia had not considered she would want any man in that way. Knowing Dash had… changed all of that. All sorts of new possibilities had entered her mind since she’d kissed him.

She rolled over and groaned.

She was certain he wanted to make love to her. It was possible, even, that he loved her.

Just a little.

He liked her very much, at the very least.

So why did he keep pushing her away?

Mrs. Tuttle had confessed unapologetically that a few years after her husband died, she’d taken a lover for a brief period of time. The idea of having relations with a man, however, without it being absolutely necessary, had baffled Ambrosia.

But she quite understood now.

Before she could give the thought undue scrutiny, a knock sounded at her door.

“Are you hungry, princesse ?” His voice rang out from the hallway.

She leapt up, smoothed her dress, and opened the door. Ridiculous of her to feel excited to see him again. They’d only parted a few moments ago.

The look he gave her was unexpectedly sheepish—boyish, even. “I have not yet fed you anything since breakfast. Mon Dieu , this is… unacceptable.”

Ambrosia’s lips parted, startled by the way his accent curled around the word unacceptable, as though he were commenting on something far more scandalous than missing a meal.

“You needn’t feed me,” she replied quickly. “Besides, I haven’t cleaned up yet, and I’m not even all that hungry, truly.”

Unfortunately, her stomach chose that exact moment to betray her with a loud, unmistakable growl.

His eyes lit up and the sheepish look melted into a slow, wide grin. “Ah, voilà. Your belly speaks the truth. Allow me to make amends.”

Before she could argue, he stepped closer, all charm and swagger. “I shall escort Monsieur Dog outside to tend to his urgent affairs, secure us a private dining room, and return in—hmm—half an hour. Will that give you enough time, ma belle?”

That triggered another shiver, and a pleasant warmth rose in her cheeks. Ma belle—my beauty . Princesse, mon cher… It wasn’t just the words. It was the way he looked at her when he said them. Like she was something rare. Something he wanted.

She ought to get used to making such arrangements for herself. She could bring a meal upstairs and take it in her chamber. She ought to wean herself from his company.

Instead, she nodded mutely, her voice stuck somewhere between yes and dear God, yes.

At the same time, there was a little patter of tiny feet scrambling from inside the room as Mr. Dog hurried to the door, having apparently heard his name, recognizing even the French version.

He slipped around Ambrosia’s skirts and began making tight little circles of excitement at Mr. Beckman’s feet.

“I daresay I can be persuaded,” she said, her smile tilting toward the impish. “And it would seem Mr. Dog is of a like mind.”

With that, and unwilling to question her lack of restraint with this man, Ambrosia slipped Mr. Dog’s leading string into Mr. Beckman’s hand and sent them on their way, leaving her alone with her fluttering stomach—and not from hunger.

And so it was with shaking hands that she wiped the wrinkles out of her gown, washed her face, and brushed out her hair before knotting it again.

She would not berate herself for tonight. She would be with him… simply be.

In a day or so, they would say goodbye forever and she’d have no choice but to accustom herself to a future without him—without his bold stare, without his exasperating sense of humor.