Page 25 of The Duke that I Lost

By the time thirty minutes had passed, Ambrosia looked less like a woman who had slept on the ground, and more like the respectable widow she was meant to be. Her hair was pinned, her gown was clean, and her hands folded tightly in her lap as she sat—waiting.

And waiting.

And then waiting some more.

The light from the window had dimmed considerably. The golden hues of late afternoon had bled into the cool gray of dusk, and still he had not returned.

Surely, he ought to have come back by now?

Perhaps she’d misunderstood—perhaps he’d meant for her to meet him downstairs. But no, he’d said he would return. And he had Mr. Dog.

For the umpteenth time, she walked to the window, pressing her fingertips to the glass in hopes of glimpsing him below—chatting with the innkeeper, perhaps, or Mr. Daniels.

But the yard was empty now, save for a few shadowed figures drifting toward the stables.

She couldn't make out any faces. Just shapes. And darkness settling in.

She stepped into the narrow corridor and glanced toward the stairs. For a moment, she hovered—debating. Then she turned and knocked lightly on the door to chamber number eight.

No answer.

Of course, she told herself, he would have brought Mr. Dog back to her if he had returned.

The absence of the dog sharpened her worry.

She was confident that Dash could look after himself in most circumstances but having a small creature to look after as well might complicate things. If… if something had happened…

Trying to ignore the squeezing in her chest, Ambrosia returned to her own room and stood again at the window. The last glow of light had all but vanished.

He’d been gone now for nearly two hours.

Where was he?

He would not have abandoned her! He would not have! Especially not with her dog!

Ambrosia twisted her hands together, imagining all manner of calamities that might have occurred.

Thieves could have set upon him, a man, alone. Or even worse, a murderer!

At the same time, she rebuked herself for imagining such dramatics.

Oh, but where was he ? Struggling to avoid falling into hysterics, she paced back and forth across the room. Perhaps he’d met up with an acquaintance and began conversing and had simply forgotten the time.

Or a woman.

She swallowed hard.

But he had Mr. Dog with him.

That should have been comforting, a reason for him to return to her if nothing else. And yet…

The room felt smaller by the minute, pressing in on her with its silence and its emptiness. She could no longer bear it.

With only the light of the moon beyond the window, Ambrosia threw on her coat, tied the sash with more force than necessary, and strode toward the door.

She paused, just briefly, recalling the innkeeper who’d spoken to her so coarsely the day before—as though being a woman, alone, invited lewd comments.

She pinched her lips together and clenched her fists.

Not tonight.

So what if she had spent most of her life in a sleepy village filled with small-minded people and a tyrannical husband? She had survived worse than a taproom full of coarse men. And tonight—tonight she was not some fragile creature to be coddled. She was a woman worried for her friend .

And for her dog.

Her chin lifted a fraction higher as she began her descent down the stairs, every creak of the old steps announcing her presence.

The taproom was full, louder than she expected. A fire crackled. A few men turned their heads as she passed, their eyes lingering. Let them look. She held her head high and kept walking.

No sign of Dash.

She crossed the room and, with her heart thumping wildly, slipped out the front door into the cool night air.

Outside, the quiet was unnerving. The garden was empty; a cloud drifted across the moon. She peered around the hedges. Nothing.

The stable was quiet as well. She paused by the open doors and called softly, “Dash? Mr. Beckman?” Utter silence.

Not even the horses stirred. “Mr. Dog?” she tried, though she didn’t really expect a different response.

Sure enough, no cheerful, tail-thumping reply greeted her.

No impatient barks or quick little feet. Nothing.

She turned to face the tree line beyond the inn yard, the forest edging the horizon in tall, whispering giants, and shivered.

Where had he gone?

Suddenly, she was alone in the world once again.

How could he do this to her?

She returned to her chamber on unsteady legs, heart pounding in rhythm with every unanswered question. All hunger forgotten, she sank onto the edge of the bed and wrapped her arms around herself.

Was this it? Had he truly gone?

If he meant to abandon her, why not just say so? Why vanish into the night like a thief—and with her dog, no less? That hurt more than she wanted to admit. Oddly enough, she’d grown used to Mr. Dog’s warmth, his comforting snuffles.

But Dash wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. Not the man who’d taught her how to build a fire and spoken softly of his deep, personal regrets, little though he’d shared. Who’d told her that he could see courage and strength in her actions.

Who’d made sure she never, ever, forgot her first kiss—for better or for worse.

That man would never…

Would he?

Time passed in aching silence. The moon had risen high by now. The idea of even attempting sleep seemed laughable, but she’d stopped pacing. Stopped peeking through the window. Stopped pretending to have any control over the storm in her chest.

And then?—

A knock.

Sharp. Firm. Three taps.

She froze.

Every muscle tensed, braced for disappointment. For bad news. It might not even be him calling upon her at all.

Still, she practically flew to the door, flung it open—and there he was.

Disheveled. Windblown. His collar askew. Mr. Dog was cradled like a sack of potatoes in one arm, his eyes wide and tongue lolling, as though he, too, had survived something arduous.

And Dash.

His dark gaze swept over her with concern, softening as their eyes met.

Relief, confusion, fury, and longing all slammed into her at once.

A sob escaped her lips before she could stop it.

“Oh—oh, thank God?—”

Dash caught her as she crumpled into him, burying her face in the solid heat of his chest. His arms wrapped around her, tight, comforting.

“ Ma princesse ,” he said softly, lowering Mr. Dog to the floor. “What is this?”

“I thought…”

“What has happened?” he asked, his voice low and urgent against her hair.

“You—” She hiccupped. “You disappeared! I thought—I thought something had happened to you. Or that you’d left me. And taken him.”

“You thought I would leave you?” His tone cracked, almost as though he’d been struck.

The answer to that, she could not give. She could barely breathe.

But she clutched the lapels of his jacket in both fists and refused to let go.

“I didn’t know— w-what happened… I thought…

I was…” But the words became harder and harder to get out, strangled between gasps for air and uncontrollable sobs.

To truly believe he might wound her so—it went against everything she thought she knew of him. There were moments it felt like she’d known him for a lifetime. And yet only days ago they had been perfect strangers, and she could not deny her own… na?veté.

It would not be the first time she had misjudged a situation—misjudged a man—so very, very wrongly.

But Dash was here now. With her. What sort of creature did that make her, to think the worst of him at the first hint of doubt?

“I—"

“Hush. You were worried for me?” He tipped her chin upward, his gaze intent upon her face. “I am sorry it took so long. A rabbit tempted le chien —your son—and he slipped his collar. He is surprisingly swift, considering those stubby little legs. Led me on a merry chase through the forest.”

Dash paused with a tentative smile, as though coaxing her to laugh at the absurdity. And perhaps it ought to have been amusing, but Ambrosia could not summon the humor now. When he perceived as much, his smile faltered, his expression sobering.

“I could not return without your dog,” he said softly. “But I am truly sorry, princesse , for giving you such a fright.”

Ambrosia bit her lip, considering his explanation. “All this time? You were chasing after Mr. Dog? You were not leaving me?”

His brows rose at her question. “I would not leave you without a word. I would never leave you without saying goodbye. Surely you realize this?”

She shook her head but then she nodded, still in his arms. “I didn’t know. I couldn’t find you.” And then, catching sight of Mr. Dog, “You naughty boy. You naughty, naughty boy!”

“I lost him completely for a little while, but as you can see, I managed to find him in the end.”

With the fear fading, Ambrosia was beginning to feel quite foolish—to break down so completely. She pulled away and sniffled a few times, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry. I imagined all sorts of horrible things…”

“I would not leave you. What kind of person would do such a thing?”

“I know. I just… Darkness fell, and my imagination got carried away. You could have been attacked, murdered, even?—”

“Or abandoned you, taking your dog. I understand.” He seemed sad as he finished for her, his shoulders slumped. “I’m going to go downstairs. Shall I have something sent up for you?”

Ambrosia turned back. “I just didn’t know.”

He nodded and then ran one hand through his hair. “There’s no need to explain. You don’t really know me, after all.”

But she did!

She wanted to say something to make them both feel better, but he was already backing out the door. “You’ll want to put him on a stronger string,” he said, and in the blink of an eye, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.