Page 26 of The Duke that I Lost

A BUMP IN THE ROAD

A fter a restless night, Ambrosia awoke early, donned the dress she’d brushed out the evening before, knotted her hair tightly behind her head, and determined she would most definitely not be an emotional ninny today.

She would not sit in her chamber waiting for Dash to come for her this morning. With a decisive snap, she closed her valise. She would go downstairs, order her own breakfast, and then seek out Mr. Daniels.

She would take charge of her day.

But at the top of the stairs, strong hands caught her by the shoulders. “Whoa there.” His voice was warm with laughter as her valise thudded to the floor. “Were you planning to sneak off without me?”

It was clearly a joke. But still.

“We’ll want to make an early start,” she said, looking at the floor.

She meant it to sound brisk. Practical. But then she made the mistake of meeting his eyes—and all that defiance wavered.

Because the look he gave her could only be described as… tender.

He reached for her hands, engulfing them in his.

“Ambrosia,” he murmured, eyes fixed on where their fingers intertwined, then rising to meet hers. “I hate that I’ve hurt you.”

His voice, gruff and low, cracked just slightly, and in those stormy blue eyes, there was something close to pleading.

“You’ve been nothing but kind.” She straightened her shoulders in an attempt to gather her wits and step away, but he would not release her hands.

“But I scared you. I ought to have realized how frightened you would be and not blamed you for thinking the worst of me. I am sorry. Forgive me, princesse ?”

“There is nothing to forgive. You are a free man. It’s just that…” I know that you are going to leave me eventually—that I will never see you again after we part.

He leaned down, hovered for an instant, and then dropped a kiss on the curve of her cheek. He hovered there longer than necessary, his breath heating her skin, almost as though he was contemplating his next move.

Ambrosia dissolved beneath it, her body softening, her very bones seeming to melt away. She tipped her head, offering her neck, her shoulders—anything, everything—if only he would continue.

“We shall have a good day today, eh? We are friends, non ?” He drew back, and the sudden absence left her chilled, flustered… and aching. She noticed, too, how his accent thickened—something she had come to recognize as a sign of deep emotion.

She nodded and bent to retrieve her valise. “We are,” she said quietly, and when she looked up again, she added a bright smile for good measure. “And we’re going to have a lovely day.”

She meant it. Truly, she did.

The time they’d spent together already felt…precious—something she knew she’d carry with her long after they reached London. And though she’d tried not to think on it too much, she realized with a pang that they weren’t as far from the city as she’d hoped.

Soon—too soon—this strange, beautiful interlude would end.

But she wouldn’t ruin it by sulking. She wouldn’t waste these final hours wishing things were different.

She would enjoy every last moment. Even if her heart ached for more.

Dash scooped Mr. Dog into his arms, and, reminded of what he’d said last night, she laughed.

It didn’t sound as forced as she’d thought it would. “You really chased him through the forest? Did he ever catch the rabbit?”

Dash growled in mock disgust. “Ah, no. I had more chance of catching the rabbit than your dog, the rogue.”

They climbed into the back of the carriage together and, although she couldn’t shed all the tension simmering inside, she managed to remain sitting normally on her side of the bench when he lowered himself beside her.

Was it only yesterday that he’d pulled her to lay against him? She glanced over, and the look in his eyes gave away that he might be thinking the same thing.

Ambrosia lifted Mr. Dog to sit between them and turned to stare out the window. “I found our trip to Stonehenge yesterday most enjoyable. I’m so glad we visited. Thank you for thinking of it.” Oh, that sounded wonderfully cheerful, she congratulated herself.

“Anything to see you smile.” He remained solidly on his side of the bench, Mr. Dog an effective barrier.

“How much farther to London?” For the answer to this question, she turned to face him properly, wanting to see his expression.

“With good weather we could arrive by tomorrow night.” He didn’t look particularly happy about it.

“Will that be soon enough?”

He fixed his gaze on her, steady and unreadable. “ Oui, princesse . More than enough time to make my… party.”

One would think he spoke of a prison sentence rather than a celebration.

Ambrosia turned back to her window and they rode in silence for nearly an hour before either of them spoke.

“I don’t know about you,” Dash finally said, reaching down beside his boots, “but I’m starving.” He drew up a cloth sack she hadn’t noticed before and rummaged within. “What’ll it be, princesse —cherry or apple?”

He held out two pastries, one in each hand.

“Neither.” She’d barely eaten from the tray he’d sent to her room the night before, and she wasn’t hungry now either. Or perhaps she was—but not for food. “And would you please stop calling me that?”

“ Princesse ?” His brow arched, teasing. “You do not like it?”

“I do not like what it implies…” She faltered, though she tried to sound brisk. It implied she was special to him. It reminded her, with piercing clarity, that she had kissed him. Foolish, reckless girl. And yet—wicked as it was—she longed to do it again.

“What exactly does it imply, princ —Ambrosia?” Then, as if sensing she wouldn’t— couldn’t —answer, he set one of the pastries on a napkin and placed it gently in her lap.

“You had better eat, or your son here will decide it was meant for him.”

“Argh!” Her exasperation got the better of her as she picked up the pastry and tore a not-so-ladylike bite off with her teeth. She didn’t want to have this discussion. She’d come to terms with the fact that friendship was all that could exist between the two of them.

Which was fine.

Perfectly fine.

So why did he have to look at her as though she was the pastry at times? Why did he have to tease her? Why had he held her in his arms yesterday morning?

Why was he even here? He could have acquired a mount at any number of stops they’d made along the way now.

“You don’t want to tell me?” he pressed.

She had his full attention right now and she wasn’t certain that she wanted it.

“It implies that you… feel a particular affection for me. That you... want me. Perhaps it means nothing to other ladies of your acquaintance. Perhaps they are aware that you are nothing more than a ridiculous flirt. But I am not like other ladies. I thought that… And then I kissed you… And now… If you are so repulsed by me—if you see me as some sort of little sister to watch out for—I’d appreciate it if you refrain from your flirtatious behavior for the remainder of our journey.

I’ve already made enough of a cake of myself. I?—”

He turned so abruptly to face her that Mr. Dog hopped off the bench and onto the floor.

“ Mon Dieu ,” Dash rasped, his voice shaking. “You think I see you as a little sister?”

His chest rose and fell as if he'd been holding his breath for days. One hand braced against the seat between them, while the other curled into a fist against his thigh.

“I wish that were true. I wish it were that simple,” he said.

His entire body was tense.

There was… something volatile—longing, maybe, or regret.

“You think I wasn’t affected by that kiss? Merde. It took everything in me not to touch you more. Not to let go. I wanted nothing more than to keep kissing you—to taste every inch of your skin… and then bury myself deep inside you.”

He leaned closer, not touching her, but invading every inch of her space. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, reverent and aching.

“Oui, you are très belle . But this is not all… I wish to make you mine, to hold in my hands something I have never had before. The light in you. The hope. There is in you a goodness that makes me believe—perhaps, Ambrosia —that I might be good again also.”

But he is good!

His breath was on her lips now, and though he hadn't laid a finger on her, her entire body felt scorched.

“I want you. I do,” he whispered again, like a vow.

Ambrosia’s heart pounded against her ribs. Her lips parted, but the words took a moment to form.

“Then… why?”

He ran a hand through his hair and sat back a few inches. “If things were different… but they are not. I cannot because… I am backed into a corner, and it wouldn’t be fair—to you. That’s all I can say.”

And again, he told her absolutely nothing.

He reached out to tilt her chin up, not allowing her to look at anything but him. “Do not doubt that I feel the same. This want.” He blinked, his eyes appearing brighter than usual. “For now, you are my princesse, non ? Even if we will say goodbye soon?”

She nodded slowly, a lump forming in her throat. Yes, she thought. Even if it breaks my heart.

She wished he would do more than kiss her. Wished he’d share the secret that kept him from reaching for her fully. But she didn’t press. If he wanted to give her those truths, he would. And if he didn’t…

Then so be it.

The silence between them settled, tender but heavy.

And suddenly, Ambrosia became achingly aware of everything around her: the way the light flickered across his features through the carriage window; the dust motes floating between them like suspended breath; the warm scent of him—soap and spice and wind.

Mr. Dog gave a soft sigh at her feet, and beneath them, the wheels rumbled over the road.

Every detail stamped itself into her memory.

She would never forget this. This man. This moment.

Because something inside her knew she would never meet another like him again.

But she didn’t say any of that.

She gave him a half smile instead.