Page 32 of The Duke that I Lost

Dash chuckled. “I’ll be sure to thank him, then.” His tone was teasing, but his gaze… oh, his gaze was not.

She should have blushed. Should have pulled back. But her heart was soaring, and her limbs felt light as air. She was in his arms and—for just this moment—she didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world.

As her confidence grew, he guided her closer to the other couples, to the heart of the music. Still holding her hand, still watching her like she was the only thing in the world worth watching.

“I am stomping on your toes,” she admitted ruefully but he simply held her closer. When the music halted again, he didn’t release her but waited until it began again, this time an even slower melody.

Magic. This night was pure magic.

The steps came more easily as the night wore on, and there was nowhere for her to look but into his eyes. Both of their smiles faded, but something passed between them, an understanding that each breath together was special—meant for the two of them. This night would never be forgotten.

“I will miss you, princesse .” The words were spoken softly, as though his throat had tightened with emotion.

“I will miss you, Dashwood Cochran étienne Philippe Jean-Baptiste Louis Beckman.”

His eyes widened, but then he shook his head and held her closer.

Improperly close, but she didn’t care. The night would come to an end soon enough.

As she felt his lips brush the side of her face, she turned and pressed her face into his chest. Inhaling, she memorized the texture of his shirt and jacket, the spicy scent that was a blend of soap and sweat that somehow managed to be more alluring than any cologne she’d ever known.

And then she pressed a kiss onto his shirt front.

When the music ended, they both remained in each other’s arms. “Shall we walk back by ourselves, princesse?”

The evening was almost over, but she wanted to take every moment that she could.

“Unless you are too tired? Or is it that you would prefer to stay?” he asked when she didn’t answer right away.

“No, it’s all right. A walk back with just the two of us sounds lovely. Let’s go home.”

Oh, but it wasn’t home. And she knew sadness would come all too quickly.

When the music struck up again, livelier this time, he placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and they informed the Wootens that they were going to return to the house on foot.

Already they had left Mr. Dog alone in the house for too long.

Mrs. Wooten smiled. “Don’t bother waiting up for us!” she instructed. And then, with a wave goodbye, she sent Ambrosia a wink.

Neither spoke much walking back, but he kept her close beside him as though he was reluctant to let her go.

Don’t let me go, then.

An impossible plea. Something or someone in his life had a hold over him. He’d promised her that he was not married, and she knew he wasn’t a criminal. And yet, he would walk away from her in a day or two’s time, and that would be the end of it.

Before they even entered the house, Mr. Dog let out a string of barks, and then welcomed them enthusiastically as they entered the kitchen. Dash finally released her to light a flint and then a few candles in the kitchen.

“I’ll get his leading string and take him out,” Ambrosia said as she edged around the table. The Wootens were not home yet and there was nobody to pretend for.

“I’ll take him.” Dash had already stoked the fire in the stove, the flames casting a flickering glow across his features. “I’d rather you not wander around in the dark by yourself.”

Ambrosia hesitated in the doorway, her fingers curling around the edge of her shawl.

“Make certain he doesn’t get away again,” she said quietly, her voice catching on the memory.

The sting of that memory—the fear she'd felt the night before, believing Dash might have left her without a word—hadn't entirely faded.

His eyes lifted to meet hers then, the fire forgotten. He reached for the leading string but, before taking it, wrapped his fingers gently around hers. A reassuring squeeze. A wordless promise.

“I’ll keep him close,” he said, softer now. “You have my word.”

The day had been full—of laughter, of dancing, of romancing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awake in her own skin.

Like she mattered.

But with nightfall came the creeping ache of what loomed ahead. This—whatever this was between them—was fleeting. And that knowledge settled in her chest like a stone.

She nodded, her throat tight.

Dash gave her a lopsided smile—mischief dimmed now to something gentler, something harder to name.

“Never worry for me, princesse ,” he said. Then, tugging lightly on Mr. Dog’s lead, he turned and disappeared into the dark.

Not knowing how long he’d be gone, Ambrosia poured out a pitcher of warm water and then, taking one of the tapers, hurried upstairs.

Once in their attic room, she reluctantly removed the lovely gown Mrs. Wooten had loaned her and draped it over a chair. The air was cool, but her skin was hot. She washed the dirt of the day off, as much as she could with one cloth, and then slid into her night rail.

He did not come upstairs right away. She heard the door close, and then other sounds from the kitchen. He might be going to feed Mr. Dog, or give him some water. She was tempted to climb into the comfortable-looking bed, but they hadn’t discussed what their sleeping arrangements would be.

She wasn’t certain what she wanted them to be.

Follow your heart…

There really was no other comfortable place for him to sleep, and the Wootens would expect him to sleep in the bed with her…

“Ambrosia?” She jumped. She’d been contemplating the night so hard that she hadn’t heard him climb the stairs.

His hair was wet, and he’d removed his waistcoat and jacket.

He’d slept beside her in the tent two nights before but this was different somehow. It felt so much more intimate.

She could not keep her eyes from staring at the curling tendrils of hair on his bare chest, revealed by the unfastened buttons at the top of his shirt. Shadows flickered over the defined muscles around his collarbone, the strong lines of his neck.

He looked wild and undone—and entirely beautiful.

This might be her only chance.

Tonight , he could be… her Dash?

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her resolve did not waver.

She had never thought to do anything like this in her life. Never dared to want something so openly, never claimed anything for herself—not her life, not her body, not even her future. But now?

Now, she wanted to remember what it felt like to want, and to be wanted in return.

He turned slightly to stare out the window and she saw it then: the tension in his shoulders, an ache beneath the ease he wore like armor. He had given her so many smiles, so many warm words, but there was pain in him too. She could feel it, even in the silence.

Perhaps sensing the shift in the air, he turned back around.

“Ambrosia?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she gathered all the courage she possessed, the kind of courage borne not of recklessness but of desire—of choosing something for herself, even if it could only be for a single night.

With trembling hands, she reached for the buttons at the neck of her night rail.

Her gaze did not leave his. Not once. Not as she slowly unbuttoned one, and then another, until she could push one sleeve off her shoulder.

And then let it fall to the floor in a whisper of linen.

He stilled.

Every muscle in his body went tight. His arms dropped to his sides, hands fisted, as though he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. All traces of playfulness vanished from his face. What remained was stunned silence, his eyes dark, hooded, devouring her.

And still, he didn’t move.

The only sound in the room was uneven rhythm of his breath.

“Ambrosia,” he said at last, his voice raw, hoarse—like her name cost him something to say. “Mon dieu…”

She could feel her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, in every inch of bare skin exposed to the air. But she didn’t cover herself. She didn’t shrink back.

“Should we not… consummate our marriage?” she asked softly, her voice steadier than she expected. And though the words were bold, and a little awkward, there was a plea beneath them. Not for pleasure. Not even for love.

For something real .

Something that would belong only to her.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you.” But his eyes roved over her nakedness and he’d moved closer. So close that his scent surrounded her. “I cannot?—”

Ambrosia reached out and stopped his words with her fingertips. She allowed her other hand to part the top of his shirt so that she could touch the hairs she’d found fascinating just moments before.

If she did not have him now, she was certain, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

“I have not known love, Dash. And although I’ve always believed it existed, I’ve never felt it—not in the way people describe. And physical satisfaction…” Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t look away. “I’ve never felt that either. Not truly.”

She watched his throat bob with a swallow, his jaw tight as stone.

“It’s all I ask of you tonight,” she whispered. “Just for tonight, won’t you…” She hesitated, then added with aching sincerity, “Love me?”

His nostrils flared. She could see the pulse in his throat racing.

He looked as though he were about to break in two.

“Please?” The word was barely audible as she dropped her hand.

That’s when it happened.

All the restraint in his gaze—it shattered. The torment that had filled his expression darkened into something else entirely. Heat. Hunger. A desperate, reckless kind of longing.

“ Mon dieu .” He stripped off his shirt in one movement and stood before her, bare-chested, the firelight casting golden shadows across his skin. His chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, and his eyes—those eyes that had always danced with amusement—were now searing.