Page 46 of The Duke that I Lost

OVERDUE EXPLANATIONS

“H aven’t seen you lately.” Hawk leaned back in his chair at Hawkins Place, balancing on the rear two legs as if daring gravity to try him. “What’s the verdict? Has she forgiven you yet, or are you still determined to work as her unpaid gardener?”

Dash ignored the jab and dropped onto the sofa near the hearth, stretching out with the kind of lazy entitlement that came from years of friendship. “I’m making progress.”

“Mm.” Hawk reached for the teapot at his elbow, poured himself a fresh cup, then gestured toward the service with mock courtesy. “Tea?”

Dash gave him a withering look. “Something with bite, if you’ve got it. I’m not drowning my sorrows in Pekoe.”

Smirking, Hawk reached for the sideboard, retrieving a decanter. “Brandy for the hopeless, then.”

Dash accepted the glass, ignoring the jab, and launched into the evening’s events—her salon, her request about Lancelot, the hothouse plans. Developing the design in his mind as he spoke.

Had he forgotten about Grimm? Not for a moment. But Grimm was a scoundrel, a player, and Dash had no intention of letting him take advantage of Ambrosia.

Dash was halfway through listing the materials he’d acquired—lumber, panes of glass, benches, and far too many cornflowers—when Hawk’s chair thumped back to all four legs and he let out a bark of laughter.

“Good God, man. At this rate, Mayfair will hail you as the Royal Gardener. Get on with it already—either she forgives you, or she doesn’t. ”

Dash’s mouth flattened. “It’s not as though I kissed her one evening and then vanished. My actions were…” He cut himself off before he said too much. To tell Hawk the full truth would be to tread dangerously close to dishonoring Ambrosia, and that he would never do. “…unforgivable.”

Hawk tipped his head, his gaze sharp over the rim of his teacup.

“And yet you want forgiveness more than anything else. How do you expect to get it if you won’t bloody ask for it?

” He let the words hang a moment, then added, “Or is that what you’re afraid of?

Hearing her answer once and for all. If she’s happy—if she’s moved on—perhaps you ought to as well.

There are hundreds of chits eager to indulge you.

And a hundred more who’d be delighted to step into the role of duchess. ”

“I don’t crave hundreds of other chits,” Dash said flatly, though Hawk’s maddeningly sound logic lodged itself in his thoughts. Was he simply prolonging the inevitable?

Hawk topped off his tea and nodded toward Dash’s glass. “Drink up, mon ami. It seems you actually need it.”

Dash took a slow sip, then shook his head. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”

The fire snapped in the grate between them. There were days when he questioned his own sanity for persisting… and others when he knew—absolutely knew—that if he didn’t give this everything he had, he’d regret it the rest of his life.

Hawk raised his teacup in a mock toast. “Then may God help the lady. Because He’s certainly not helping you.”

* * *

Another fortnight later, Dash’s confidence was no longer quite so unshakable.

He’d finished the flower garden, fenced it so Lancelot wouldn’t turn it into his personal excavation site, and built a small hothouse where his princesse could indulge herself with seedlings and cuttings to her heart’s content.

Today, he’d decided on a final touch—a smooth wooden bench. Just large enough for two people, but not so large that their shoulders wouldn’t brush as they sat and admired the blossoms in the years to come.

When the last nail was driven home, Dash sat down on it—hard—feeling less like the conquering gardener of Mayfair and more like a man watching his chance at happiness slip away.

Grimm had taken her driving again that afternoon. She’d been smiling when they left, her gloved hand resting far too comfortably on his old friend’s blasted arm. She had spent time in her new garden, he knew that, but never when he was there. Not a wave. Not even the ghost of a smile.

Over six weeks back in London, and still she kept him at arm’s length.

But as he began recounting the days, the curtain in the back parlor gave the smallest ripple before falling still.

“It’s nothing,” he told himself. But a moment later the door opened, and Ambrosia stepped out—hands twisting together, gaze lowered, as though she might steady herself with each step across the lawn.

Dash drank her in like a man too long in the desert. The golden light caught in her hair, reminding him of the that day they’d bathed Mr. Dog.

And her mouth… mon Dieu . The shape of it undid him. Every step she took pulled him back into the memory of what it had been like to taste her—what it had been like to lose her.

Dash moved over so she could sit.

“This is lovely,” she said, settling beside him on the bench. He felt the warmth of her arm through the sleeve of his shirt and silently congratulated himself for making it smaller than he’d planned.

It was the closest he’d been to her since that day in Hyde Park, when she’d all but run from him. The sudden pounding of his heart caught him off guard.

And although he wanted to reach for her hand, both remained tightly clasped in her lap.

“Lady Zelda, Lady Longstaffe, her nephew, and Lord Grimstead… They did not visit me out of the goodness of their hearts, did they?”

She turned to stare at him finally, her face so close that it would be the easiest thing in the world to lean forward and taste her lips. “They said something that day in the park, when you appeared. They did not offer introductions between us. They knew that we already had an acquaintance.”

Dash had lied to her about far too much in the beginning.

No more.

He nodded to himself. From this moment forward, she would hear nothing but truth from his lips.

“I left the Wootens’ home in the early hours,” he began, his voice steady. “Walked to Joseph’s Well and bought a horse I’d noticed the night before.”

“That’s right, you still needed to find Guinevere! I’ve wanted to know: Did you ever get her back?”

“I did.” His answer elicited an immediate smile.

God, he wanted that smile in his life. “Gwennie returned to the Fainting Goat Inn, in fact, where you and I met.”

She blinked, her eyes unusually bright, but her smile grew. “I am glad.”

“I have her with me, here in London.” Perhaps he could lure her with his horse…

but they were getting off topic. “You asked me about Lady Longstaffe’s visit.

The short answer. Yes. I went to school with her nephew.

When I… left you, I had a plan. I asked Mr. Daniels to drive slowly, because I knew I wouldn’t have much time before you arrived. ”

“Mr. Daniels knew?”

“One of the drivers at an inn recognized me. I purchased his silence the day you saw me giving him money. I wasn’t ready…” Dash shrugged. “When I arrived, I had my solicitor investigate the details of your inheritance.”

“Wouldn’t that be personal information? Is that even legal?” Ambrosia was frowning and then, “Is your solicitor, by chance, a man by the name of Mr. Burleson?”

Ah, yes. His princesse was not dull of mind.

“I didn’t want you to have to face unnecessary difficulties when you arrived. I knew you would be downhearted.”

“I was devastated.” Her anger, her pain, flared for that moment.

Dash swallowed hard. “I simply arranged for a few… improvements to Autumn House. And enough funds to… lubricate your standing in society. Mr. Carrington supervised the work at the house, and Longstaffe assured your introductions. I didn’t have any time afterward… I had to leave for Margate…”

She went very still but for the faint rise of her chest that betrayed a quickened breath.

When she finally spoke, her voice was controlled, careful. But she didn’t look at him.

“Mr. Carrington was very obliging, and he and the rest of the staff have been an immense help these past two years, but… I don’t like all the secrecy, the lies.

Dash, I—How many people were in on this?

” And there, her control began to slip, a dawning look of horror rising in her eyes.

“My staff, my solicitor, my friends. Was any of it even real?”

Merde , he was only making her more upset. “Of course it was, princesse. It is real. The staff and Mr. Burleson answer to you now. Your friends and successes are your own.”

“But they’re not! They can’t be.”

Dash stopped short. She was angry—which he had expected, but not about this. “I only wanted to help you, pr ? —”

Ambrosia let out an aggrieved groan, cutting him off. “Don’t call me that. How many times must I tell you? I thought—” Her voice cracked. “I used to think that you listened to me. That you heard me.”

“I did listen to you,” he insisted, and he had. But even as he said it, he realized that somewhere along the way, he’d… forgotten.

During their brief journey together, she’d told him multiple times and in different ways how she wanted her independence in London, that she’d needed to prove something to herself in obtaining it on her own.

And she had asked to him to refrain from calling her by that old nickname.

Yet he’d ignored both of those things. Her wishes had become subordinate to his own—his need to assuage his own guilt after leaving her, his desire to feel close to her again now that he was back.

“I am sorry, Ambrosia,” he said, careful to address her by her name. “I am. You’re right. I went about this all the wrong way, didn’t I?”

Her hands flew to her face with a low moan, her shoulders curling inward as she shook her head. This time, he did slide an arm around her—but only to offer comfort. He told himself it was not for him, not to indulge in the feel of her body against his, or breathe in more of her delicate scent.

“I thought I’d done it on my own,” she said, voice muffled behind her hands. “With my own resources.”

Cursed be my eyes. Was this a mistake? Had he ruined her life by returning to London?