Page 48 of The Duke that I Lost

GIVING IN

B irds sang, the sun shone, and for London the sky was disarmingly blue. Dash noticed none of it. His very skin felt ill-fitting, and each step toward Ambrosia’s door was weighted, his legs dragging as heavily as his heart.

He’d endured disappointment before, endured compromise—but defeat? That was not something he knew how to wear.

Only when he was a few houses away did he glance down and recognize the suit he wore. The same one he had worn to Hannah’s funeral. His chest constricted. Of course it would be. Because today felt like a funeral as well—a burial of hope.

And the bouquet in his hands? It mocked him, the bright blossoms absurd in their cheer, as though the world itself had conspired to remind him of all he would never have.

Still, he forced himself to Ambrosia’s door.

Three knocks—sharp, certain, though inside he was unraveling.

Carrington answered almost immediately.

“Is she here?” Dash asked. His pulse thundered in his throat.

“She is,” Carrington replied carefully. “She is having an at-home.” The butler’s face showed a flicker of hesitation.

“No need to worry, my friend.” Dash forced a half-smile, brittle at the edges. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Carrington pursed his lips but, of course, eventually inclined his head, stepping aside. “The small drawing room, Your Grace.”

The foyer was warm—stifling.

Dash slid two fingers under his cravat, tugging at the starched linen as if it might loosen the knot in his chest. The spring had passed too quickly; soon enough the ton would empty out of London, retreating to country estates.

Hawk was right—had been right all along.

Dash had dragged this out too long.

He followed the low hum of voices down the corridor and stopped at the threshold. The room was crowded with nearly a dozen guests. Genteel laughter blended with sounds of cups of tea chinking against saucers.

This sort of affair was the kind that could bore a man senseless.

And yet when the first pair of eyes turned toward him, the hum in the room faltered.

The Duke of Dasborough was present.

“Dasborough, old boy.” Grimm, of course, rose and greeted him with an outstretched hand.

Dash ignored it. And instead searched for…

His gaze immediately found Ambrosia.

She sat near the hearth, lovely as ever, but the bright smile she’d had fell when her eyes met his. Was she concerned that he’d ruin her at-home, just as he’d ruined her life?

“Just a word, Madam Bloomington, and I’ll be on my way.” His voice sounded loud to his own ears. The others didn’t even pretend to mind their own business.

“Won’t you join us?” This from Grimm, as though he were host to Ambrosia’s hostess.

Without moving his eyes from Ambrosia, Dash shook his head.

“I haven’t time, I’m afraid.” Dash stood straighter, locking his hands behind his back as though only rigid control would keep them there. His voice was steady, but every word cost him. She needed to see that he was serious. She must—surely she must.

At his words, Ambrosia rose, gracious as ever, murmuring polite excuses to the guests who clustered around her. Of course she was the center of attention—how could she not be? That room revolved around her the way the earth tilted toward the sun.

“Shall we go outside?” she asked once they reached the hush of the foyer, her smile soft but her eyes searching.

Outside. Alone? Mon Dieu . If he had her to himself, he wasn’t sure he could go through with this.

She was still affected by him—he’d seen it in every stolen glance, every catch of her breath. And he… he feared his own weakness. He’d take her hand, draw her too close, perhaps even kiss her—and that would ruin everything.

“No,” he answered at once. His heart thundered with the effort of denial. “But I wanted you to know—I am leaving.”

She blinked, confusion flickering across her features. “But you just got here?” Her voice was light, with just a hint of a quiver beneath it.

She did not understand.

“I’m returning to Dasborough Park—my estate in Devonshire. I won’t be bothering you any longer.” He barely got the words past the thickness of his throat. “I’m sorry—for everything.” And then he held out the bouquet of flowers he’d brought.

A short bark was followed by the scampering of little feet. Dash squatted down and used both hands to rub the dog. “Take good care of your mum, old chap.” He even allowed Lancelot to get a few licks in.

It would be the last time. He was glad she’d had this little creature for company when he left her before. And he couldn’t help himself…

“We’ll always have Stonehenge.” Dash smiled weakly up at her.

“Did I hear you say you were leaving us for the country?”

Grimm’s voice cut in, smooth as silk. Of course he’d followed. Of course he’d pounce on Dash’s defeat. The bounder.

Leaving us , he’d said.

Not just her. Us. Him and Ambrosia together.

Dash straightened to his full height, every inch the duke. His voice was quiet, but it carried the promise of steel. “Hurt her, my friend, and you are a dead man.”

The earl showed no surprise—only the faintest curl of a mocking smile. But Ambrosia’s eyes flew wide, her breath catching audibly in the stillness.

Not waiting for a response, Dash studied her one last time, hungry to hold one last memory.

But where to rest his gaze? On the shimmer of her hair, the peach and cream of her skin, the curve of her mouth he had once tasted? Or her eyes—those emerald eyes that had once looked at him with nothing but love?

It would never be enough.

He turned and marched toward the door, opened it, and closed it silently behind him.

He had thought himself hollow two years ago, when he’d left her sleeping. But even then, he had nursed a tiny ember of hope.

Today, even that ember was extinguished.

It was over.

* * *

“We’ll be leaving for Dasborough Park first thing tomorrow morning,” Dash muttered, tugging off his cravat as he entered his chambers a few hours later.

Mr. Edwards’s brows shot up. “As you wish, Your Grace. I’ll have the trunks packed. Though…” He paused just long enough to smooth an invisible crease on Dash’s discarded coat. “I had rather thought London might hold you captive a bit longer. What with all the… gardening.”

Dash stilled, his jaw tightening. “Just pack the trunks, Edwards. I’ve no need of a commentary.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” The valet bowed, his face politely blank—but the faintest flicker at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Dash swore under his breath. Mon Dieu . Was there no corner of London where his damned pining hadn’t been noted? That even his valet dared to jest proved the humiliating truth: his longing for Ambrosia might just as well have been on the front page of every London newspaper.

But that was the least of his regrets.

He had spent the day with Burleson, informing the solicitor that Ambrosia must finally be told the truth of her accounts. She deserved that much, at least. He had also placed a last order for bulbs to be delivered to her garden after his departure—one final indulgence.

He shouldn’t have. He ought to give her the clean break he’d promised, but it would be the last thing he’d do.

But the last-minute errands meant they would not quit London until the next morning. He’d sent word to Hawk, cancelling their evening at White’s. He wasn’t up to enduring the fellow’s smug jeers tonight. Not when his feelings were this raw.

After dismissing his impertinent valet, who would no doubt trot downstairs and regale the rest of the staff with tales of their love-sick master, Dash stared, unseeing, down at the carpet.

Every curse he knew tore through his thoughts, directed at himself. None of his intentions had panned out, good or otherwise.

He’d left without saying goodbye to protect her.

He’d involved himself in her affairs in order to pave her way in London.

He’d returned to London with the hope that she might still love him.

With a growl, he stripped off his waistcoat and flung it aside.

None of it had mattered.

On impulse he twisted the silver ring from his finger—the ring he had worn on his left hand that summer in Joseph’s Well, then shifted to his right on his wedding day, never once removed since. He hurled it into the corner. The pathetic thud it made only deepened the emptiness inside him.

He pressed his forehead to the bedpost, once, twice—harder the second time, as though pain might knock sense into him.

A knock at the door broke through his brooding.

“What is it?” he rasped, the words rough as gravel.

The door creaked open, and Beatrice slipped inside.

“Mr. Edwards says we’re leaving?” She tilted her head, her eyes asking all her unspoken questions.

Dash did his best to be civil. “I’m sorry, Bea. I should have asked you first. I’ve been a horrid brother the past few months, haven’t I? I should have taken you about this Season, given you the attention you deserve.”

She shrugged, her expression filled with more kindness than he deserved. “Did you really think that was why I came? I only wish you had let me help you. That you would have let me go to her?—”

“ Non. I appreciate it, ma s?ur. Truly. But it should not fall to you to rectify my mistakes. Besides, I’ve disrupted her life too much already. I cannot undo that, but… I can respect her wishes going forward.”

Beatrice studied him for a moment, her brow creasing.

“You’re sure?”

Dash could only nod.

And then… “Very well. I’ll pack. Mrs. Hargrave will be glad to have her ballroom back, I’m sure.

She complains that the straw finds its way into every room.

” She forced a smile then, for him. “I far prefer hunting in the country, anyway. These Mayfair gentlemen make such a fuss when one little arrow goes astray.”

Dash tried to laugh, because his sister never missed her mark, but his humor eluded him.

“Go on, then. We’ll leave at sunup.”

Beatrice lingered in the doorway a heartbeat longer, her eyes filled with worry.

“I’m fine, Bea.” Even if he didn’t sound fine.

He would be.

Someday.

With a dip of her chin, his sister slipped away, leaving him to wallow in regrets.

Dash collapsed into his chair, hollowed out, feeling more hopeless as the room darkened. Time blurred—minutes, hours, who could say—until another knock rattled him upright. This one was brisk, insistent.

“Your Grace,” came the butler’s voice. “Cook has prepared supper and?—”

“I’m not hungry.”

A pause. Then, quietly but firmly: “Very well, sir. But… there is another matter. A young woman has presented herself and wishes to meet with you. Most unusual, at this hour, and alone. Says she is Mrs. Bloomington.”

For a heartbeat, Dash thought he’d misheard.

“ Mrs. Bloomington? She is here?”

“Yes, Your Grace. I put her in the Gold Drawing Room. I wasn’t sure if?—”

But Dash was already on his feet, already striding for the door. “ Merci .” His voice cracked.

She was here.

Why? To scold him for intruding on her at-home? To make certain he was truly leaving her alone? Or—dear God…

Because she did not want him to go?

The sconces along the corridor flared and fell behind him, their light flickering as he strode past. Was there still hope?

His pulse hammered in time with his steps, every beat propelling him faster. He took the stairs two at a time and flung open the door?—

And there she was.

Ma princesse .

She sat rigidly on the edge of a gilded chair, ankles neatly crossed, every line of her body tight with resolve. When she lifted her chin, her eyes caught his, unflinching.

She wore the same gown she’d had on earlier, but somehow, she was even more beautiful now.

“Mrs. Bloomington,” Dash greeted softly, and then waited.

“I know you said you were going home, but I just—I still don’t understand.

” The words burst from her in a rush, stripped bare of nicety.

“After what we shared together, why did you leave that day? Why couldn’t you stay with me?

Why did you feel the need to abandon me in such a cruel way?

Because I thought—” Her voice broke, and she blinked a little frantically, her eyes shining.

“All this time, I thought it was my fault. I thought you’d left because of something I’d done. ”