Page 51 of The Duke that I Lost

THINK IT OVER

“B ut—I thought we were driving.” Ambrosia halted on the step, her eyes widening as they landed on the magnificent mare before her. She let out a little gasp. “Guinevere!”

Dash rocked back on his heels, savoring the wonder in her face. Mon Dieu , he could have lived off that look alone. Each time he saw her, she seemed more radiant than the last. Today, she nearly stole his breath.

The jaunty blue hat, set at a daring angle, showed just enough of her curls to make his fingers itch to free them. Her gown, the same shade, skimmed her figure in a way that hinted at the lush curves beneath—curves he remembered far too well and craved all over again.

“She has been anxious to meet you.” He patted the mare’s neck. Guinevere’s dark coat gleamed like polished satin, her ears flicking forward at Ambrosia’s voice.

Unable to resist, Dash added, “If I recall, we may never have become acquainted properly if my… horse had not caught your eye that day.” His tone was light, teasing, but they both knew it had been he who had truly captured her interest.

Ambrosia leveled him with a look, long lashes lowering just enough to veil her eyes. It was the sort of look that told him she heard his teasing perfectly well…and that she had no intention of dignifying it with a reply.

Then she turned back to Guinevere with a sad little sigh. “But I do not ride. I once wanted a horse—wanted to learn—but… I changed my mind.” Her voice hitched, and he knew…

“Time to change that,” he said softly, laying a hand along the Gwennie’s strong neck. “Guinevere is as steady as the sunrise, and strong enough for the both of us.”

He leaned closer to the horse’s ear, his voice low, intimate. “ Voilà, ma belle… voici mon c?ur.”

Here she is, my heart.

The mare flicked an ear as though she understood, and Dash grinned, his expression unguarded for the briefest instant.

Then, with the ease of long practice, he swung himself into the saddle. Leather creaked, Guinevere shifted beneath him, and Dash looked down at Ambrosia with a smile that was equal parts invitation and promise. He extended his hand, palm open, steady as stone.

Still, Ambrosia hesitated.

“Shouldn’t I change my gown? I do happen to own a riding habit, despite never riding.”

“Give me your hand, princesse , and set your foot on my boot. Trust me.”

Would she? Would she be as open to adventure as she had been two years ago?

She glanced up and down the quiet street, bit her lip, then stepped forward. The moment her gloved fingers slid into his, a charge shot straight through him, chasing the darkness from his chest.

Sparks. Life. Her .

Gathering her skirts with her other hand, she let out a nervous laugh and lifted her slippered foot onto his boot. “If you’re sure…”

“More than anything.” Leaning back to make room, Dash drew her up effortlessly until she was perched before him, pressed to his chest, utterly in his keeping.

Laughter bubbled from her lips. It wrapped around his heart.

“We’re so high up,” she exclaimed, clutching the pommel. “Are you certain she can carry us both?”

Dash reached around her, patting Guinevere’s neck and allowing his cheek to graze Ambrosia’s temple.

The scent of her—lavender and something sweet, purely Ambrosia—caught like a fever in his blood.

“Gwennie is larger than most horses. And besides,” he added lowly, his breath stirring her hair, “you are but a slip of a thing.”

Just then Guinevere shifted, dancing lightly to the side.

Ambrosia stiffened, her back going rigid against him.

“Easy, princesse ,” he soothed, sliding his hand over hers on the rein. “Lean into me and just breathe. I have you.”

One breath. And then another.

She relaxed, letting herself melt against him. He felt the surrender in her body, the trust in the way her shoulders eased.

“Are you afraid?” he asked softly, his lips so near her ear he felt the shiver run through her.

She shook her head. “Not with you.”

Mon Dieu.

“She’s sensitive to her rider, so not much effort is required to let her know what I want.

” He covered Ambrosia’s hands with his, his large fingers guiding hers on the leather reins, showing her the language of touch between horse and rider.

Together they moved as one, and as they left the street and slipped into the quiet of the near-empty park, he felt her body as though it was his own.

“Oh, but this is wonderful,” she breathed, wonder lacing every word. “I feel…”

“Free?” Dash supplied, the corner of his mouth lifting.

She nodded, her head brushing the edge of his jaw. “And powerful.”

Dash sucked in a breath. That admission had far too strong an effect on him. She was glorious like this—alight, alive, a queen upon a throne. She was powerful. She certainly held immense power over him.

“I’ll teach you to ride on your own,” he promised. “We’ll find a mount perfect for your size, one that will adore you.” The words spilled from him without thought, without caution, because in this moment, it was impossible to imagine a world where she was not his future.

She didn’t respond, and he felt the shift in her, a reserve slipping back into place. Perhaps he should not have spoken so freely; it was too soon after he’d only barely won his way back into her good graces. But he needed her to know—needed her to see where his heart pointed.

“Tell me about your life now,” Dash coaxed, his breath catching on a curl of her hair. “I want to know you again.” All of you, he thought, though he bit back the words.

But then he looked at her, and even with just the side of her face visible, he could make out her flushed cheeks, the glimmer of excitement in her eyes, could hear the shallow hitch of her breathing.

He had not imagined it then. She was still affected by him, by his touch, by his voice—ha! And his accent as well, he was pretty sure.

Dash couldn’t help a satisfied smirk, though it softened when her laughter came, rich and bright.

“What do you want to know?”

Dash hummed as though he was truly thinking it over. “I believe ‘everything’ ought to suffice.”

“Everything?” she teased, twisting her head just enough to glance back at him, her eyes dancing.

“Everything. I want to know about your first salon. I want to know who has befriended you, how you occupy your days, the books you’ve read, the music you listen to…” Do you think of me when you lie in your bed at night, as I have you? Do you taste the same? “Will you tell me, ma chérie?”

She paused, and he worried for a moment that he’d pushed too far again, that she would give him nothing, but then her voice came, quiet and reflective. “It was difficult in the beginning. I was lonely… and yet, I wanted to be alone.”

Branches reached into their path as they entered a tree-lined trail. Dash swept them aside with one hand, ensuring they brushed neither Guinevere nor his princesse .

“Lady Longstaffe has been very kind,” Ambrosia continued.

“Her nephew, Major Lord Longstaffe, has been a good friend to me. When he hinted that he might wish to court me…” She gave the tiniest shake of her head.

“I could not. We remained only friends, and I told him—some of what happened with you.” Her lips pressed together.

“Of course, he has no idea who you were. Who you are. So you mustn’t worry… ”

Longstaffe? His friend Longstaffe? Jeremiah, the one he’d trusted to keep watch over her?

Dieu du ciel . Was there not a single one of his old schoolmates in all of England who hadn’t tried their hand at winning her?

His mind spun—was now the time to tell her that Jeremiah Penvale had been one of the boys at Harrowgate? That her “good friend” had known exactly whom she was speaking of all along?

And why in hell hadn’t Hawk mentioned this particular detail? Or Carrington, for that matter?

Dash’s jaw tightened. He forced a smile, but his chest burned with a mix of disbelief and rueful amusement. Of course. Leave Ambrosia alone for two bloody years, and naturally every man he trusted would rush in to fill the void.

Despite his feelings of jealousy, though… a sliver of relief trickled through. She had not been wholly alone.

“And Lady Zelda?” he asked, grasping for something to anchor himself.

Ambrosia’s mouth curved faintly. “A delightful gossip. She insists on keeping me apprised of every scandal in Mayfair, whether I wish it or not. And then there is…”

“Lord Grimstead?” The name slipped out before he could stop it.

Ambrosia glanced over her shoulder, her expression flickering between discomfort and guilt before she looked quickly away.

“I know he can be… outrageous. But he can be amusing at times as well. And he is… kind.” The last word caught faintly, and before Dash could read too deeply into it, she waved one hand as though brushing the thought aside. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

Dash’s jaw flexed. His grip tightened on the reins until the leather creaked, frustration burning hot in his chest.

But if he lingered, if he let it show, then Grimm would steal this moment too. And Dash would not allow that. Not when Ambrosia was here, pressed warm against him.

With deliberate calm he bent closer. “And what of Lancelot? Tell me he has not been corrupted by Society as well.”

Ambrosia’s head tilted slightly, and for a fleeting instant her eyes met his, searching.

She knew what he was doing—sidestepping Grimm, steering them back to safer ground. But instead of calling him on it, her lips curved up, and she chuckled softly.

“Dearest Lancelot has been more accepted than myself, I daresay.” She turned her head and for a moment time stood still.

And then she giggled. His lovely princesse giggled—and the sound wrapped around his chest, flooding him with warmth.