"It does not appear to be so painful for you. You were the one who approached me," he shrugged, a smug smile plastered all over his face.
"I came with a reason," she said through gritted teeth.
"And now that you are in my presence, you have forgotten everything entirely? Lady Daphne, I did not know you cared so much. Why, I am flattered."
His words were dripping with sarcasm, and only meant to rouse her even more.
"Believe me, Your Grace. This does not amount to mecaringfor you. Perhaps you are only saying out loud what you wish would happen."
Ambrose chuckled, amused. "You believe that I want you to care for me?"
"Why would you not?" she narrowed her eyes at him. If he was going to play this game, then she could match him.
And beat him to it.
"I can think of several reasons why," he shrugged. "Besides you seem to be taking far too long. Time is precious, Lady Daphne. And time is ticking–"
"I came here to thank you!" she blurted the words out with more passion than she had intended to display. She could not help it – he just riled her up so much that it was hard to not snap.
But Ambrose stood still, as though he had been stunned into silence. His smirk faltered ever so slightly, and for a moment, the amusement drained from his face. He blinked, the teasing light in his eyes dimming as her words settled over him.
Daphne had expected him to bounce back with some sarcastic remark, but instead, he blinked again, as if trying to process her words. The quiet between them grew heavy, and Daphne found herself trapped in the intensity of his gaze.
And then, without warning, her eyes shifted downward, catching on his lips. It was a fleeting glance, but the moment she realized it, her breath hitched.
There was something unnerving about how close he was. In the heat of the conversation, they had both gravitated towards each other.
Daphne quickly snapped her gaze back to his eyes, her pulse quickening, but the moment lingered. For the first time, neither of them had anything to say.
But then, he finally broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Thank me?"
"For what you did this morning. With Lord Whitby."
Daphne hesitated, her words faltering again as she caught sight of his smile—a genuine one, something she had never really seen before.
It took her a moment to realize that she was staring. Daphne snapped out of her daze, feeling her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
"There is no need to thank me," he said. "You are my guest. Despite our... disagreements, I cannot allow anyone to treat my guests with disrespect."
"Do you really believe that?" Daphne asked, surprised.
"Well..." his mouth twisted into a smirk, "Nobody but me."
"Well," she said, her voice a little sharper than intended, "Good that you made that clear."
Ambrose inclined his head, stepping aside as if to give her space to leave. But just before she could take a step, his voice stopped her.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I still don't approve of you."
Daphne froze, turning back to face him. There was no malice in his tone, no cruel edge to his words. It was almost as if he were saying it as a fact, something they both knew but had yet to acknowledge.
"I don't approve of you either," she replied, her tone defensive, though she couldn't quite meet his eyes.
"I suppose that makes us even, then."
Daphne didn't respond. She didn't know how to. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked away, her heart thudding in her chest as she put as much distance between herself and the Duke as possible.
But even as she walked through the halls, she couldn't shake the feeling of his gaze on her, lingering long after she had left the room.
