Daphne knew that she should not have said that out loud, for it would only lead Richard to know that it had been Daphne who bandaged him up. But she could not see Ambrose playing down his injury like that.
"That is a shame, indeed," Richard replied, frowning. "But good for us that my brother is not one to complain about these things."
Daphne was shocked. Richard did not seem to care much at all. Instead, he diverted his attention back to Daphne, as though he was still wracked by the guilt of leaving her behind.
"Now, let us get going," he said, and began guiding her toward his horse.
Daphne could not help but look back at the Duke. She wondered if Ambrose would have done the same if he was in Richards place.
He would not have. He would have cared about his injury.
"Come on," he said, his voice softer now. "You shouldn't walk the rest of the way back."
"I... sure," she muttered in a daze.
Then, without warning, he lifted her gently, securing her on the horse in front of him. She felt Richard's arms around her as they began to move, but her mind kept drifting to Ambrose.
Ambrose's face was turned away, his posture rigid as he mounted his own horse. But Daphne could sense it—the tension in the way he held the reins, the way his lips pressed together in a tight line.
He was annoyed again.
As they began their journey back, Richard's concerned voice filled the air.
"Are you comfortable on the horse there?"
"Warm enough?"
"It must be an adventurous hunt for you. I imagine it's not every day that you get lost."
But Daphne hardly heard him. Frankly, she did not care for what he had to say.
Her mind, instead, was with Ambrose, trying to decipher what it meant—that flicker of something that had passed between them.
A part of her longed to know why it felt more significant than the concern Richard was showing her now.
When they returned to the estate, Daphne barely waited for the horse to come to a complete stop before she slid off, her feet hitting the ground faster than her mind could catch up. Without glancing back, she muttered a quick "Thank you" to Richard, her words rushed and breathless, and hurried inside.
She didn't trust herself. Not now. Not with Ambrose close by. Her heart was racing, her thoughts in disarray. What had happened out there?What was happening to her?
She practically ran through the hallways of the estate, her chest tightening with each step. She needed space, a quiet corner to collect herself. Every time her mind drifted to Ambrose, her pulse quickened in a way that unsettled her. The way he had looked at her, the tension between them as they stood close, the almost-kiss.
No. This is dangerous.
She couldn't allow herself to think this way, not about him. Not about the man she had convinced herself she despised. But now...
Something had shifted inside her, a delicate, undeniable flutter every time he crossed her mind. Earlier, all she had felt for him was irritation, frustration at his arrogance and his constant need to challenge her. But now, that annoyance was tinged with something else, something much more dangerous.
What was worse—she didn't know if she could control it.
She reached the privacy of her room and shut the door firmly behind her, leaning against it as if to keep the flood of emotions from overwhelming her completely. Her mind was betraying her—twisting everything she thought she knew about Ambrose.
Her hands flew to her chest, feeling the rapid beat of her heart beneath her palms. This was dangerous. So dangerous. This man, who challenged her at every turn, was not supposed to affect her like this. But he did. And it terrified her.
Daphne knew she had to be careful. Whatever this was, it couldn't be allowed to grow. Not with Ambrose.
As Daphne leaned against the door, trying to steady her racing thoughts, a sudden knock startled her. She jumped, her heart leaping into her throat. For a brief, terrifying moment, she thought it might be Ambrose.
Had he followed her?
