His face was unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes spoke volumes. He looked away quickly, focusing on some distant point in the room, but the momentary glance had set her heart racing.
"Mother, Ambrose," Richard greeted them warmly as they approached. "It seems the evening is off to a splendid start."
The Dowager smiled at her younger son, her eyes briefly flicking between Richard and Daphne, then to Ambrose, as if she were watching for some sign of... something.
Ambrose, however, remained silent, his attention firmly elsewhere.
"Yes, a splendid start," the Dowager agreed.
"Lady Daphne, you look lovely this evening. Doesn't she, Ambrose?"
Ambrose's jaw clenched slightly, but he nodded, his gaze meeting Daphne's for a split second before flicking away again. "Indeed, she does," he said, his voice tight, though polite.
Daphne's stomach flipped, her discomfort growing with every second. "Thank you, Your Grace," she managed to say.
"Well, no need to linger here. There are plenty of people to greet this evening," Richard said, "I shall be right back."
As Richard excused himself and made his way to some of the guests, Daphne was left standing with Ambrose and the Dowager. The air between them felt thick with tension, but the Dowager seemed completely oblivious—or perhaps she was simply playing her part too well.
"Ambrose, why don't you ask Lady Daphne for a dance?" the Dowager suggested smoothly, her eyes gleaming with something that made Daphne feel uneasy. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind, would you, my dear?"
Daphne's heart stuttered in her chest. She opened her mouth to protest, to politely refuse, but no words came out.
Beyond that, she was sure that Ambrose would refuse.Why would he wish to dance with me?
But when he finally spoke, his answer surprised her.
"Of course, if Lady Daphne is willing."
Daphne's breath caught. Her mind screamed at her to say no, to avoid this dance at all costs, but her heart had other plans. "I—I would be honored," she said.
Ambrose extended his hand, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, with a hesitance that bordered on reluctance,Daphne placed her hand in his. The contact sent a jolt of heat coursing through her, and she quickly looked away.
As they walked toward the dance floor, Daphne could feel the eyes of the room on them, especially Richard's, though she didn't dare look in his direction. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could only imagine what Ambrose must be thinking.
Neither of them spoke for the first few moments, just going through the motions of the dance as the music swelled around them. She could not see Richard any more, as they were surrounded by other couples, dancing as they were.
Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Ambrose spoke. "How have you been enjoying your time with Richard?"
Daphne blinked, caught off guard by the question. She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing. "It's been... pleasant," she replied.
Ambrose's grip tightened slightly on her waist, his expression unreadable. "Pleasant?"
"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Pleasant."
She was all too aware of the grip he had on her waist, unable to focus on anything else.
Ambrose's jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might say something more, but he remained silent, his gaze distant as they continued to dance.
"Where had you gone?" Daphne asked, unable to stop herself. "I was..."
She wanted to tell him that she was worried, but stopped herself from doing so. Things between them were confusing enough already. "I thought that you would not return."
"Why would I not?" he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. She thought back to what the Dowager had told her, about how Ambrose rarely speaks about his feelings to anyone.
She wondered if something similar was going on now, about how he was deflecting once again.
"Why did you agree to dance with me?" her next question was laced with frustration. If he truly wished to put some distance between them, why was he here, with his hand firmly planted onto her waist?
