A flicker of emotion crossed his face, but he quickly concealed it with his usual nonchalance. "It would be rude not to. I did not wish to go against mothers wishes."
Daphne felt herself deflate once more. Of course, it was not because he wanted to. Only because the Dowager had asked him.
"Are you going to dance with any of the other ladies tonight?"
Ambrose shot her a look. "Are you going to stop with your questioning?"
She shook her head, "Not if I can help it, Your Grace. I have been... this has all been very confusing for me," she finally admitted. "What happened between us... that night.."
His hand tightened on her waist again, cutting her off. "It shouldn't have happened," he said quickly, his voice low and urgent. "I was out of line."
Daphne's heart sank at his words, though she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. An apology? An explanation? Instead, she was left with nothing but a hollow ache in her chest.
"It was a mistake," Ambrose continued, his voice cool, though his grip on her waist betrayed the intensity of his emotions. "It won't happen again."
Daphne's throat tightened, tears pricking in her eyes. She wanted to ask him why—why had he kissed her if it meant nothing? Why did he hold her like this, so tightly, if it was all a mistake?
But the words wouldn't come. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, her voice barely audible. "I see."
The music began to wind down, and Ambrose loosened his hold on her, stepping back slightly. His expression was unreadable, his eyes guarded as he looked down at her.
"We won't be seeing each other after the wedding," he said quietly, his voice clipped. "It's better this way."
"I thought..." Daphne was on the brink of tears now, though she did not wish to cry in front of him. "I thought that we would...I..."
"I told you," he pressed his lips together, "I will stay out of the affairs of you and my brother from now onwards. It is for the best."
Daphne felt as though she had been betrayed. Not that Ambrose owed her anything, but to remove himself entirely from her life felt cruel and her mind refused to accept it.
"Is that what you truly want?" she asked.
Their gaze locked together. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Richard's voice interrupted them.
"Daphne! There is someone I'd like for you to meet."
Ambrose stood at the edge of the ballroom as he watched Daphne walk back toward Richard.
It broke his heart to watch her go, knowing that he had no one to blame for this but himself. He had danced with her, held her close for those fleeting moments, but instead of offering her the truth, he had chosen to be cold, distant.
His chest tightened painfully. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He had resolved, earlier that evening, that he would tell her. He would be honest about his feelings, no matter how complicated or dangerous they might be. He had convinced himself that he would take the risk, that she was worth whatever turmoil might follow.
But when the time had come—when she had looked up at him, her eyes searching his with questions he wasn't ready to answer—he had faltered.
The words he had prepared had stuck in his throat, and instead, he had offered her nothing. His heart had been screaming for him to tell her the truth, but his mind had silenced the words before they could escape.
Now, as he watched her rejoin Richard, his stomach churned with the weight of his own cowardice.
Dancing with her had been a strange, exhilarating torment. The warmth of her hand in his, the way her body moved with his, the scent of her perfume—everything about her had awoken feelings inside him that he had never wanted to acknowledge.
What he felt for her was too strong, too all-consuming. He had spent weeks telling himself that this was a passing fancy,something he could push aside, but the truth was far more damning.
Let her marry Richard. Let her have the life she was meant to have—a life that didn't include him. He would stay out of their affairs. He would keep his distance, guard his heart, and eventually, he would forget about her.
But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. He could never truly forget her. The way she had looked at him tonight, the hurt in her eyes —they would haunt him for years to come. He would carry the memory of this night, of this dance, like a wound that would never fully heal.
"I... I need to a moment to myself, my lord."
Daphne tore herself away from Richard, barely registering his confusion.
