But rather than ignore him, she excused herself from her companions and crossed to where he’d planted himself.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was low.
“How could I miss Longstaffe’s London debut? An old friend of mine. You wouldn’t want that, would you, princesse?”
The endearment landed softly, but it didn’t spark the fire he’d half-hoped for. Instead, she glanced past him, then over his shoulder, as though checking who might be watching.
“Why must you insist on…” Her voice tightened. “Can you not simply leave me alone? Surely you aren’t interested in mingling with patrons of the arts.”
“Have you forgotten everything?”
“Of course not. I just—” She hesitated, pressing her fingertips briefly to her forehead before exhaling. Then, for the first time since he’d returned to London, she looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Her eyes held that same vulnerable intensity he remembered from their travels two years ago, the one that made him feel like he’d been seen—truly seen—for the first time in his life.
“Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?” Her voice had dropped again, but this time, it was laced with hurt. “Did you mean to make a fool of me? Was it all some sort of game to you?”
Dash winced. “Non, never. It wasn’t like that, I swear to you.”
She was finally willing to listen—here, of all places—surrounded by a room full of gossips hanging on the faintest scrap of scandal. He could ignore Society’s opinion if need be.
She could not.
And yet, she was looking at him. Listening.
He touched her elbow, guiding her toward the shelter of a nearby window bay. A breath in. Then another.
“I don’t know why… I…” The words faltered. Weeks he’d been biding his time, and now that the moment was here, his polished answer had fled. So he simply spoke from his heart. “When we first met, you didn’t see me as Dasborough—as a duke. I was just a man to you. We were friends, weren’t we? Could you have been as comfortable with me as your traveling companion if you’d known I was a duke?”
His jaw tightened. “I just wanted to be…” Myself.
She moved her gaze away from him to stare out the window.
One second.
Two.
Then… half a minute.
Finally, “I trusted you. I believed in you.”
“I know. I wanted to tell you everything, but…” From the moment he met her, he’d allowed himself to exist in denial.
And suddenly he felt shame for the situation he’d gotten himself into. Not shame for protecting Hannah, for paying on the debt he’d incurred over a decade ago, but shame for pretending he was free.
He had intentionally not made any promises to Ambrosia, but he had wanted to. And he had acted on more than one occasion as though he might do so.
As though he could.
Without knowing his circumstances, she’d had every reason to believe it was possible that he could change his mind.
Which he had, in his heart.
He’d made love to her.
Ambrosia closed her eyes. “I loved you, Dash.”
