Hawk topped off his tea and nodded toward Dash’s glass. “Drink up, mon ami. It seems you actually need it.”
Dash took a slow sip, then shook his head. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”
The fire snapped in the grate between them. There were days when he questioned his own sanity for persisting… and others when he knew—absolutely knew—that if he didn’t give this everything he had, he’d regret it the rest of his life.
Hawk raised his teacup in a mock toast. “Then may God help the lady. Because He’s certainly not helping you.”
Another fortnight later, Dash’s confidence was no longer quite so unshakable.
He’d finished the flower garden, fenced it so Lancelot wouldn’t turn it into his personal excavation site, and built a small hothouse where his princesse could indulge herself with seedlings and cuttings to her heart’s content.
Today, he’d decided on a final touch—a smooth wooden bench. Just large enough for two people, but not so large that their shoulders wouldn’t brush as they sat and admired the blossoms in the years to come.
When the last nail was driven home, Dash sat down on it—hard—feeling less like the conquering gardener of Mayfair and more like a man watching his chance at happiness slip away.
Grimm had taken her driving again that afternoon. She’d been smiling when they left, her gloved hand resting far too comfortably on his old friend’s blasted arm. She had spent time in her new garden, he knew that, but never when he was there. Not a wave. Not even the ghost of a smile.
Over six weeks back in London, and still she kept him at arm’s length.
But as he began recounting the days, the curtain in the back parlor gave the smallest ripple before falling still.
“It’s nothing,” he told himself. But a moment later the door opened, and Ambrosia stepped out—hands twisting together, gaze lowered, as though she might steady herself with each step across the lawn.
Dash drank her in like a man too long in the desert. The golden light caught in her hair, reminding him of the that day they’d bathed Mr. Dog.
And her mouth… mon Dieu. The shape of it undid him. Every step she took pulled him back into the memory of what it had been like to taste her—what it had been like to lose her.
Dash moved over so she could sit.
“This is lovely,” she said, settling beside him on the bench. He felt the warmth of her arm through the sleeve of his shirt and silently congratulated himself for making it smaller than he’d planned.
It was the closest he’d been to her since that day in Hyde Park, when she’d all but run from him. The sudden pounding of his heart caught him off guard.
And although he wanted to reach for her hand, both remained tightly clasped in her lap.
“Lady Zelda, Lady Longstaffe, her nephew, and Lord Grimstead… They did not visit me out of the goodness of their hearts, did they?”
She turned to stare at him finally, her face so close that it would be the easiest thing in the world to lean forward and taste her lips. “They said something that day in the park, when you appeared. They did not offer introductions between us. They knew that we already had an acquaintance.”
Dash had lied to her about far too much in the beginning.
No more.
He nodded to himself. From this moment forward, she would hear nothing but truth from his lips.
“I left the Wootens’ home in the early hours,” he began, his voice steady. “Walked to Joseph’s Well and bought a horse I’d noticed the night before.”
“That’s right, you still needed to find Guinevere! I’ve wanted to know: Did you ever get her back?”
“I did.” His answer elicited an immediate smile.
God, he wanted that smile in his life. “Gwennie returned to the Fainting Goat Inn, in fact, where you and I met.”
She blinked, her eyes unusually bright, but her smile grew. “I am glad.”
“I have her with me, here in London.” Perhaps he could lure her with his horse… but they were getting off topic. “You asked me about Lady Longstaffe’s visit. The short answer. Yes. I went to school with her nephew. When I… left you, I had a plan. I asked Mr. Daniels to drive slowly, because I knew I wouldn’t have much time before you arrived.”
“Mr. Daniels knew?”
