“One of the drivers at an inn recognized me. I purchased his silence the day you saw me giving him money. I wasn’t ready…” Dash shrugged. “When I arrived, I had my solicitor investigate the details of your inheritance.”
“Wouldn’t that be personal information? Is that even legal?” Ambrosia was frowning and then, “Is your solicitor, by chance, a man by the name of Mr. Burleson?”
Ah, yes. His princesse was not dull of mind.
“I didn’t want you to have to face unnecessary difficulties when you arrived. I knew you would be downhearted.”
“I was devastated.” Her anger, her pain, flared for that moment.
Dash swallowed hard. “I simply arranged for a few… improvements to Autumn House. And enough funds to… lubricate your standing in society. Mr. Carrington supervised the work at the house, and Longstaffe assured your introductions. I didn’t have any time afterward… I had to leave for Margate…”
She went very still but for the faint rise of her chest that betrayed a quickened breath.
When she finally spoke, her voice was controlled, careful. But she didn’t look at him.
“Mr. Carrington was very obliging, and he and the rest of the staff have been an immense help these past two years, but… I don’t like all the secrecy, the lies. Dash, I—How many people were in on this?” And there, her control began to slip, a dawning look of horror rising in her eyes. “My staff, my solicitor, my friends. Was any of it even real?”
Merde, he was only making her more upset. “Of course it was, princesse. It is real. The staff and Mr. Burleson answer to you now. Your friends and successes are your own.”
“But they’re not! They can’t be.”
Dash stopped short. She was angry—which he had expected, but not about this. “I only wanted to help you, pr?—”
Ambrosia let out an aggrieved groan, cutting him off. “Don’t call me that. How many times must I tell you? I thought—” Her voice cracked. “I used to think that you listened to me. That you heard me.”
“I did listen to you,” he insisted, and he had. But even as he said it, he realized that somewhere along the way, he’d… forgotten.
During their brief journey together, she’d told him multiple times and in different ways how she wanted her independence in London, that she’d needed to prove something to herself in obtaining it on her own. And she had asked to him to refrain from calling her by that old nickname. Yet he’d ignored both of those things. Her wishes had become subordinate to his own—his need to assuage his own guilt after leaving her, his desire to feel close to her again now that he was back.
“I am sorry, Ambrosia,” he said, careful to address her by her name. “I am. You’re right. I went about this all the wrong way, didn’t I?”
Her hands flew to her face with a low moan, her shoulders curling inward as she shook her head. This time, he did slide an arm around her—but only to offer comfort. He told himself it was not for him, not to indulge in the feel of her body against his, or breathe in more of her delicate scent.
“I thought I’d done it on my own,” she said, voice muffled behind her hands. “With my own resources.”
Cursed be my eyes. Was this a mistake? Had he ruined her life by returning to London?
“I hadn’t even considered it might be you. I thought perhaps my brother-in-law had a change of heart. What does this make me…? ‘Funds to lubricate?’ After… Was it some sort of… payment?”
“Non!” He drew back, needing her to see his eyes, to feel the truth in them. “Dieu, Ambrosia! It was never about that. We were friends first, always. I only wanted to make your new life easier.” She would barely have survived on what her late husband had left to keep the townhouse. Dash scratched the back of his neck, heat prickling there like the beginnings of a rash. “You’d been through too much already.”
A single tear escaped to roll down her cheek, and he caught it with his thumb as though it might brand him.
“Ambrosia…” Shame and longing twisted together. “Please, don’t let it take away from anything you’ve done. My help, it was nothing, a little thing. I wanted to give you so much more. You could have managed without me—I know you could—but I was sick about leaving you. I knew you’d be hurt. I had to do something for you. Anything…”
She shook her head slowly, staring, not into his eyes, but past his shoulder. “I am happy. I was happy.” Her voice wavered, the words trembling in the air between them. “It took so long for the hurting to stop… And now. You. This.”
Dash let his hands fall away. Mon Dieu, what a ruin he had made of it all.
When she’d come outside, he’d been resolved, he would tell her everything…
Almost everything.
About Hannah, once promised to another duke. About the need to protect her from Groby.
He kept telling himself this fight was for both of them—that winning her back was an act of love, not selfishness. But even as the thought took shape, it tasted of a lie.
Because there was another truth.
