She had moved on.
He wondered if he ever could.
He doubted it.
GIVING IN
Birds sang, the sun shone, and for London the sky was disarmingly blue. Dash noticed none of it. His very skin felt ill-fitting, and each step toward Ambrosia’s door was weighted, his legs dragging as heavily as his heart.
He’d endured disappointment before, endured compromise—but defeat? That was not something he knew how to wear.
Only when he was a few houses away did he glance down and recognize the suit he wore. The same one he had worn to Hannah’s funeral. His chest constricted. Of course it would be. Because today felt like a funeral as well—a burial of hope.
And the bouquet in his hands? It mocked him, the bright blossoms absurd in their cheer, as though the world itself had conspired to remind him of all he would never have.
Still, he forced himself to Ambrosia’s door.
Three knocks—sharp, certain, though inside he was unraveling.
Carrington answered almost immediately.
“Is she here?” Dash asked. His pulse thundered in his throat.
“She is,” Carrington replied carefully. “She is having an at-home.” The butler’s face showed a flicker of hesitation.
“No need to worry, my friend.” Dash forced a half-smile, brittle at the edges. “I’ll only be a moment.”
Carrington pursed his lips but, of course, eventually inclined his head, stepping aside. “The small drawing room, Your Grace.”
The foyer was warm—stifling.
Dash slid two fingers under his cravat, tugging at the starched linen as if it might loosen the knot in his chest. The spring had passed too quickly; soon enough the ton would empty out of London, retreating to country estates.
Hawk was right—had been right all along.
Dash had dragged this out too long.
He followed the low hum of voices down the corridor and stopped at the threshold. The room was crowded with nearly a dozen guests. Genteel laughter blended with sounds of cups of tea chinking against saucers.
This sort of affair was the kind that could bore a man senseless.
And yet when the first pair of eyes turned toward him, the hum in the room faltered.
The Duke of Dasborough was present.
“Dasborough, old boy.” Grimm, of course, rose and greeted him with an outstretched hand.
Dash ignored it. And instead searched for…
His gaze immediately found Ambrosia.
She sat near the hearth, lovely as ever, but the bright smile she’d had fell when her eyes met his. Was she concerned that he’d ruin her at-home, just as he’d ruined her life?
“Just a word, Madam Bloomington, and I’ll be on my way.” His voice sounded loud to his own ears. The others didn’t even pretend to mind their own business.
“Won’t you join us?” This from Grimm, as though he were host to Ambrosia’s hostess.
Without moving his eyes from Ambrosia, Dash shook his head.
