“I haven’t time, I’m afraid.” Dash stood straighter, locking his hands behind his back as though only rigid control would keep them there. His voice was steady, but every word cost him. She needed to see that he was serious. She must—surely she must.
At his words, Ambrosia rose, gracious as ever, murmuring polite excuses to the guests who clustered around her. Of course she was the center of attention—how could she not be? That room revolved around her the way the earth tilted toward the sun.
“Shall we go outside?” she asked once they reached the hush of the foyer, her smile soft but her eyes searching.
Outside. Alone? Mon Dieu. If he had her to himself, he wasn’t sure he could go through with this.
She was still affected by him—he’d seen it in every stolen glance, every catch of her breath. And he… he feared his own weakness. He’d take her hand, draw her too close, perhaps even kiss her—and that would ruin everything.
“No,” he answered at once. His heart thundered with the effort of denial. “But I wanted you to know—I am leaving.”
She blinked, confusion flickering across her features. “But you just got here?” Her voice was light, with just a hint of a quiver beneath it.
She did not understand.
“I’m returning to Dasborough Park—my estate in Devonshire. I won’t be bothering you any longer.” He barely got the words past the thickness of his throat. “I’m sorry—for everything.” And then he held out the bouquet of flowers he’d brought.
A short bark was followed by the scampering of little feet. Dash squatted down and used both hands to rub the dog. “Take good care of your mum, old chap.” He even allowed Lancelot to get a few licks in.
It would be the last time. He was glad she’d had this little creature for company when he left her before. And he couldn’t help himself…
“We’ll always have Stonehenge.” Dash smiled weakly up at her.
“Did I hear you say you were leaving us for the country?”
Grimm’s voice cut in, smooth as silk. Of course he’d followed. Of course he’d pounce on Dash’s defeat. The bounder.
Leaving us, he’d said.
Not just her. Us. Him and Ambrosia together.
Dash straightened to his full height, every inch the duke. His voice was quiet, but it carried the promise of steel. “Hurt her, my friend, and you are a dead man.”
The earl showed no surprise—only the faintest curl of a mocking smile. But Ambrosia’s eyes flew wide, her breath catching audibly in the stillness.
Not waiting for a response, Dash studied her one last time, hungry to hold one last memory.
But where to rest his gaze? On the shimmer of her hair, the peach and cream of her skin, the curve of her mouth he had once tasted? Or her eyes—those emerald eyes that had once looked at him with nothing but love?
It would never be enough.
He turned and marched toward the door, opened it, and closed it silently behind him.
He had thought himself hollow two years ago, when he’d left her sleeping. But even then, he had nursed a tiny ember of hope.
Today, even that ember was extinguished.
It was over.
“We’ll be leaving for Dasborough Park first thing tomorrow morning,” Dash muttered, tugging off his cravat as he entered his chambers a few hours later.
Mr. Edwards’s brows shot up. “As you wish, Your Grace. I’ll have the trunks packed. Though…” He paused just long enough to smooth an invisible crease on Dash’s discarded coat. “I had rather thought London might hold you captive a bit longer. What with all the… gardening.”
Dash stilled, his jaw tightening. “Just pack the trunks, Edwards. I’ve no need of a commentary.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” The valet bowed, his face politely blank—but the faintest flicker at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Dash swore under his breath. Mon Dieu. Was there no corner of London where his damned pining hadn’t been noted? That even his valet dared to jest proved the humiliating truth: his longing for Ambrosia might just as well have been on the front page of every London newspaper.
