With a dip of her chin, his sister slipped away, leaving him to wallow in regrets.
Dash collapsed into his chair, hollowed out, feeling more hopeless as the room darkened. Time blurred—minutes, hours, who could say—until another knock rattled him upright. This one was brisk, insistent.
“Your Grace,” came the butler’s voice. “Cook has prepared supper and?—”
“I’m not hungry.”
A pause. Then, quietly but firmly: “Very well, sir. But… there is another matter. A young woman has presented herself and wishes to meet with you. Most unusual, at this hour, and alone. Says she is Mrs. Bloomington.”
For a heartbeat, Dash thought he’d misheard.
“Mrs. Bloomington? She is here?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I put her in the Gold Drawing Room. I wasn’t sure if?—”
But Dash was already on his feet, already striding for the door. “Merci.” His voice cracked.
She was here.
Why? To scold him for intruding on her at-home? To make certain he was truly leaving her alone? Or—dear God…
Because she did not want him to go?
The sconces along the corridor flared and fell behind him, their light flickering as he strode past. Was there still hope?
His pulse hammered in time with his steps, every beat propelling him faster. He took the stairs two at a time and flung open the door?—
And there she was.
Ma princesse.
She sat rigidly on the edge of a gilded chair, ankles neatly crossed, every line of her body tight with resolve. When she lifted her chin, her eyes caught his, unflinching.
She wore the same gown she’d had on earlier, but somehow, she was even more beautiful now.
“Mrs. Bloomington,” Dash greeted softly, and then waited.
“I know you said you were going home, but I just—I still don’t understand.” The words burst from her in a rush, stripped bare of nicety. “After what we shared together, why did you leave that day? Why couldn’t you stay with me? Why did you feel the need to abandon me in such a cruel way? Because I thought—” Her voice broke, and she blinked a little frantically, her eyes shining. “All this time, I thought it was my fault. I thought you’d left because of something I’d done.”
HIS STORY
Dash stopped in his tracks, undone.
“Non, ma princesse. Never you. Not you. It was all me.” He still had a chance… “I will tell you everything.”
She nodded, her eyes looking large and almost fearful, but determined. “I want you to tell me everything. The whole truth. Even if it hurts to hear. Even if it hurts to say it. I won’t walk away this time.”
It was what he’d wanted from the beginning, the chance to explain, to know if she could forgive him when the whole story was laid bare. The anticipation churned in his gut, dread poised to sink like a stone. And yet…
She had come. She was ready to listen.
Dash ran a hand through his hair, pacing the width of the drawing room before stopping short. His throat worked, but no words came. Where in God’s name was he supposed to begin?
“I left you,” he said at last, voice raw, “because I had promised myself to another.”
Ambrosia closed her eyes. A moment passed before she nodded. Sitting very still, she opened them again, locked her stare on him, and waited, not looking angry, but… resigned.
Dash exhaled heavily. “There was a young woman, Lady Hannah Wrottesley, the only daughter of the Earl of Beresford. The earl was—is—a very exacting man. The moment she was born, her father had made arrangements for her to marry the future Duke of Lovington, Sebastian Hartwell, a schoolmate of mine and a friend. Unfortunately, Sebastian, the duke she’d been promised to, he…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “He died.” Liar. “At Harrowgate Academy. When he was only six and ten.”
