“Let me take you out tomorrow,” he urged, soft, coaxing. “You can tell me of all these new acquaintances of yours, of how Society has fallen in love with Lancelot and your salons.”
That earned him a grin, wobbly but real, and his heart ached at the sight. Lately, such small victories were all he’d managed. He swore he’d do better.
“As friends?” she asked, tilting her head. “We were friends first… before.”
Yes. They had been. Not the answer he craved, but it was something. An opening. He had not failed yet.
Every instinct clamored to pull her into his arms, to taste her lips, to claim what he’d lost. He knew she would not resist him. She had been the bold one before, the one to reach for him first. But she was different now—guarded, cautious. He had made her so.
With deliberate restraint, he pressed a single kiss, chastely, to the corner of her lips. She drew in a soft breath, the hitch of it burning into him more than passion ever could.
His princesse.
His.
“Until tomorrow, mon cœur,” he whispered, and pushed himself up from the floor. Hope fluttered, fragile but alive.
She rose with him, and he caught her hand. Now that her departure was imminent, though, something else occurred to him. “How did you come here?” he asked. “Tell me you did not walk alone.”
Her laugh was shaky. “No need to worry; Mr. Daniels drove me.”
“Ah, of course. He has proven loyal? Treated you well?” His voice was deceptively calm, but inside he was prepared to make the man regret every breath if she gave him cause.
“He has.”
Relief loosened his shoulders. Her arm in his felt small, delicate, as he led her to the front door. Walking beside her like this, it was not only wonderful, it was natural. As though they ought to have been doing it every day for years.
Outside, Mr. Daniels stood ready, pulling the carriage door open the moment he saw them. He inclined his head. “Your Grace.”
“Daniels.” Dash’s reply was friendly, but when the man stepped forward to assist his mistress, Dash waved him back.
He would not relinquish her hand so easily now that he had it.
As Ambrosia turned toward the step, Dash bent close, close enough that her hair brushed his cheek. “I will arrive for you at four.”
She spun back, a faint crease between her brows. “I forgot,” she murmured. “I promised I’d accompany Lord Grimstead for driving hour.”
Dash drew in a sharp breath, every instinct urging him to curse Grimm to the devil—that damned rogue could drive wherever he pleased, so long as it was not with Ambrosia.
But then her eyes lifted to his, almost challenging.
“Then I shall come earlier,” he said, keeping his voice even. Earlier meant they would not be paraded before Society. It meant privacy. It meant she would be his, if only for a little while.
She gave the smallest of nods, then turned again toward the carriage. But as she took her seat, she looked back, lips tilting in a faint, deliberate smile. “I must be home in time, though. I won’t vanish on him without a word.”
The words struck like a lash. Vanish without a word. Ah, but if only Grimm would.
“Ambrosia,” he said, voice low, every syllable strained through clenched teeth. “You must know, whatever he has promised, Ashbourne Covington is not an honorable gentleman. He never has been.”
For the briefest instant, she looked at him—as though weighing the truth in his words. But then she leaned partly out the door, defiance glinting in her eyes. “And who among us is truly honorable, Mr. Beckman? Society parades its virtues, applauding good manners and gentility, but what lies beneath? Am I honorable? Are any of us?” Her lashes swept down for a moment, and when she looked up again, her chin lifted with quiet resolve.
“I told you before, Dash.” She grazed gloved fingertips along his jaw. “We can be friends. Nothing more. That is all I am offering.”
“For the present,” he murmured, which, to his relief, coaxed a laugh from her.
And with that, she withdrew her hand. Not fleeing, not surrendering—simply doing her best to repair the wall he’d begun to chip away at.
“Goodnight, Mr. Beckman.” She gathered herself into the carriage and faced forward.
