The perfect lady.
Dash leaned into the doorway, letting his grin turn wicked. “Goodnight, Madam Beckman.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Dash…” she warned.
“Until tomorrow,” he added with a wink.
She was still shaking her head as Daniels drew the carriage into the street.
THINK IT OVER
“But—I thought we were driving.” Ambrosia halted on the step, her eyes widening as they landed on the magnificent mare before her. She let out a little gasp. “Guinevere!”
Dash rocked back on his heels, savoring the wonder in her face. Mon Dieu, he could have lived off that look alone. Each time he saw her, she seemed more radiant than the last. Today, she nearly stole his breath.
The jaunty blue hat, set at a daring angle, showed just enough of her curls to make his fingers itch to free them. Her gown, the same shade, skimmed her figure in a way that hinted at the lush curves beneath—curves he remembered far too well and craved all over again.
“She has been anxious to meet you.” He patted the mare’s neck. Guinevere’s dark coat gleamed like polished satin, her ears flicking forward at Ambrosia’s voice.
Unable to resist, Dash added, “If I recall, we may never have become acquainted properly if my… horse had not caught your eye that day.” His tone was light, teasing, but they both knew it had been he who had truly captured her interest.
Ambrosia leveled him with a look, long lashes lowering just enough to veil her eyes. It was the sort of look that told him she heard his teasing perfectly well…and that she had no intention of dignifying it with a reply.
Then she turned back to Guinevere with a sad little sigh. “But I do not ride. I once wanted a horse—wanted to learn—but… I changed my mind.” Her voice hitched, and he knew…
“Time to change that,” he said softly, laying a hand along the Gwennie’s strong neck. “Guinevere is as steady as the sunrise, and strong enough for the both of us.”
He leaned closer to the horse’s ear, his voice low, intimate. “Voilà, ma belle… voici mon cœur.”
Here she is, my heart.
The mare flicked an ear as though she understood, and Dash grinned, his expression unguarded for the briefest instant.
Then, with the ease of long practice, he swung himself into the saddle. Leather creaked, Guinevere shifted beneath him, and Dash looked down at Ambrosia with a smile that was equal parts invitation and promise. He extended his hand, palm open, steady as stone.
Still, Ambrosia hesitated.
“Shouldn’t I change my gown? I do happen to own a riding habit, despite never riding.”
“Give me your hand, princesse, and set your foot on my boot. Trust me.”
Would she? Would she be as open to adventure as she had been two years ago?
She glanced up and down the quiet street, bit her lip, then stepped forward. The moment her gloved fingers slid into his, a charge shot straight through him, chasing the darkness from his chest.
Sparks. Life. Her.
Gathering her skirts with her other hand, she let out a nervous laugh and lifted her slippered foot onto his boot. “If you’re sure…”
“More than anything.” Leaning back to make room, Dash drew her up effortlessly until she was perched before him, pressed to his chest, utterly in his keeping.
Laughter bubbled from her lips. It wrapped around his heart.
“We’re so high up,” she exclaimed, clutching the pommel. “Are you certain she can carry us both?”
Dash reached around her, patting Guinevere’s neck and allowing his cheek to graze Ambrosia’s temple. The scent of her—lavender and something sweet, purely Ambrosia—caught like a fever in his blood. “Gwennie is larger than most horses. And besides,” he added lowly, his breath stirring her hair, “you are but a slip of a thing.”
Just then Guinevere shifted, dancing lightly to the side.
