Ambrosia stiffened, her back going rigid against him.
“Easy, princesse,” he soothed, sliding his hand over hers on the rein. “Lean into me and just breathe. I have you.”
One breath. And then another.
She relaxed, letting herself melt against him. He felt the surrender in her body, the trust in the way her shoulders eased.
“Are you afraid?” he asked softly, his lips so near her ear he felt the shiver run through her.
She shook her head. “Not with you.”
Mon Dieu.
“She’s sensitive to her rider, so not much effort is required to let her know what I want.” He covered Ambrosia’s hands with his, his large fingers guiding hers on the leather reins, showing her the language of touch between horse and rider. Together they moved as one, and as they left the street and slipped into the quiet of the near-empty park, he felt her body as though it was his own.
“Oh, but this is wonderful,” she breathed, wonder lacing every word. “I feel…”
“Free?” Dash supplied, the corner of his mouth lifting.
She nodded, her head brushing the edge of his jaw. “And powerful.”
Dash sucked in a breath. That admission had far too strong an effect on him. She was glorious like this—alight, alive, a queen upon a throne. She was powerful. She certainly held immense power over him.
“I’ll teach you to ride on your own,” he promised. “We’ll find a mount perfect for your size, one that will adore you.” The words spilled from him without thought, without caution, because in this moment, it was impossible to imagine a world where she was not his future.
She didn’t respond, and he felt the shift in her, a reserve slipping back into place. Perhaps he should not have spoken so freely; it was too soon after he’d only barely won his way back into her good graces. But he needed her to know—needed her to see where his heart pointed.
“Tell me about your life now,” Dash coaxed, his breath catching on a curl of her hair. “I want to know you again.” All of you, he thought, though he bit back the words.
But then he looked at her, and even with just the side of her face visible, he could make out her flushed cheeks, the glimmer of excitement in her eyes, could hear the shallow hitch of her breathing.
He had not imagined it then. She was still affected by him, by his touch, by his voice—ha! And his accent as well, he was pretty sure.
Dash couldn’t help a satisfied smirk, though it softened when her laughter came, rich and bright.
“What do you want to know?”
Dash hummed as though he was truly thinking it over. “I believe ‘everything’ ought to suffice.”
“Everything?” she teased, twisting her head just enough to glance back at him, her eyes dancing.
“Everything. I want to know about your first salon. I want to know who has befriended you, how you occupy your days, the books you’ve read, the music you listen to…” Do you think of me when you lie in your bed at night, as I have you? Do you taste the same? “Will you tell me, ma chérie?”
She paused, and he worried for a moment that he’d pushed too far again, that she would give him nothing, but then her voice came, quiet and reflective. “It was difficult in the beginning. I was lonely… and yet, I wanted to be alone.”
Branches reached into their path as they entered a tree-lined trail. Dash swept them aside with one hand, ensuring they brushed neither Guinevere nor his princesse.
“Lady Longstaffe has been very kind,” Ambrosia continued. “Her nephew, Major Lord Longstaffe, has been a good friend to me. When he hinted that he might wish to court me…” She gave the tiniest shake of her head. “I could not. We remained only friends, and I told him—some of what happened with you.” Her lips pressed together. “Of course, he has no idea who you were. Who you are. So you mustn’t worry…”
Longstaffe? His friend Longstaffe? Jeremiah, the one he’d trusted to keep watch over her?
Dieu du ciel. Was there not a single one of his old schoolmates in all of England who hadn’t tried their hand at winning her?
His mind spun—was now the time to tell her that Jeremiah Penvale had been one of the boys at Harrowgate? That her “good friend” had known exactly whom she was speaking of all along?
And why in hell hadn’t Hawk mentioned this particular detail? Or Carrington, for that matter?
Dash’s jaw tightened. He forced a smile, but his chest burned with a mix of disbelief and rueful amusement. Of course. Leave Ambrosia alone for two bloody years, and naturally every man he trusted would rush in to fill the void.
