Despite his feelings of jealousy, though… a sliver of relief trickled through. She had not been wholly alone.
“And Lady Zelda?” he asked, grasping for something to anchor himself.
Ambrosia’s mouth curved faintly. “A delightful gossip. She insists on keeping me apprised of every scandal in Mayfair, whether I wish it or not. And then there is…”
“Lord Grimstead?” The name slipped out before he could stop it.
Ambrosia glanced over her shoulder, her expression flickering between discomfort and guilt before she looked quickly away.
“I know he can be… outrageous. But he can be amusing at times as well. And he is… kind.” The last word caught faintly, and before Dash could read too deeply into it, she waved one hand as though brushing the thought aside. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
Dash’s jaw flexed. His grip tightened on the reins until the leather creaked, frustration burning hot in his chest.
But if he lingered, if he let it show, then Grimm would steal this moment too. And Dash would not allow that. Not when Ambrosia was here, pressed warm against him.
With deliberate calm he bent closer. “And what of Lancelot? Tell me he has not been corrupted by Society as well.”
Ambrosia’s head tilted slightly, and for a fleeting instant her eyes met his, searching.
She knew what he was doing—sidestepping Grimm, steering them back to safer ground. But instead of calling him on it, her lips curved up, and she chuckled softly.
“Dearest Lancelot has been more accepted than myself, I daresay.” She turned her head and for a moment time stood still.
And then she giggled. His lovely princesse giggled—and the sound wrapped around his chest, flooding him with warmth.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she confessed, “but one of my very first invitations was from the Marchioness of Barrington, for tea. I took Lancelot with me—mostly so I wouldn’t have to arrive alone—and didn’t realize until I stepped into the hall that he might not be… entirely welcome. The butler looked at me as though I’d smuggled in a goat.”
Dash smothered a grin. “But that did not deter you.”
Her smile softened. “Not at all. I remembered what you once told me—when that innkeeper upset me that day. You said I had my own strength. I lifted my nose in the air and walked right into the drawing room as though nothing at all were amiss.”
“And?” Dash leaned closer.
“And,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Lancelot wriggled free, of course.”
“Of course he did.”
“The little dandy trotted across the carpet and leapt straight into the Marchioness’s lap. And then—oh, he did that thing, you know?”
Dash chuckled. “His balancing act?”
“Yes. Back straight, tongue lolling, paws in front.” She dropped the reins long enough to demonstrate with her own gloved hands tucked close. “Looking as though he’d been trained to perform in the circus. Sitting pretty.”
Her laugh bubbled out. “I was mortified. Lady Zelda and Lady Longstaffe were equally horrified. But the Marchioness? She was delighted and insists I bring him to visit her at least once a week. I think she’d steal him from me if she could.”
Dash’s mouth curved, memory tugging at him. “I daresay you knew then the world wouldn’t be able to resist him.”
“Quite right.”
He let the pause linger, then added softly, “Or you.”
They reached a wide, open stretch of the Row. The air smelled of grass warmed by the sun, the faint shimmer of the river glinting in the distance. Dash leaned low, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Are you ready to fly?”
She stiffened.
“Relax, princesse. Don’t fight it. Let your body move with mine.”
