“We are fated for one another, ma princesse. It was in the tea leaves. The love. It was not meant to be at the time, we both had to wait. Tell me that was not the fortune you were given. You’ve been mine since the day I caught you staring out the window. Ma princesse, Ma Ambrosia. Please, don’t decide yet. I beg of you.”
With all of his emotions spent, he held her tightly, silently, and awaited her answer.
“I love you,” he said again, pouring his soul into the words.
She choked on a sob and then allowed another to escape. God help him if he’d lost her. God help them both.
And then, “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded thin, almost a whisper.
“But you will take some time. You won’t go… You will think it over first.”
Finally, a small, almost imperceptible nod.
His heart could beat again. “Don’t make your decision yet. Promise me?” he said.
“Yes. I just, I need time.” An almost violent shudder ran through her. Dash knew it was not only confusion. It was not only sadness. It was passion. It was desire. And he knew—he hoped—it was love.
He had hurt her, but she still loved him.
This time there was no laughter as Dash mounted Guinevere and then assisted Ambrosia up to sit in front of him.
The ache in his chest was merciless, but braided with something he had not known in years—hope. Fragile, foolish perhaps, but real.
Ambrosia leaned against him, head turned so that her cheek rested over his heart, her hand tangled with his. Neither spoke; neither needed to. The steady rhythm of Guinevere’s stride lulled them into a silence that was anything but empty. For ten stolen minutes, the world was narrowed to the warmth of her body, the whisper of her breath, the quiet strength of being together. No questions. No regrets. Just the simple joy of sharing in each other’s presence, each moment cherished even as it slipped through their fingers.
By the time they reached her townhouse, the spell was already breaking. Dash swung down from the saddle first, his boots striking the street. He caught her about the waist as he helped her dismount, his touch lingering longer than necessary.
“I won’t bother you again until I have your decision.” There was nothing more that Dash could do.
All his cards were on the table. All he could do was wait to see how she chose to play hers.
Would she gamble on him knowing they could win the prize of a lifetime, or would she take her losses and walk away?
PATIENCE TESTED
The first day of waiting, Dash did nothing but second guess everything he’d done since returning to London.
Should he have let her be? Had the entire mission been driven by his own selfishness? He’d wondered, more than once, if time had distorted his memory—if he’d built their brief week together into something larger than it truly was.
But after holding her again, after feeling as though the world was brighter when she was near, he knew he hadn’t imagined it. His heart had not lied.
He yearned to plan a life with her. To know her dreams—every one of them—and to stand beside her as they became reality.
By the second day, restlessness had him by the throat. He rode hard, trying to outpace his own thoughts, then found himself at Tattersall’s without intending it. There, a gentle bay mare caught his eye—perfect for Ambrosia. He longed to buy the creature on the spot, to have her sent to Autumn House with every saddle and bridle she might ever require. But he restrained himself. He had said he would wait.
He would keep his word.
On the third day, he let Hawk suffer through his company in that man’s study. Dash drank a heroic share of Hawk’s brandy, while Hawk—smug devil—sipped tea.
“You’ve been mooning for hours,” Hawk finally told him. “And I’ve gone through three pots already. A man can only drink so much tea in solidarity, Beckman. Go home.”
Dash went, though only because he was in no state to argue.
Before the week was out, Beatrice had thrown up her hands entirely. She watched his pacing, his brooding, his sullen silences—and then simply announced she was going out. To one party, and then another. With how long she’d been away from Society, it couldn’t have been easy for her, no matter how frustrated or bored she was with him.
He told himself he ought to be proud. Instead, he only felt guilt gnawing at him, knowing he was failing her too.
By then, he was jumpy, irritable, and hardly recognizable even to himself. His usual charm had soured into brittle sulking. He longed for the open fields of home, even if it meant going alone. At least there, he could work. At least there, he could breathe.
