Dash strode forward and plucked Ambrosia’s beloved pet from the earl’s arm, tucking the dog protectively against his chest. “Why are you here?”
“I could ask the same, Dasborough, but then, everyone already knows, don’t they?” He leaned slightly on his cane, his devilish profile sharp in the afternoon light. “You never were one to play by the rules.”
“I’ll not ask again.”
Grimm dusted one hand down his trousers with exaggerated care, rolling his eyes. “Very well. I thought it prudent to let old Sir Lancelot outside, keep him from making a mess in my carriage.”
Dash’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he do that?”
Grimm’s expression turned even more smug, as though he was relishing the moment. “Ambrosia is inside packing. She’s agreed to holiday with me in Bath. Afterward, we’ll travel to Castle Grimm. The lovely widow must inspect her future home, after all.”
“Liar.”
Grimm merely shrugged. “Tomorrow is the third day, is it not? I daresay she’s made her decision.”
A chill cut through Dash’s chest. She had shared that with Grimm?
“What decision?”
Grimm’s laugh deepened, even as he leaned more heavily on his cane. “To cut you loose. Did you think she wouldn’t tell me? Perhaps it’s better this way—that you learn it from me. Save her the of trouble letting you down easily.”
It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
“Why are you even doing this? I know you don’t love her. You aren’t the right man for her.” Dash’s voice came out low. Dangerous.
Grimm tilted his head, his gaze traveling leisurely over Dash’s disheveled form. “And you are? Look at yourself. I’ve been here, when you were not. It’s time, my old friend, that you accept your defeat.”
“You know why I was gone. We all discussed it and agreed,” Dash snapped. “I never wanted to be away from her for so long.”
“But you had no choice, did you?” Grimm simpered. “The great Duke of Dasborough, far too noble to leave poor Lady Hannah to her fate, right? That’s what you’d have everyone believe, isn’t it?” But then his eyes narrowed into slits, something darker than the usual taunts flaring in them. “We know better, though. It was your own guilt that compelled you, wasn’t it?”
Dash froze, feeling cold even in this hellish heat. His hands went numb where they clutched around Lancelot’s slender body, his mouth dry.
“I was well into my cups that night, but I remember enough to know that you were the only one who could have pushed him,” Grimm continued mercilessly. “You were the one sparring with him on the cliffs, and you were angry with him about something stupid and petty like always, weren’t you?”
It had been a disaster waiting to happen, and now, even years later, the hazy memories of that night were enough to haunt them all.
It must have been him. He’d long ago come to that conclusion, had told Ambrosia as much in his confession to her.
But Grimm wasn’t finished. “You married Beresford’s daughter as an act of penance, and you think you deserve a second chance. But no. Ambrosia was able to move on without you once before, and she’s perfectly capable of managing it again—this time, with me by her side.”
Dash’s grip on the dog tightened until Lancelot whined. He loosened his hold and stroked the animal’s fur in apology before lowering him onto the ground.
Grimm pulled a piece of cheese out of his pocket, and Lancelot, traitorous little fiend, returned to where the earl stood, holding it just out of reach. “You see? He forgets you easily enough. Just as Ambrosia desires to forget you.” His tone was almost gentle, pitying, but his eyes glittered with triumph.
He adjusted his cane and turned toward the house. “Safe travels, my friend.”
Dash stood rooted long after Grimm disappeared, the echo of his words leaving their poison. Grimm, of course, knew his greatest secret. Had known all along. And now Ambrosia was packing. Leaving. Without him.
He pressed a fist against his chest, the ache unbearable. He had allowed himself to hope. Believed love would prevail.
But love, it seemed, was the very thing breaking him.
He turned back to the hothouse, his steps leaden, to finish what little remained—ending his work, ending his time here.
Ending everything.
GENTLEMAN’S NIGHT OUT
