Propriety. That was it.
Something that was already highly improper—traveling alone with a perfect stranger—would become even more improper, she reminded herself.
But aside from Mr. Daniels, who would even know?
Who would even care?
Her resolve wavered.
“I am pleased to have your company, Mr. Beckman, truly,” she said, staring back at him.
He didn’t look away. Instead, he reached over and brushed a damp curl from her cheek. “I am as well,” he murmured. And then, softer, “Vraiment.”
They lay there in silence, the air between them just… humming.
Even though he seemed so familiar, he was also a bit of a mystery.
“Why aren’t you looking forward to your birthday party?” she asked.
It bothered her. Was he estranged from his family? She did not think that he was lying to her, but she was certain he wasn’t being entirely forthcoming either.
There was more to this man than charm and banter. In certain moments, he seemed almost haunted.
His gaze faltered, confirming her thoughts.
“Ah... Ambrosia.”
Not Madame Bloomington, not princesse—Ambrosia. The sound of it in his accent made her chest tighten.
She braced herself for whatever truth he might admit to.
“I have a particular obligation,” he said at last. “And the deadline happens to fall on my birthday.” He sat up. “Which reminds me—we must move, oui? We will never reach our destinations if we lie in the sun all day.”
He assisted her to her feet and brushed at the mud on her gown in a most impersonal manner before stepping back and brushing at his own shirt and breeches. While doing so, he seemed to distance himself from her both physically and emotionally. It was as though he’d allowed her a glimpse inside, and then just as quickly slammed the door closed.
What did he mean… A particular obligation?
Just like that, the warmth between them receded.
“What aren’t you saying?” The words left her lips before she could think better of them. “Are you running from the law, Mr. Beckman?”
His head snapped up.
She hadn’t meant to say it aloud—not like that—but the suspicion had risen too fast for her to stop it.
“The law?” His eyes held laughter once again. “I thought we’d already established that, of the two of us, you were the person more likely to commit murder.”
That didn’t answer her question though, did it?
And yet. If he was running from the law, would he find so much amusement in her accusation?
“It’s just that… I know so little about you.”
“You’re wrong about that, princesse.” He was drying Mr. Dog’s short hair with her apron. “You know more about me than most, I’ll wager. Think about it and tell me what you know.”
Ambrosia watched his hands as he affectionately dried a dog that he’d not met until that morning and that he had no intentions of keeping. He cared for animals. That much was clear. And if he cared for animals, then he likely held life itself in high regard.
“You are not a murderer,” she decided. Even if he might still be running from the law.
