Oh, but it wasn’t home. And she knew sadness would come all too quickly. When the music struck up again, livelier this time, he placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and they informed the Wootens that they were going to return to the house on foot. Already they had left Mr. Dog alone in the house for too long.
Mrs. Wooten smiled. “Don’t bother waiting up for us!” she instructed. And then, with a wave goodbye, she sent Ambrosia a wink.
Neither spoke much walking back, but he kept her close beside him as though he was reluctant to let her go.
Don’t let me go, then.
An impossible plea. Something or someone in his life had a hold over him. He’d promised her that he was not married, and she knew he wasn’t a criminal. And yet, he would walk away from her in a day or two’s time, and that would be the end of it.
Before they even entered the house, Mr. Dog let out a string of barks, and then welcomed them enthusiastically as they entered the kitchen. Dash finally released her to light a flint and then a few candles in the kitchen.
“I’ll get his leading string and take him out,” Ambrosia said as she edged around the table. The Wootens were not home yet and there was nobody to pretend for.
“I’ll take him.” Dash had already stoked the fire in the stove, the flames casting a flickering glow across his features. “I’d rather you not wander around in the dark by yourself.”
Ambrosia hesitated in the doorway, her fingers curling around the edge of her shawl. “Make certain he doesn’t get away again,” she said quietly, her voice catching on the memory. The sting of that memory—the fear she'd felt the night before, believing Dash might have left her without a word—hadn't entirely faded.
His eyes lifted to meet hers then, the fire forgotten. He reached for the leading string but, before taking it, wrapped his fingers gently around hers. A reassuring squeeze. A wordless promise.
“I’ll keep him close,” he said, softer now. “You have my word.”
The day had been full—of laughter, of dancing, of romancing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so awake in her own skin.
Like she mattered.
But with nightfall came the creeping ache of what loomed ahead. This—whatever this was between them—was fleeting. And that knowledge settled in her chest like a stone.
She nodded, her throat tight.
Dash gave her a lopsided smile—mischief dimmed now to something gentler, something harder to name.
“Never worry for me, princesse,” he said. Then, tugging lightly on Mr. Dog’s lead, he turned and disappeared into the dark.
Not knowing how long he’d be gone, Ambrosia poured out a pitcher of warm water and then, taking one of the tapers, hurried upstairs.
Once in their attic room, she reluctantly removed the lovely gown Mrs. Wooten had loaned her and draped it over a chair. The air was cool, but her skin was hot. She washed the dirt of the day off, as much as she could with one cloth, and then slid into her night rail.
He did not come upstairs right away. She heard the door close, and then other sounds from the kitchen. He might be going to feed Mr. Dog, or give him some water. She was tempted to climb into the comfortable-looking bed, but they hadn’t discussed what their sleeping arrangements would be.
She wasn’t certain what she wanted them to be.
Follow your heart…
There really was no other comfortable place for him to sleep, and the Wootens would expect him to sleep in the bed with her…
“Ambrosia?” She jumped. She’d been contemplating the night so hard that she hadn’t heard him climb the stairs.
His hair was wet, and he’d removed his waistcoat and jacket.
He’d slept beside her in the tent two nights before but this was different somehow. It felt so much more intimate.
She could not keep her eyes from staring at the curling tendrils of hair on his bare chest, revealed by the unfastened buttons at the top of his shirt. Shadows flickered over the defined muscles around his collarbone, the strong lines of his neck.
He looked wild and undone—and entirely beautiful.
This might be her only chance.
Tonight, he could be… her Dash?
