Chapter 3
Three
June's pulse thundered beneath the spot where Dominic's lips had touched her wrist. She remained frozen on the terrace, watching his retreating form with what she hoped appeared to be cool indifference rather than the tumultuous storm that raged within.
The nerve of the man, to act as though their meeting was a delightful coincidence rather than a deliberate slight to her memory.
And yet, something pressed against her palm—something small and hard that he must have slipped there during that indecorous, entirely inappropriate kiss.
She waited until he disappeared around the corner with Theo before uncurling her fingers. Her breath caught in her throat.
"Is that—?" she murmured to herself, staring down at the pearl drop earring nestled in her palm. Her earring. The one she'd been searching for since last night's mortifying encounter in his chambers.
"June?" April's voice broke through her reverie. "What has the duke given you?"
Before June could close her fingers around the evidence, May leaned closer, her spectacles sliding down her nose as she peered at June's hand.
"Isn't that the earring you were looking everywhere for this morning?" May asked, her green eyes widening behind the glass. "Why does the Duke of Icemere have it?"
The scarlet heat that flooded June's cheeks was swift and merciless. "It's nothing," she insisted, attempting to tuck the earring into her pocket, but in her haste, she fumbled it. The pearl bounced once on the stone terrace before April snatched it up.
"This is definitely yours," April said, examining it.
"Mother gave each of us a pair for our sixteenth birthday.
I lost one of mine during a rainstorm in Hampshire, and May's were stolen by that dreadful cat.
" She looked up, her expression a mixture of confusion and dawning comprehension.
"And didn't the duke say you've met before? "
June snatched back the earring and tucked it securely in her pocket. "He was mistaken."
"June Vestiere," May said, with the stern tone that had emerged since she'd become a mother, "you are many things, but you have never been a convincing liar."
June sighed, glancing between her sisters. Their identical faces wore identical expressions of curiosity, which meant she would get no peace until she satisfied it. She stepped away from the balustrade, moving toward the ivy-covered garden wall where they might not be overheard.
"Very well," she said, smoothing her skirts with unsteady hands. "But you must promise not to laugh."
"We would never," April said, though the twitch at the corner of her mouth suggested otherwise.
"You remember when I accompanied August to Oxford several years ago?" June began, her voice low. "I spent most of my time in the Bodleian Library. It was there I first met Dominic Blake."
May gasped. "The Duke of Ice? And you never told us?"
"It hardly seemed worth mentioning," June replied, though the lie tasted bitter. "He helped me retrieve a book from a high shelf. We spoke briefly about Polybius. That was all."
"That cannot be all," April insisted. "Not if he has your earring."
"That is..." June struggled to find the words, "a more recent development."
Both her sisters stared at her expectantly.
"What happened when you returned to Oxford the following year?" May prompted gently.
June's head snapped up. "How did you—"
"We're your sisters," April said simply. "We know when you're skipping important parts of a story."
June closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself.
Even after all these years, the memory still stung like a fresh wound.
"The second time I went to Oxford, I overheard a conversation between August and Dominic.
August had found something I had written.
" She paused, mortification washing over her anew.
"A page where I had scribbled Dominic's name. With... embellishments."
"Embellishments?" May repeated.
"Hearts," June admitted, her voice barely audible. "And his title. And my name with his. It was childish and mortifying and I thought I had burned it, but August found it and confronted him."
April's eyes softened with understanding. "Oh, Junebug."
"And what did the duke say?" May asked, her voice gentler now.
June lifted her chin, willing her voice not to tremble.
"He said he had no interest in me. That he would never be interested in someone like me.
He described me as—" she swallowed hard, "—'thin as a reed, hair like unpolished brass, eyes too large for her face.
' And then he told August not to worry, as I would outgrow my infatuation and find some curate to torment instead. "
A heavy silence fell between them. May reached for June's hand, squeezing it tightly.
"And you never told us," April said, her voice thick with disbelief. "All these years, we thought you were simply disinterested in marriage."
"I wanted to forget it had ever happened," June explained. "It seemed easier that way. If I didn't speak of it, perhaps the memory would fade."
"But it didn't," May observed.
"No," June admitted. "It didn't."
"And last night?" April prompted. "How did he come to have your earring?"
June's face heated again. "I got lost looking for my room. The house is enormous, and after three glasses of punch, all the hallways began to look the same."
"You entered his bedchamber," May guessed, her eyes wide.
"By accident," June insisted. "But when I realized my error and tried to leave, he blocked my path. And he didn't remember me. Not at all. After all these years, after that humiliation, he looked at me as though I were a complete stranger."
"What did you do?" April asked, leaning in.
June's lips curved into a small, defiant smile. "I kissed him."
"You didn't!" gasped May.
"I did," June confirmed. "And then I told him I expected the kiss to be better, and I left."
April's mouth fell open, then closed, then opened again. "June, you absolutely wicked thing."
"I'm not proud of it," June said, though her tone suggested otherwise. "But in that moment, seeing him so smug and self-assured, knowing he had dismissed me so thoroughly that he couldn't even remember me... I wanted him to regret it. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of the humiliation I felt."
May adjusted her spectacles, a habit she'd had since childhood when processing shocking information. "And now he's returned your earring. Which means he knows exactly who you are."
"Or he's playing a game," June replied. "Either way, I am not finished with him yet."
"What do you mean?" April asked.
June straightened her shoulders. "I mean to make him regret ever forgetting who I am."
April and May exchanged a cautious look that June recognized all too well—the silent communication of two people about to meddle.
"Is that why you've been so reluctant to marry?" April asked carefully. "Because of what he said?"
"Of course not," June snapped, perhaps too quickly. "The duke's opinion of me has no bearing on my views of matrimony. It simply confirmed what I already suspected—that most of the ton's gentlemen are vain, self-absorbed creatures who value appearance over substance."
May's expression grew thoughtful. "Or perhaps his rejection wounded you more deeply than you care to admit."
June opened her mouth to protest, but May continued, "Either way, if you wish to make him regret his words, we shall help you."
"We shall?" April asked, then caught May's pointed look. "Oh! Yes, of course we shall. In fact, I think a little... diversion would enliven an otherwise stodgy house party."
"It's hardly stodgy," June protested. "And it's your house party, not mine."
"With Aunt Agatha and those three simpering debutantes from Kent in attendance, we can hardly stray from propriety," April pointed out. "But a little harmless amusement between sisters... well, that's another matter entirely."
Despite herself, June felt a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "I do miss our shared amusements."
May clapped her hands together, nearly dislodging her spectacles in her excitement. "Does this mean you will finally let us give you a makeover?"
"A what?" June stared at her.
"Look at your dress," April said, gesturing to June's serviceable grey muslin. "It's perfectly sensible for a damp summer afternoon, but it hardly makes a statement."
June glanced down at herself. The dress was practical, comfortable, and utterly forgettable—exactly as she preferred. But as she considered the look on Dominic's face should she appear in something more striking, something warm unfurled in her chest.
"Red," May declared, nodding decisively. "Or perhaps purple. Either would brighten your complexion wonderfully."
"And your hair," April added, circling June as if she were a statue in need of refurbishment. "We must do something about those pins. They're so severe."
"And proper shoes," May continued. "Not those practical half-boots you insist on wearing everywhere."
"And perhaps a touch of perfume," April suggested. "The French blend that Logan brought May last Christmas would suit you."
June looked between her sisters, their identical faces alight with anticipation, and felt a curious mixture of dread and excitement.
The prospect of transforming herself solely to make Dominic notice her seemed petty, beneath her dignity.
And yet, the memory of his dismissive words still burned like acid.
Thin as a reed, hair like unpolished brass, eyes too large for her face.
Perhaps it was time to show him—and herself—that she was more than his careless assessment.
"Very well," she said finally. "But nothing too outrageous. I won't have the entire party thinking I've lost my senses."
May and April exchanged triumphant smiles.
"Leave everything to us," April said, looping her arm through June's.
"You won't regret it," May added, taking June's other arm.
As her sisters guided her back toward the house, chattering excitedly about silks and ribbons and hairstyles, June felt a thread of panic weaving through her determination.
What have I gotten myself into?