Chapter 4
Four
June Vestiere was a slight woman. She should have had no significance.
Yet she does, a voice in his head answered with irritating certainty.
Dominic strode across the rolling lawns of the Stone estate, his boots cutting through the afternoon dew as thoroughly as Lady June had cut through his usual composure.
Four and twenty hours since their encounter, and still her face—her remarkably expressive, challenging face—haunted him like an unpaid debt.
He'd walked nearly to the property's edge, seeking solitude and finding only his own thoughts for company. Terrible company they were, refusing to dwell on anything but Lady June and the kiss that should have meant nothing. The kiss that had, against all reason, meant something.
Unimpressed, she'd said. The audacity of it almost made him smile.
Almost. No woman had ever said such a thing to him, certainly not after he'd kissed her.
He'd spent years perfecting the art of being exactly impressive enough to earn a lady's attentions without encouraging her expectations.
Yet Lady June had dismissed him with the same casual disdain one might show a mediocre theatrical performance.
Dominic paused at the crest of a gentle hill, surveying the landscape without truly seeing it. The rolling countryside of Norfolk spread before him, but his mind remained in that room, with her scent lingering and her words ringing in his ears.
And now he knew who she was. August's sister. The knowledge struck him anew, as unwelcome as it had been when Theo first mentioned it. August Vestiere, one of his oldest friends, the man who had stood by him through university and beyond.
Dominic ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the careful styling his valet had spent half an hour achieving that morning. It mattered little. He had fled the manor house precisely to avoid company—to avoid her—and out here, there was no one to witness his dishevelment.
I would never court my friend's sister, he reminded himself firmly. That was a complication he neither needed nor wanted. Even if he had been the sort of man who believed in marriage—which he was decidedly not—forming an attachment to the sister of a dear friend was a recipe for disaster.
The distant thunder of hooves pulled him from his thoughts. Turning, he spotted a familiar figure astride a chestnut gelding, approaching at a brisk trot. August Vestiere, as if summoned by Dominic's troubled thoughts, cut a dashing figure against the afternoon sky.
Dominic squared his shoulders, forcing a smile he didn't entirely feel. By the time August reined in his mount a few paces away, Dominic had composed himself into the picture of aristocratic nonchalance.
"So this is where you've hidden yourself!
" August called, swinging down from the saddle with practiced ease.
He grinned, the expression lighting his handsome face with the same easy charm that had won him countless friends at Oxford.
"Running from the party already? I thought your social stamina was legendary. "
"Legend is often exaggeration," Dominic replied dryly, clasping his friend's outstretched hand. "It's good to see you, August."
"And you," August said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Though I'm surprised to find you out here among the sheep rather than inside, charming the ladies. Did you not find a single one worthy of your time?"
Dominic shook his head, ignoring the image of amber eyes that immediately sprang to mind. "I prefer fresh air to forced conversation. The manor is crawling with debutantes and their desperate mamas. I've dodged more matrimonial traps in the last day than most men see in a lifetime."
August laughed, a rich sound that reminded Dominic of late nights in university, solving the world's problems over too much port. "Ah, still the same Blake, then. Some things never change."
"More's the pity," Dominic said, with a wryness that surprised even himself. He gestured to August's riding attire. "You've only just arrived?"
"About an hour ago," August confirmed, looping his horse's reins loosely around one hand. "When Theo told me you'd fled the premises like a fox before hounds, I thought I'd come find you. Save you from yourself."
"How terribly considerate," Dominic drawled. "I should have hidden more effectively."
August studied him, his smile fading slightly. "You seem... different. Not quite the carefree Blake I remember."
"Continental air," Dominic said dismissively. "It makes one philosophical."
"Or melancholy," August suggested, raising an eyebrow. "Come, walk with me back to the house. Theo mentioned something about cards before dinner, and I'd like to relieve a few gentlemen of their quarterly allowances."
They began the slow walk back toward the manor, the horse ambling beside them. The afternoon sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the manicured lawns.
"I should warn you," August said after a comfortable silence, "my sisters are all in attendance."
"All?" Dominic asked, feigning ignorance with a skill honed over years of social duplicity.
"The complete trio," August confirmed, his pride evident. "April you know, of course, being our hostess. But May and June are here as well. I don't believe you've had the pleasure."
Dominic let out a chuckle that emerged darker than he intended. "Oh, I have already met them."
August's eyebrows rose. "Have you? Good. They are better company than most."
"Indeed," Dominic said, unable to keep a certain dryness from his tone. "Lady June in particular made quite an impression."
Something in his voice must have alerted August, for his friend glanced at him sharply. "Did she? June can be... prickly. I hope she wasn't rude."
Prickly hardly covered it. Dominic thought of June's cool assessment, her challenging words, the way she had kissed him with a passion that belied her dismissal. "Not at all," he lied smoothly. "She seems a woman of uncommon intelligence."
August looked relieved. "She is that. Too clever by half, Mother always says. Scares off most of the eligible gentlemen with her opinions on everything from Greek philosophy to agricultural reform."
"How terrifying," Dominic remarked, his lips quirking. "A woman with a mind of her own."
"You laugh," August said, "but you've never seen her reduce a pompous viscount to stammering incoherence over dinner."
Actually, Dominic rather thought he would enjoy that. The realization troubled him.
They had nearly reached the manor's gardens when August spoke again. "I've never understood why she's so resistant to marriage. April and May were both wed by her age, yet June treats every potential suitor as if he were carrying the plague."
Dominic kept his expression carefully neutral. "Perhaps she values her independence."
"Perhaps," August agreed, though he sounded unconvinced. "Or perhaps she's waiting for someone worthy of her intelligence. God knows most of the ton's gentlemen couldn't string together two coherent thoughts if their fortunes depended on it."
And am I worthy? The question rose unbidden in Dominic's mind, startling him with its presumption.
What did it matter if he was worthy or not?
He had no intention of pursuing Lady June or any woman.
His path was clear—enjoy life's pleasures while they lasted, manage his estates well, and leave this world without inflicting the pain of loss on a wife or children.
"Come," August said, gesturing toward the manor that now loomed before them. "Let's rejoin civilization. I'll introduce you to my sisters properly."
"I look forward to it," Dominic replied through clenched teeth, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.
"You must make the most of this house party, Lady June," Lady Worthington declared, adjusting her enormous turban with fingers that sparkled with more rings than June thought entirely necessary for an afternoon in the country.
"A gathering of this caliber presents opportunities that a young lady of your.
.. particular qualities cannot afford to overlook. "
"My particular qualities?" June echoed, raising one eyebrow. "Pray tell, which of my deficiencies are you referring to this time, Aunt Agatha? My unfortunate habit of reading books not approved for ladies, or my advanced age of twenty years?"
Lady Worthington's mouth puckered as if she'd bitten into an unripe persimmon. "There is no need for impertinence, my dear. I merely suggest that with both your sisters so advantageously settled, your continued unmarried state draws... notice."
June rolled her eyes, an unladylike gesture she'd perfected through years of enduring similar conversations. "How fortunate that I care so deeply about the notice of others."
"You should care," her aunt insisted, tapping June's knee with her ivory fan. "Three more seasons without a proposal, and you'll be firmly on the shelf. Then what will become of you?"
"I shall establish a colony of spinsters," June replied placidly. "We shall wear comfortable shoes and discuss politics at breakfast. Perhaps keep cats."
Lady Worthington looked genuinely horrified, which gave June a flicker of satisfaction.
The drawing room buzzed with afternoon conversation, the usual mixture of gossip and idle chatter that made June long for the solitude of a good book.
She had worn her most forbidding expression all morning in hopes of discouraging conversation, but her aunt, immune to such subtle warnings, had cornered her by the window.
The drawing room door opened, and June glanced up automatically.
Her heart stuttered as August entered, followed closely by Dominic.
The duke was impeccably dressed in a dark blue coat that made his eyes seem even more piercing than she remembered.
His hair, slightly tousled as if he'd been walking outdoors, gave him a rakish air that contrasted with his otherwise perfect appearance.