Chapter 5
Five
Sleep had abandoned June hours ago, leaving her to toss and turn like a ship in a storm.
Her mind refused to quiet, replaying the evening's card game with merciless precision.
The memory of Dominic hand at the small of her back burned with the persistence of a brand.
She pressed her face into the pillow and groaned.
This would not do. Not at all.
The clock on her mantel chimed one, the sound mocking her futile attempts at slumber. With a resigned sigh, June threw back the coverlet and swung her feet to the floor. If her brain insisted on activity at this ungodly hour, she would at least make productive use of her wakefulness.
The library, she decided. A dull tome on agricultural methods ought to bore me into unconsciousness.
She slipped into her dressing dress, a practical garment that had seen better days, and wrapped a woolen shawl around her shoulders. The manor's hallways were drafty even in summer, and she had no wish to add a chill to her list of afflictions.
June padded barefoot across her chamber, pausing only to light a small candle before venturing into the hallway.
The house slept around her, its usual bustle replaced by the creaks and sighs of an old building settling into night.
She welcomed the silence, a blessed respite from her aunt's incessant matchmaking and the knowing looks that had followed her retreat from the card room.
The library door yielded silently to her touch, and she slipped inside, breathing in the comforting smell of leather and paper.
Unlike the main drawing rooms, which April had redecorated in the latest fashion, the library remained untouched—a gentleman's sanctuary of dark wood and deep chairs that spoke of generations of scholarly pursuit.
June made her way to the reading table, setting down her candle and lighting the small lamp that waited there.
Her fingers trailed along the shelves, seeking something suitably dull to induce drowsiness. Instead, they found a slim volume on recent Egyptian excavations. She pulled it free with an appreciative murmur. Perhaps not soporific, but certainly distracting.
She settled into a chair, tucking her feet beneath her and arranging her shawl more securely around her shoulders. The pages fell open to an illustration of ancient hieroglyphs, and June forgot her troubles as she traced the mysterious symbols with one finger.
How fascinating that we can look upon the same marks that someone carved thousands of years ago, she mused, her mind already racing with questions. What did they think as they chiseled these into stone? Did they imagine strangers from another time would someday decipher their meaning?
She lost herself in the text, absorbing details of burial chambers and artifacts with the same intensity she brought to every intellectual pursuit. So complete was her concentration that she failed to notice the library door opening again until a shadow fell across her page.
June looked up sharply, her heart lurching against her ribs. Dominic stood in the doorway, a candle in one hand and a book in the other. The soft light caught the angles of his face, throwing his features into sharp relief.
Her spine stiffened. "Are you following me?" The words emerged more accusatory than she'd intended, brittle with defensiveness.
Dominic chuckled, the sound low and rich in the quiet room. He stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. "I assure you, Lady June, I did not anticipate finding anyone here at this hour. I merely sought something tedious enough to lull me to sleep."
"The library is quite large," she said pointedly. "I'm certain you can find your soporific without disturbing me."
He moved toward the shelves, seemingly untroubled by her frosty reception. "Insomnia is a dreadful affliction, is it not? One's mind refuses to surrender to rest, fixating instead on the most inconvenient thoughts."
June said nothing, keeping her eyes firmly on her book though the words blurred before her.
The silence of the house, the darkness pressing against the windows—it created an intimacy, a private world contained within the circle of lamplight.
She was acutely aware of him moving through the shelves, selecting a volume, replacing it, his presence filling the room despite his attempt at quietness.
After several minutes, he approached her table, a book of his own in hand. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the chair opposite hers.
She wanted to refuse. The library was vast, with numerous suitable reading spots. Yet something in his expression—a lack of the usual smug certainty, perhaps—made her nod reluctantly.
He settled across from her, the lamp between them casting a warm glow that softened the sharp planes of his face. Instead of opening his book, he leaned forward, studying the volume in her hands.
"Are you truly interested in this," he asked, his voice holding genuine curiosity rather than his usual teasing tone, "or is it merely for late-night ambushes?"
June blinked, surprised by the sincerity of the question. "I find ancient civilizations fascinating," she admitted cautiously. "Particularly how they reveal themselves through what they left behind."
"The artifacts as narrative," he nodded, unexpected understanding in his eyes. "I saw some remarkable excavations during my time in Naples. They're uncovering an entire city buried by ash—Pompeii. It's as if time simply stopped."
Despite herself, June leaned forward. "I've read accounts. Is it true they've found people preserved exactly as they were when the volcano erupted?"
"Yes," Dominic said, his expression animated in a way she hadn't seen before.
"Casts formed in the ash—a mother clutching her child, a dog still chained to a post. Moments of terror preserved for eternity.
But it's the ordinary things that affected me most—half-eaten meals, notices for upcoming gladiatorial games, election slogans painted on walls. "
"Their everyday lives," June murmured, imagining it. "Just like ours, but frozen."
"Exactly. I stood in a baker's shop where loaves of bread were still in the oven, charred black after two thousand years. Makes one consider what we might leave behind."
June studied him with growing confusion. This was not the arrogant, flirtatious nobleman who had toyed with her emotions. This was someone else entirely—thoughtful, observant, possessing the same intellectual curiosity that drove her own pursuits.
"You speak as if you've actually thought about these things," she said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.
His lips curved. "Did you imagine I spent my entire Continental tour drinking and gambling?"
"The thought had occurred to me," she replied dryly.
"Only about half, then," he said with a wink that somehow lacked its usual practiced charm. "The rest I spent indulging my curiosity. The world is full of remarkable things, Lady June."
She turned a page in her book, revealing an illustration of a papyrus fragment. "Like this," she said, tapping the image. "Imagine writing something that survives millennia. What would you say if you knew future civilizations might read your words?"
He considered this, running a finger along the edge of the table. "Something profound, I suppose. Though knowing my luck, they'd find only my tailor's bills or a poorly written sonnet from my school days."
June laughed despite herself, a genuine sound that surprised them both. "I suspect my contribution to posterity would be a shopping list or an inventory of books. 'Lady June requested seventeen volumes on agricultural improvements and was denied fifteen of them by the librarian.'"
"A tragedy for the ages," he agreed, smiling.
She pushed the book slightly toward him, indicating a detailed drawing of hieroglyphics.
"They've only recently begun to translate these properly.
A French scholar found a stone with the same text in three languages—Greek, demotic script, and these hieroglyphs.
It unlocked the entire written language. "
"The Rosetta Stone," Dominic nodded. "I saw it in Paris before the British claimed it. Remarkable piece."
Their fingers nearly touched as they both pointed to different symbols on the page. June felt a strange current pass between them, not unlike what she'd experienced during their card game—a sense of connection that transcended their complicated history.
"You seem to know a great deal about antiquities," she observed, studying him with new interest.
"I had an excellent tutor at Oxford who encouraged wide-ranging curiosity," he replied. "And you? Where did you develop your interest in Egyptian excavations?"
"My father has an extensive library," she said. "When my sisters were learning to embroider and play the pianoforte, I was hiding among the bookshelves, devouring whatever I could find."
"Your childhood sounds remarkably similar to mine," Dominic said. "Though I doubt my governesses would recognize the studious boy in the man before you."
They fell into an easy conversation about books and learning, each revealing small pieces of their pasts.
June found herself leaning closer, caught up in the exchange of ideas and observations.
He matched her wit for wit, neither condescending nor showing off, but engaging with her mind in a way few men ever had.
After a particularly spirited debate about the merits of classical education versus practical knowledge, June realized with a start that she was enjoying herself—truly enjoying his company. The realization brought her up short.
This cannot be the same man who dismissed me so cruelly, she thought. Either he is a masterful actor, or...
An idea took shape in her mind. A test.
"Do you recall much of your time at Oxford?" she asked casually, though her heart thumped painfully against her ribs.
Dominic's smile was easy, confident. "Every detail."
The three syllables landed like stones in a still pond, sending ripples through June's composure. She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of duplicity, any hint that he recognized the significance of her question. She found none.
How do you not remember me, then? The thought rose sharp and bitter in her mind. Was I truly so insignificant?
The warmth that had built between them during their conversation dissipated like morning mist under a harsh sun. June closed the book with deliberate care, her movements precise and controlled despite the turmoil churning inside her.
"It grows late," she said, her voice cool and distant once more. "I should retire."
Confusion flashed across Dominic's face. "Have I said something to offend you?"
"Not at all," she replied, though the lie tasted sour on her tongue. "I am simply tired."
She rose, gathering her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as if it might shield her from the unexpected pain of his casual cruelty. How easily he had claimed to remember every detail of Oxford, when she—her very existence—had apparently left no impression whatsoever.
"Why are you leaving me so soon?" he asked, standing as well, genuine puzzlement in his expression. "Just when I've begun to enjoy your company."
June's chin lifted, pride reasserting itself in the face of hurt. "My company is not yours to enjoy, Your Grace," she said, each word precise and cutting. "Good night."
She swept toward the door, her back rigid and head high, refusing to betray by so much as a tremor the emotions roiling within her. His gaze followed her, she could feel it like a physical touch, but she did not turn.
Only when she had closed the library door behind her, only when she had put the solid oak between herself and those piercing blue eyes, did she allow her composure to waver. She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, eyes squeezed shut against the sting of tears she refused to shed.
He truly doesn't remember me, The realization was both devastating and infuriating. All this time, I believed he was playing some cruel game, pretending not to know me. But the truth is worse—I made no impression at all.
Perhaps May and April were right, she thought, determination hardening within her like amber encasing an insect. Perhaps it was time for a change.
She would make him regret ever failing to remember her name.