Chapter 11
Eleven
"How in God's name did I miss dinner?" June muttered to herself as she rummaged through the pantry shelves. Her stomach answered with an embarrassingly loud growl, as if to emphasize the severity of her neglect.
This was the third time this month she'd become so absorbed in a book that she'd forgotten to eat.
Her mother would have been appalled—a proper lady always attended meals, if only to maintain appearances.
But June had never been particularly concerned with being proper, especially not when Mayan temples and ancient civilizations beckoned from the pages of her latest literary acquisition.
The kitchen was mercifully deserted at this hour, the staff long since retired to their quarters.
A single candle cast elongated shadows across the flagstone floor, making the familiar space seem almost mysterious.
June moved with practiced stealth, having embarked on similar midnight foraging expeditions since childhood.
She found a loaf of bread, still fresh enough to be appealing, and a wedge of cheese that had survived the evening's dinner service.
A quick search yielded a small portion of ham as well—not the finest cuts, which would have been served upstairs, but perfectly acceptable for her purposes.
She arranged her findings on a small wooden board and sliced the cheese with the precision of someone who valued efficiency over ceremony.
Her stomach growled again, more insistently this time.
"Yes, yes, I hear you," she whispered. "Patience is a virtue, even for digestive organs."
She should have known better than to begin reading that treatise on ancient Mayan civilization just before dinner.
But the illustrations of their temples had been so extraordinary, the descriptions of their astronomical calculations so fascinating, that she'd found herself unable to stop turning pages.
By the time she'd looked up, the dinner gong had long since sounded, and she'd decided it would be less disruptive to remain absent than to arrive scandalously late.
June ventured back into the pantry in search of something sweet to complete her improvised meal. An apple caught her eye, its red skin gleaming in the candlelight. She reached for it, balancing it atop her carefully arranged bread, ham, and cheese.
When she emerged from the pantry, the apple precariously perched, a tall figure stood silhouetted against the kitchen's far wall.
June gasped, startled so thoroughly that her grip loosened. The bread tumbled to the floor, followed by the ham. Only the cheese and apple remained in her grasp, the former by mere chance, the latter pinned against her chest.
"I believe you've dropped something," said a voice she knew all too well—deep, rich, and infuriatingly amused.
She squinted in the dim light, though she hardly needed visual confirmation. "Your Grace," she said flatly. "What are you doing here?"
Dominic stepped forward, the candlelight revealing his features—the sharp angle of his jaw, the subtle curve of his lips as they formed a smile that was equal parts charm and challenge.
He wore no coat, just a white shirt with the collar open and sleeves rolled to the elbows, and dark breeches.
His hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd been running his hands through it.
"What do you think?" he asked, bending to retrieve her fallen bread. He dusted it off with a gesture that somehow managed to be both fastidious and casual.
June frowned, setting the cheese and apple on the table with more force than necessary. "Are you following me? Because if this is some sort of game—"
"I assure you, Lady June, I did not anticipate finding you here." He placed the bread beside her other items, then leaned against the table, crossing his ankles in a posture of perfect ease. "I couldn't sleep and came looking for a cup of milk."
She raised an eyebrow. "A cup of milk? A duke wandering the hallways at midnight in search of milk, when you could easily have rung for your valet? That seems rather... pedestrian."
"Does it?" He tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her skin warm despite the kitchen's coolness. "I prefer to allow those who serve me to rest at night so they may work with full alertness by day."
The simple statement, delivered without pretension, caught June off guard. It was the sort of consideration that she herself practiced—and the last thing she expected from the Duke of Ice. She found herself reassessing him, if only slightly.
"That's... unexpectedly thoughtful," she admitted grudgingly.
"You needn't sound so surprised. I am capable of consideration." He glanced at her makeshift meal. "Though it seems you're the one in need of nourishment. Did you truly miss dinner entirely?"
June busied herself with rearranging the food, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. "I was reading. I lost track of time."
"It must have been quite the book." His voice held genuine curiosity now, the teasing edge temporarily set aside. "What was so fascinating that you couldn't bear to leave it?"
She glanced up, searching his face for signs of mockery, but found none.
"A treatise on Mayan civilization. Their calendar system was remarkably sophisticated for a culture that—" She stopped herself, suddenly aware that she was about to launch into a lecture.
"I've always had a tendency to lose myself in books. "
"So I've observed. First Egyptian hieroglyphs, now Mayan temples.
Your interests are admirably diverse." Dominic moved toward a cupboard, retrieving a small pot that he filled with milk from a covered jug.
"Do you find country life provides sufficient intellectual stimulation?
Or do you prefer London's libraries and lecture halls? "
June watched him set the pot on a hook above the low-burning kitchen fire, his movements betraying familiarity with such domestic tasks—another surprise. "Why the sudden interest in my preferences, Your Grace? You've never seemed particularly concerned with them before."
Dominic turned, his expression unreadable in the half-light. "Perhaps I'm making conversation."
"Perhaps," June said, "but I don't believe that for a moment. Something has changed." She crossed her arms. "What is it?"
He regarded her for a long moment, the silence stretching between them like a tangible thing. Then he sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
"When were you going to tell me that we had met before?" he asked quietly.
June's pulse quickened. So he remembered. After all this time, after his casual dismissal, after forgetting her very existence, he finally remembered.
"I see you remember now," she muttered, her fingers tightening around her arms.
"The Bodleian Library. You were looking for Polybius, climbing a ladder that looked dangerously unsteady." His gaze was steady, searching. "You told me the second volume was nearly impenetrable."
"And you said you admired a challenge," June finished. She forced a smile that felt brittle on her lips. "I merely wanted to see how long it would take you to remember. A small experiment, if you will."
Dominic's eyes narrowed. "An experiment," he repeated, the words flat with disbelief. "Is that what you call it when you hide in a man's bedchamber and then kiss him without explanation?"
Heat rushed to June's cheeks. "I did not hide in your bedchamber. As I explained at the time, I was lost. And as for the kiss—" She lifted her chin defiantly. "Consider it a momentary lapse in judgment. A curiosity quickly satisfied and just as quickly dismissed."
The milk began to simmer, but Dominic made no move toward it. "We have moved in the same circles for weeks now," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "Don't you think it would be easier if we were civil to one another?"
"Civil?" June raised an eyebrow. "I have been perfectly civil, Your Grace. At least since the night in question. You are the one who seems... preoccupied with me."
"Preoccupied?" Dominic echoed, his jaw tightening. "That's an interesting choice of word."
"Is it? What would you call it, then?" June pushed away from the table, the pretense of making a meal suddenly forgotten.
"You watch me when you think I'm not looking.
You engage me in conversation at every opportunity.
You appear in the same room, the same garden path—and now the same kitchen at midnight.
" She took a step toward him, emboldened by his momentary silence.
"One might almost call it an obsession."
Something dangerous flashed in Dominic's eyes. June felt a thrill race through her at having provoked a reaction, at having cracked that perfect ducal composure. She had struck a nerve—good. Let him feel something of the turmoil he created in her.
In three long strides, he closed the distance between them. June found herself retreating until her back met the cool stone wall. Dominic planted his hands on either side of her head, effectively caging her without actually touching her.
"An obsession," he repeated, his voice low and tight with controlled emotion. "Is that what you think this is?"
June's heart hammered against her ribs, but she refused to show fear.
This close, she could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, smell the clean scent of his skin, feel the heat radiating from his body.
She ought to be terrified—or at the very least, outraged at his presumption.
Instead, she felt electrified, every nerve ending suddenly, acutely alive.
"What else would you call it?" she managed, proud that her voice remained steady.
Dominic leaned closer, his face mere inches from hers. "Let me be perfectly clear, Lady June. I am not obsessed with you. I do not spend my days thinking about you, or my nights plotting ways to encounter you. I cannot care less about anything that has to do with you."
The words should have stung, but they were belied by the intensity of his gaze, by the slight roughness in his voice, by the way his eyes dropped briefly to her lips before returning to meet her stare.
June laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat. "Pride is a sin, Your Grace."
"One I am told you know all too well..." He brought his face closer still, close enough that she could feel his breath against her lips.
June's pulse thundered in her ears. She knew she should push him away, should slip out from his arms and retreat to the safety of her chamber.
But her limbs refused to cooperate, as if they had developed a will of their own—a will that wanted nothing more than to eliminate the last few inches of space between them.
"Of the two of us," she whispered, "I doubt I am the one who has sinned the most."
Something shifted in his expression—a flash of vulnerability quickly masked by determination. For a heartbeat, June thought he might kiss her. Part of her hoped he would, if only to prove that the fire between them wasn't entirely of her imagination.
But instead, Dominic pushed himself away from the wall, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving June feeling strangely bereft.
"Very well, have it your way then," he said, his voice deceptively casual as he turned toward the now-overflowing milk. He removed it from the fire with a smooth motion. "We will see who will be begging the other for a kiss by the end of this..."
The challenge was clear between them, and her hear would not stop racing.