Chapter 12 #2
The interior was exactly what one might expect of a country bookshop—cramped, dusty, and utterly enchanting to those who loved the written word.
Shelves rose from floor to ceiling, each one sagging slightly under the weight of its literary burden.
The air smelled of old paper, leather bindings, and the peculiar mustiness that only truly ancient books could produce.
June stood with her back to him, examining a shelf of historical texts, her fingers trailing reverently over the spines. She hadn't noticed him yet. Dominic cleared his throat.
"I see you've found the only establishment in this village worth patronizing," he said, enjoying the way she startled at his voice.
June whirled around, her eyes widening. "Your Grace. What are you doing here?"
"The same as you, I imagine. Seeking something more stimulating than discussions about the relative merits of Belgian lace."
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I wasn't aware you had a preference regarding lace."
"I have preferences regarding many things," he replied, moving to stand beside her and examine the shelf. "Ancient history, I see. A particular interest of yours?"
"Among many," she admitted, turning back to the books. "Though I confess a weakness for local histories. They often contain details overlooked by more... prestigious scholars."
Dominic pulled a volume from the shelf, raising an eyebrow at the title. "The Complete Accounting of Sheep Farming in Norfolk, 1760 to 1790.' That must make for riveting bedtime reading."
"You'd be surprised," she replied, a glint of mischief in her amber eyes. "The chapter on ram breeding practices is positively scandalous."
He laughed, genuinely surprised by her wit. "Lady June Vestiere, did you just make a jest about livestock reproduction?"
"Did I shock you?" she asked, reaching past him to replace a book on a higher shelf. Her arm brushed his, and Dominic felt the contact like a spark against his skin.
"I find myself increasingly difficult to shock," he murmured, aware of their proximity in the narrow aisle. "Though you continually surprise me."
Something shifted in her expression—a softening, perhaps, or a moment of vulnerability quickly masked. "Is that a compliment?"
"Merely an observation." He moved deeper into the shop, aware of her following him. "What are you truly seeking here? Surely not sheep farming chronicles."
June ran her fingers along a row of leather-bound volumes. "The shopkeeper mentioned he had acquired some manuscripts from an old Roman villa excavation nearby. I wanted to see if—ah!"
She reached for a slim volume wrapped in cracked leather and bound with a faded red ribbon. Carefully, she untied the ribbon and opened the book, her face transformed by genuine delight.
"What treasure have you unearthed?" Dominic asked, finding himself drawn less to the book than to the expression of pure joy on her face.
"Local Roman history," she explained, turning the brittle pages with reverent care.
"Look at these illustrations—floor plans of the villa, sketches of mosaics, even translations of inscriptions found on the walls.
" She glanced up, her eyes bright with excitement.
"This was likely recorded by the local vicar.
See his notations in the margins? He's questioning the translation of this phrase—" she pointed to a line of Latin text "—but he's actually mistaken.
It's not a dedication to Mercury but to Minerva. "
Dominic leaned closer, ostensibly to examine the text but primarily to breathe in the scent of her—lavender and ink and something uniquely June. "You read Latin?"
"And Greek," she replied, not looking up from the page. "Though my pronunciation of the latter is dreadful, according to my father."
"You are a danger to forgotten libraries everywhere, Lady June," he said, genuinely impressed. "No ancient text is safe from your scholarly pursuits."
She laughed, the sound surprisingly light and musical in the dusty shop. "What a charming way to call me a bluestocking."
"Not at all," Dominic protested, touching the edge of the page she held. "I find your intellect..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Captivating."
Their eyes met over the open book, and for a moment, neither spoke. Dominic found himself counting her eyelashes, noting the exact shade of her eyes—not merely brown, but amber with flecks of gold near the pupils.
The shop bell jangled, shattering the moment.
"Nephew? Is that you lurking in the shadows? And—goodness me—Lady June?"
Dominic suppressed a groan as his aunt, Lady Worthington, appeared at the end of the aisle, her elaborate turban threatening to dislodge several precariously balanced books as she approached.
"Aunt Agatha," he said, stepping slightly away from June. "What a... coincidence."
Lady Worthington's eyes gleamed with undisguised delight as she glanced between them. "Indeed! And what a charming one. I had no idea you two shared an interest in..." she peered at the book in June's hands, "...Roman ruins."
"His Grace was merely—" June began.
"—passing through," Dominic finished.
Lady Worthington's smile widened. "My, my," she trilled, adjusting her gloves with exaggerated care. "One could mistake you for a courting couple. Should we be listening for wedding bells?"
Dominic felt June stiffen beside him. His own body had gone rigid at his aunt's words.
"Good heavens, no," June laughed, the sound a touch too high to be natural.
"Lady June was merely assisting me in avoiding literary obscurity," Dominic added, forcing his tone to sound carefully bored. "These country shops can be so disorganized."
"Of course, of course," Lady Worthington said, not bothering to hide her skepticism. "Well, I shan't intrude further. The linen draper had the most delightful selection of handkerchiefs—you simply must see them, Lady June. I'll tell your mother where to find you, shall I?"
"That won't be necessary," June said quickly. "I was just leaving."
"As was I," Dominic added. "Allow me to escort you both."
Lady Worthington beamed. "How gallant! But I've left my reticule at the draper's. You two go ahead—I'll catch up directly."
With a knowing wink that made Dominic want to sink through the floorboards, his aunt swept from the shop, the bell jangling cheerfully in her wake.
In the sudden silence, Dominic became intensely aware of June still standing beside him, the Roman manuscript clutched to her chest like a shield. Their synchronized denials hung in the air between them, the lie—for it was a lie, wasn't it?—creating an unexpected intimacy.
Neither spoke. June carefully retied the ribbon around the manuscript and placed it back on the shelf.
"Your aunt is..." she began, then trailed off.
"Meddlesome? Presumptuous? Embarrassingly transparent?" Dominic suggested.
A small smile touched June's lips. "I was going to say 'observant.'"
The word fell between them like a stone in still water, sending ripples of meaning in all directions. Dominic stepped closer, close enough to see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
"What exactly do you imagine she observed?" he asked, his voice low.
June met his gaze steadily, though a flush of pink colored her cheeks. "Nothing of consequence," she replied. "Nothing at all."
But the lie was there again, hanging in the dusty air. And with it, a question neither dared to voice: What if it wasn't a lie at all?