Chapter 15
Fifteen
June tilted her head back, gazing at the canopy of stars scattered above like diamond dust on black velvet.
The night air was a welcome relief from the stifling warmth of the terrace where Stone's guests continued their revelry.
Music and laughter drifted across the lawn, but here, in this darkened corner of the garden, she had found a moment's peace from watchful eyes and, more importantly, from a certain pair of blue ones that seemed to follow her with unsettling persistence.
She wrapped her arms around herself, grateful for the shawl she'd thought to bring. The garden party would be tomorrow, and then perhaps she could plead a headache and retreat to her chamber. Just a few more days of this careful avoidance, and surely these unwanted feelings would subside.
Foolish girl, she scolded herself. Have you learned nothing in four years?
The memory of that humiliation still burned. Standing outside the library door at Oxford, hearing Dominic's cutting dismissal when August had confronted him about her childish infatuation. The cruel words had sliced through her young heart like a blade.
"Thin as a reed, hair like unpolished brass, eyes too large for her face... I have no interest in schoolgirls with romantic fantasies."
And yet here she was, a grown woman of twenty, and those same fantasies threatened to resurface.
Each time he entered a room, her traitorous heart beat faster.
When he spoke, she found herself listening not just to his words but to the rich timbre of his voice.
When they argued—which was often—she felt more alive than she had in years.
It cannot happen again, June vowed fiercely. She would not give him the power to wound her twice. This time, she knew better. This time, she would protect herself.
Footsteps on the grass behind her made her pulse leap. She turned, half-expecting—half-fearing—to see Dominic's tall figure approaching through the darkness. Relief and an odd disappointment mingled when she recognized her brother's familiar silhouette.
"There you are," August said, coming to stand beside her. "Are you all right?"
June forced a smile. "Perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"
"Because most people attending a gathering choose to actually attend the gathering," he pointed out, his voice gentle with concern. "Yet here you stand, alone in the dark, staring at the sky as if it might provide answers to questions you haven't asked."
"The night is pleasant, and the stars are particularly bright," she countered. "Is that not reason enough?"
"Then why are you standing away from the merriment?" August persisted. "You've been avoiding company all evening."
Because every time I enter a room, I look for him first. Because when I find him, I can't look away. Because I'm afraid of what that means.
"Have you seen Mama and Aunt Agatha?" she asked instead, deflecting with the most plausible excuse. "They are determined to find me a husband at this party."
August laughed, the sound warm and familiar in the darkness. "And so you cower in the darkness, Junebug? Would finding a husband truly be that bad?"
June shook her head, grateful that the night concealed the flush warming her cheeks. "None of the gentlemen here is right for me."
"Is that so?" August raised an eyebrow, visible even in the dim light.
Something in his tone made June wary. "Would you beg to differ?"
"Certainly." August turned to face her fully. "In fact, I've noticed a particular gentleman whose company you seemed to enjoy quite thoroughly—until recently. Now you flee rooms the moment he enters them."
June's heart stuttered. Had she been so transparent? "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" August's voice held no mockery, only gentle inquiry. "Dominic has asked after you, you know. He seems puzzled by your sudden aversion to his company."
"He's asked after me?" The words escaped before June could contain them. She quickly added, "I mean, that's absurd. We barely know each other."
"Strange," August mused. "I could have sworn I saw you two engaged in quite animated conversation in the library last week. And at the archery contest. And in the village bookshop. And—"
"Those were chance encounters," June interrupted hastily. "Nothing of significance."
"If you say so." August's tone suggested he believed otherwise. "Though I must admit, I've never seen Blake so interested in a lady who wasn't actively pursuing him. It's rather refreshing."
June turned away, focusing again on the stars to hide her expression. "I believe Lord Blackwood was looking for you earlier. Something about a wager on tomorrow's race?"
August chuckled. "Changing the subject, June? How unlike you to retreat from a debate."
"I'm not retreating," she protested, though they both knew she was. "I simply have no interest in discussing the Duke of Icemere."
"As you wish." August reached over to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, a brotherly gesture from their childhood. "But remember, not all men are the same. And people change."
"Some things remain constant," June replied, thinking of Dominic's reputation, his determination never to marry, the inevitable heartbreak that would follow any foolish attachment to him.
"Perhaps." August's voice softened. "But consider this: the stars you're so fond of appear fixed and unchanging to us. Yet astronomers tell us they move constantly, burning with a passion we can barely comprehend from our distant vantage point."
Before June could formulate a suitable response to this unexpected philosophical turn, August kissed her cheek and straightened. "I'll leave you to your celestial contemplations. But don't stay out too long. Mother has already noticed your absence."
He walked away, his footsteps fading on the lawn.
June sighed, grateful for the restored solitude yet missing her brother's comforting presence.
August meant well, but he didn't understand.
He couldn't know what it had cost her to overhear Dominic's dismissal years ago, or what it would cost her now to allow those feelings to resurface.
The night air seemed suddenly cooler. June drew her shawl tighter, turning her attention back to the heavens.
The stars were indeed beautiful tonight, scattered across the sky in patterns she recognized from her books but always struggled to identify in reality.
The vastness made her feel small, yet somehow more connected to the universe.
"The Great Bear is there."
The deep voice came from directly behind her, so close she felt the words as much as heard them. June startled, nearly stumbling as she whirled around.
Dominic stood mere feet away, his face half-illuminated by the distant glow from the terrace lanterns.
The shadows accentuated the sharp planes of his face, the strong line of his jaw.
He wore no hat, and a lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead in a way that made him look younger, less guarded.
"Your Grace," she managed, hating how breathless she sounded. "You startled me."
His mouth curved into a slight smile. "Not my intention, I assure you. Though I must say, you seem remarkably easy to startle for someone deliberately hiding in the shadows."
"I am not hiding," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "I am merely..."
"Lurking? Skulking? Conspiring with the night creatures?" He offered, stepping closer. "Planning a midnight abduction of the butler's prized silver?"
Despite herself, June felt a smile tug at her lips. "Why does everyone ask me what I'm doing here? Is it so strange to prefer starlight to candles and conversation?"
"I am not everyone," he corrected her, moving to stand beside her, close enough that she could detect the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to him. "And yes, it is unusual for a young lady to abandon a gathering where she is admired, to stand alone in the dark."
June turned back to the stars, using them as a shield against his too-perceptive gaze. "I'm gazing at the stars, if you must know. Though I fear my knowledge of them comes primarily from books."
"Books are excellent teachers," he said, surprising her with the lack of mockery in his tone. "But the sky itself can be difficult to read without a guide."
"And you consider yourself such a guide?" She meant the words to sound challenging, but they emerged softer than intended.
"I've sailed under many skies," he replied simply. "After enough nights on the open sea, the stars become as familiar as old friends."
June glanced at him, struck by this glimpse of a life so different from her own. "I've never been to sea."
"No?" He tilted his head to look at her, his expression thoughtful. "I think you would enjoy it. The vastness of the ocean matches the reach of your mind."
The unexpected compliment rendered June momentarily speechless. She turned her face upward again, hoping the darkness concealed the color rising in her cheeks.
"You mentioned the Great Bear," she said when she'd recovered her composure. "I've read about it, but I can never quite find it among so many stars."
Dominic stepped closer, so close that his arm nearly touched hers. He raised his hand, pointing upward. "There—do you see those seven stars forming a shape like a ladle or dipper?"
June followed the direction of his gesture, squinting slightly. "I think so."
"That's part of it. Now, if you follow those two stars at the end of the dipper upward..." His arm shifted, and she found herself leaning closer to align her gaze with his. "You'll find Polaris, the North Star."
"The star that never moves," June murmured, remembering her reading.
"Not precisely," Dominic corrected gently. "It does move, but so slightly it appears fixed from our perspective. For centuries, sailors have used it to guide their way across trackless seas."
His voice had dropped lower, and she was acutely aware of his proximity, of the way his breath stirred a loose strand of her hair when he spoke. June should have stepped away, maintained a proper distance, but something in his words held her in place.
"How remarkable," she said softly. "To find your way home by looking at the stars."
"More than that," Dominic continued, and there was something in his tone—a sincerity, a quiet passion—that she'd never heard from him before.
"The stars remind us of our place in the universe.
When you stand on the deck of a ship in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but water to the horizon and stars overhead, you understand both your insignificance and your connection to everything that exists. "
June turned to look at him, startled by the unexpected depth of his words.
His face was closer than she'd realized, his blue eyes reflecting pinpricks of starlight.
In that moment, he didn't look like the rakish duke whose reputation preceded him into every room.
He looked like a man who had contemplated the vastness of existence and found both wonder and melancholy in it.
"That sounds...lonely," she ventured.
"Sometimes," he acknowledged with a slight nod. "But also freeing. There's a certain peace in recognizing how small our troubles are against the backdrop of eternity."
His gaze met hers, and June felt something shift between them—a barrier lowering, a glimpse offered of the man behind the carefully constructed facade.
This wasn't the charming rake who flirted with every woman in sight, nor the sardonic duke who parried her verbal thrusts with practiced ease.
This was someone else entirely—thoughtful, vulnerable, genuine.
"Look there," he said, breaking the moment to point toward another section of sky. "Cassiopeia. The queen who boasted of her beauty and angered the gods. They placed her in the heavens as punishment, forced to circle the pole in an awkward position for all eternity."
"A harsh sentence for vanity," June observed, grateful for the return to safer territory.
"The Greeks were not known for proportional justice," Dominic replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Though I suppose there are worse fates than becoming a constellation."
"Such as?"
"Being forgotten entirely." He spoke the words lightly, but something in his tone caught at June's heart—a hint of genuine fear beneath the casual observation.
She studied his profile, struck by how different he seemed here under the stars compared to his usual confident self. Had something changed, or was she simply seeing a side of him he rarely revealed?
"I think," she said carefully, "that those who truly leave their mark on others are never entirely forgotten."
Dominic turned to her, his expression suddenly intent, searching. "And what mark do you think I might leave, Lady June?"
The question hung between them, weighted with meanings she dared not explore. Her heart beat too quickly, her mind racing with possibilities both thrilling and terrifying. This man—this complicated, fascinating man—was looking at her as if her answer genuinely mattered to him.
Run, warned the sensible part of her mind. This is how hearts are broken.
But June couldn't move, couldn't look away from those blue eyes that seemed to see through all her carefully constructed defenses. She was caught in a moment that felt suspended in time, like a breath held too long, like a star frozen in the sky.
"I should return to the house," she said suddenly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "My mother will be wondering where I've gone."
Dominic didn't immediately reply, and for a moment June thought he might try to stop her. Instead, he stepped back slightly, giving her room to pass.
"Of course," he said, his voice returning to its usual smooth cadence. "Though perhaps we might continue this conversation tomorrow? At the garden party?"
June clutched her shawl tighter, as if it might shield her from the dangerous current that seemed to flow between them. "Perhaps."
She moved past him, careful not to let their arms brush, and began walking swiftly toward the lights of the terrace. Behind her, she felt his gaze following, as steady and inescapable as the North Star he'd shown her—a fixed point she both yearned toward and feared to approach.