Chapter 18
Eighteen
June leaped backward from Dominic's embrace, her lips still burning from his kiss, her heart hammering so violently she feared it might tear through her chest. August stood in the doorway, his silhouette rigid with fury.
The room suddenly felt airless, as if all oxygen had been consumed by the flames of mortification rising in her cheeks.
"August," she gasped, her voice barely audible above the roaring in her ears.
Her brother stepped into the room with purposeful strides, moving to stand between her and Dominic.
His right hand hovered near the hilt of his sword—a decorative piece for the evening's festivities, but suddenly appearing quite capable of its intended purpose.
June pressed her palm against the cool wall, grateful for its solidity as the floor seemed determined to shift beneath her feet.
"Blake," August's voice cut through the silence like a blade, "I thought better of you."
Dominic straightened to his full height, his expression impossible to read in the half-shadows. "August—"
"She is my sister." August took another step forward, forcing Dominic to retreat slightly. "My sister, Blake. Not some opera dancer to be toyed with and discarded when you tire of her."
"I am aware of who she is," Dominic replied, his voice dangerously quiet.
June gathered her scattered wits enough to speak. "August, please. This is not what—"
"Not what it appears?" Her brother turned to her, his eyes flashing. "I saw enough, June. More than enough."
The humiliation burned so hot June thought she might combust on the spot. She had never been caught in such a compromising position—had never been in such a position at all until moments ago. And yet, despite the shame flooding through her, she couldn't bring herself to regret the kiss.
Dominic moved, drawing August's attention back to him. "This is between me and you, Vestiere. Leave your sister out of it."
"Out of it?" August barked a harsh laugh. "She's at the very center of it now, thanks to your selfishness."
Dominic's jaw tightened. "You know why matrimony is not right for me," he said, his voice low enough that June had to strain to hear. "I will not doom a poor soul to such a fate."
What fate? June's mind raced. What could he possibly mean?
August's laugh was bitter and sharp. "Your reasons matter little now. She's my sister, and I won't tolerate another scandal under my roof." He stepped closer to Dominic, their faces only inches apart. "Besides, you'll be dead soon. What have you to lose?"
The words struck June like a physical blow. Dead soon? Her eyes flew to Dominic's face, searching for some hint, some explanation, but his expression remained carefully blank, giving away nothing.
"August, what are you talking about?" June demanded, pushing away from the wall. "Why would Dominic be—"
"It doesn't concern you, June," August cut her off, never taking his eyes from Dominic's face.
"Doesn't concern me?" Her voice rose despite her efforts to control it. "You just said he would be dead soon. I think that very much concerns me, particularly as you're now discussing matrimony!"
Neither man answered her. They remained locked in some silent battle of wills that excluded her entirely, though she appeared to be its subject. June's frustration mounted, pushing aside her embarrassment.
"Will someone please explain what is happening?" she pressed, her hands clenching in the folds of her crimson dress.
August finally broke his staring contest with Dominic to glance at her. Something in his expression softened slightly, though the anger still simmered beneath.
"What's happening, dear sister, is that your reputation hangs by a thread. If anyone other than me had walked through that door—" He shook his head, unable or unwilling to complete the thought.
"No one did," June pointed out.
"This time," August replied. "But the damage is done between you two. There's only one honorable course now." He turned back to Dominic. "I will ride out immediately to procure you a special license. You will marry her at dawn if I can make you."
June's mind whirled with the speed of events. Marriage? To Dominic? Just yesterday such a prospect would have seemed as likely as snow in August. And now...
Dominic's gaze found hers across the dimly lit room, his blue eyes inscrutable. Something passed between them, a current of unspoken communication that June couldn't fully decipher.
He turned back to August. "She may be your sister, and I understand your fury, but I'll take out my own damn special license."
August gave a curt nod, as if this small assertion of independence was acceptable so long as the end result remained the same.
Dominic straightened his already-impeccable cravat, then bowed his head toward June. "If you'll have me, I'll marry you."
The words hung in the air between them, neither question nor command, but something in between.
June's throat tightened painfully as silence fell in the room.
She stood trembling between the two men, stunned by the promise that had just been made—a promise that might save her honor but not her heart.
For what sort of marriage could it be when the groom spoke of "doom" and her own brother referenced his impending death? What secret lay between these two men that neither would share with her?
And yet, as June stared at Dominic—at the proud set of his shoulders, the unreadable mask of his face, the memory of his mouth on hers still burning on her lips—she realized with startling clarity that it didn't matter.
Whatever his reasons, whatever mysteries he harbored, she would have him.
Had perhaps always been destined to have him, from that first meeting in the Oxford library years ago.
"Yes," she said, the word barely more than a whisper. "I'll have you."
Something flashed in Dominic's eyes—relief? Regret? It was gone too quickly to name. August's posture relaxed infinitesimally, the immediate crisis apparently resolved to his satisfaction.
"It's settled then," her brother said. "You'll marry at the first opportunity. Until then—" he fixed Dominic with a meaningful stare "—you will keep your distance from my sister."
Dominic inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his eyes never left June's face. "As you wish."
As you wish, but not as you want, June thought, reading the conflict in his gaze. The same conflict that raged within her own heart—a tempest of desire, confusion, and the unsettling knowledge that she was agreeing to bind herself to a man who harbored secrets he was not willing to share.
A man who, if her brother was to be believed, might not have long to live.
Dominic mounted his black gelding with practiced ease, though the familiar motion required more effort than it should have.
Dawn painted the stable yard in shades of gray and pearl, the night's shadows retreating before the determined advance of morning light.
Mist curled around fence posts and clung to Kensworth's fetlocks, as if the earth itself were reluctant to release its hold on the darkness.
His hands tightened on the leather reins until his knuckles whitened, the only outward sign of the turmoil churning within him.
Steady thuds echoed from nearby stalls—horses shifting their weight, restless in the early hour.
A blackbird's song pierced the stillness, startlingly sweet and utterly indifferent to human concerns.
A stablehand approached, cap in hand. "Good morning, Your Grace."
Dominic inclined his head but didn't speak. Words seemed excessive in this liminal hour, caught between night and day, between bachelor freedom and matrimonial obligation. The boy seemed to understand, offering a simple bow before retreating to his duties.
Kensworth's hooves crunched over gravel as Dominic guided him toward the gate. He tugged at the reins, checking the beast's eager stride, feeling the familiar surge of control that came from mastering the powerful animal beneath him. If only his own life were so easily directed.
The irony wasn't lost on him. For years, he had avoided marriage with the single-minded determination of a general defending a critical pass.
His bloodline's curse had made that decision not just prudent but necessary—a cruelty avoided, a widow-not-to-be spared.
And yet here he was, riding out to secure a special license, preparing to tie himself to June Vestiere with bonds that only death would sever.
Death. The word no longer held abstract terror but concrete immediacy.
The episodes were coming more frequently now—the racing pulse, the breathlessness, the moments when his vision darkened at the edges like a vignette in a daguerreotype.
His father had experienced similar symptoms in the months before his collapse.
The pattern was clear, the outcome inevitable.
And yet, for the first time since he'd understood his fate, Dominic found himself not regretting the shortness of his allotted time but its uncertainty.
Would he have a year with June? Perhaps two?
Or would the curse claim him before he'd had the chance to truly know the woman who would be his wife?
Wife. The word warmed him despite the morning chill. The scandal had made this choice for him, true, but it had also freed him to acknowledge how much he craved June's company—her laughter, her sharp retorts, her presence that had unsettled every rule he'd set for himself.
"Damn me," he whispered into the cool dawn air, "I'd ride to hell and back for another glimpse of those eyes."
A breeze stirred, carrying the scent of hay and dew as he urged Kensworth into a canter.
The gelding responded eagerly, powerful muscles bunching beneath Dominic as they picked up speed.
Each bound of the horse beneath him echoed the relief that had flooded through him when June had said yes.
Yes to him, yes to marriage, yes to a future that might end far sooner than either of them deserved.
He pressed his cheek against Kensworth's mane for a moment, savoring the warmth.
The action was boyish, undignified for a duke, but there was no one to witness this small comfort.
The rising sun gilded the fields stretching before him, promising a fair day—a good omen, perhaps, for a man setting out to claim his bride.
His bride. June with her amber eyes and quick tongue. June who challenged him, provoked him, saw through the careful facade he presented to the world. June who had kissed him back with unexpected passion, matching his desire with her own.
And what of her agreement to this marriage?
Had she consented merely to avoid scandal, or had there been something more in her whispered "yes"?
He had seen confusion in her eyes when August spoke of his impending death, had watched questions form and die on her lips.
Yet she had agreed nonetheless, stepping blindly into a future with a man who might leave her far too soon.
He would need to tell her eventually, of course.
Not everything—not the terror that sometimes gripped him in the night, not the counting of heartbeats that had become a habit he couldn't break—but enough that she understood what she was accepting.
Enough that when the inevitable happened, she would not be entirely unprepared.
But not yet. Not until the ring was on her finger and the words spoken that would make her his.
Selfish, perhaps, but Dominic had spent his entire adult life preparing for an early death.
Surely he was entitled to this one selfishness—the chance to know, even briefly, what it was to be June Vestiere's husband.
Kensworth's stride lengthened as they crested a small hill, the road to London stretching before them like a promise. Dominic tightened his cloak against the morning chill and set his jaw toward the rising sun. Whatever came, he would face it for June's sake—even if it cost him everything.
The license would be obtained today, the marriage performed as soon as possible. There would be gossip, of course—speculation about the hasty ceremony, whispers about why the Duke of Ice had finally been caught in matrimony's snare. Let them talk. None of it mattered now.
All that mattered was June, and the precious time they might have together.
His heart gave that now-familiar stutter in his chest—a momentary pause followed by a too-rapid series of beats that left him slightly breathless.
Dominic closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to breathe deeply until the rhythm steadied again.
These episodes were coming more frequently, each one a reminder of the clock ticking down.
Not now, he pleaded silently to whatever power might be listening. Not when I've just found her.
The image of June's face filled his mind—not as she had looked last night in her crimson dress, nor in the moonlight when he'd kissed her, but as she had appeared that first day in the library years ago.
Young, serious, her amber eyes too large for her face, her mind too vast for the limited role society had assigned her.
He had been a fool not to recognize her worth then.
He would not make the same mistake twice. Whatever time remained to him—be it months or years—would be devoted to knowing her, cherishing her, ensuring that when he was gone, she would have memories worth keeping.
The stable yard fell silent behind him as Kensworth carried him forward, each hoofbeat marking the passing of seconds he could no longer afford to waste. His future—however brief—awaited, and for the first time in years, Dominic found himself eager to meet it.
Perhaps, if he was to die, it would be appropriate to enjoy what little time he had left with her, if she wanted to.
Dominic wondered if she truly wanted him.