Chapter 19
Nineteen
June fled up the stairs, her crimson skirts clutched in white-knuckled fists. Her lungs burned as if she'd been running for miles rather than merely escaping the moonlit room where her entire future had just been decided in the space of moments.
Behind her, the muffled voices of August and Dominic continued their tense exchange, but she couldn't bear to hear another word.
She reached her bedchamber and shut the door, leaning against it as if barricading herself from the night's events.
Her hands trembled so violently she could scarcely turn the key in the lock.
When it finally clicked into place, she slid down to the floor, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird seeking escape.
"What just happened?" she whispered to the empty room.
The question hung in the air, unanswered and perhaps unanswerable. One moment she had been dancing with Dominic in the moonlight, experiencing the first real kiss of her life, and the next—betrothed. Forced into an engagement neither of them had sought.
Well, she had sought it, hadn't she? In those private, foolish dreams she'd never quite abandoned. But not like this. Never like this.
June pushed herself up from the floor and moved to her bed on unsteady legs. She sank onto the edge, her mind racing with questions that crowded and jostled for precedence. But one echoed louder than all others.
"You'll be dead soon. What have you to lose?"
August's words to Dominic repeated in her mind, each syllable striking like a physical blow. What did he mean? How could he possibly know such a thing? And why did Dominic not deny it?
She pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to make sense of it all.
There had been rumors, of course—whispers about the Duke of Icemere's father dying young, and his grandfather before him.
But June had dismissed them as the kind of dramatic gossip society ladies invented to make a notorious bachelor seem even more mysterious.
Yet August had spoken with such certainty. And Dominic's response—or rather, his lack of one—suggested an awful truth behind the words.
I am to marry a man who believes he will die soon?
The realization settled over her like a shroud. Her hands fell limply into her lap as she stared at the wall, seeing nothing.
This was not how June had imagined her engagement would unfold.
In her girlhood fantasies—ridiculous as they seemed now—Dominic had pursued her, had chosen her above all others because he couldn't imagine his life without her.
In reality, he had been trapped into marriage by circumstance and her brother's insistence on propriety.
A bitter laugh escaped her. "The rake finally caught," she murmured, "and by the very woman he once deemed not worth his notice."
Yet even as the words left her lips, June knew they weren't entirely fair. The man who had kissed her tonight was not the same one who had dismissed her years ago. The way he had looked at her, touched her, as if she were precious beyond measure...
Stop it, she scolded herself. He had no choice but to propose. You had no choice but to accept. There is nothing romantic about being forced to the altar.
She fell back against the coverlet, staring up at the canopy above her bed. Despite all logic, despite all the reasons she should be horrified by this turn of events, a treacherous part of her heart refused to be entirely dismayed.
For tomorrow, Dominic Blake would ride out to secure a special license. In perhaps as little as a week, she would be his wife. The Duchess of Icemere. The woman who shared his bed, his name, his life—however long that might be.
The thought sent a shiver through her that was equal parts anticipation and dread. To be his wife in truth, not just in name... June closed her eyes, unable to continue that line of thinking without her cheeks burning.
"What becomes of me now?" she whispered to the silent room.
No answer came save the soft ticking of the clock on her mantel, counting down the seconds until dawn, until the day when Dominic would return with the document that would bind their fates irrevocably together.
June woke with a start, the morning sun streaming through a gap in her curtains to form an accusatory beam across her bed.
For one blissful moment, her mind remained empty, suspended in that peaceful place between sleep and wakefulness.
Then memory crashed over her like a wave breaking against rocky shores.
The kiss. August's interruption. The hastily arranged betrothal.
And worst of all, those terrible words August had flung at Dominic: "You'll be dead soon. "
She sat up abruptly, pushing tangled hair from her face. Had she truly agreed to marry a man who might be dying? A man who had been forced into proposing by her brother's righteous indignation?
A soft knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," she called, expecting her lady's maid.
Instead, May's head appeared around the door, her spectacles slightly askew in a way that suggested she'd dressed hastily. "You're finally awake," she said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her. "I've been waiting for an hour at least."
June clutched her bedcovers closer. "Has August...?"
"Told us everything?" May finished, perching on the edge of the bed. "Yes. Though not the other guests, thank heavens. As far as they know, you retired early with a headache and Dominic was called away on urgent business."
June reached for her sister's hand, gripping it tightly. "And he told you...all of it? About how we were found?"
"In a passionate embrace, yes." May's lips twitched with poorly suppressed amusement. "August was quite detailed, though I suspect that was to ensure we understood the gravity of the situation rather than to satisfy our curiosity."
"It's not amusing," June protested, though her burning cheeks rather undermined her indignation.
"Perhaps not," May conceded, patting June's hand. "But you must admit there's a certain poetic justice in you being compromised by the very duke you once claimed to despise."
June closed her eyes briefly. "I never claimed to despise him."
"No? What was it you said last week? 'I would sooner marry a toad than endure an evening in the Duke of Ice's frigid company'?"
"That was before—" June stopped herself, unwilling to admit how thoroughly Dominic's kiss had changed her perspective.
May's eyebrows rose above her spectacles. "Before you discovered his company wasn't so frigid after all?"
"May!"
"Oh, don't 'May' me." Her sister laughed, rising from the bed. "You should ring for your maid. There's much to discuss, and you can't spend the day hiding in your bedchamber."
June sighed and reached for the bell pull beside her bed. No sooner had she tugged it than the door burst open again.
"She's awake!" May called over her shoulder, and April swept in like a fresh breeze, already dressed in a morning dress of palest blue.
"Finally," April said, coming to kiss June's cheek. "We've been in absolute chaos all morning. Theo has sent riders to ensure the special license can be obtained without delay, and Logan is arranging for the banns to be read as well, just to ensure all legal requirements are met."
June's head spun. "But Dominic left to get the license himself."
"Of course he did," April said, moving to open the curtains fully. "But one can never be too careful in these matters. The wedding will take place as soon as he returns—hopefully within the week."
"So soon?" June's voice emerged smaller than she'd intended.
April turned, her expression softening. "It must be soon, June. You know that."
Before June could respond, the door flew open once more. Dorothy Vestiere, Duchess of Wildmoore, swept into the room in a whirl of rose-scented perfume and rustling silk.
"My June Flower!" she cried, arms outstretched. "A bride at last! I may die peacefully now, knowing all my daughters are suitably matched!"
June found herself engulfed in her mother's embrace, nearly smothered against layers of expensive fabric. "Mama, please," she managed, extricating herself. "I can't breathe."
"Oh, you'll have plenty of time for breathing later," Dorothy declared, pulling back to study June's face. "But now we must discuss the wedding breakfast. And your trousseau! Heavens, there's so much to arrange, and so little time!"
June slumped onto a nearby settee, suddenly overwhelmed. "Is there no possibility of a quieter affair? Given the...circumstances?"
"Quieter?" Dorothy looked genuinely perplexed by the suggestion. "My dear girl, you are marrying a duke! The Duke of Icemere, no less! There hasn't been such a match in our family since—well, since your sisters married their dukes, but that's hardly the point."
"What is the point, Mama?" June asked, a thread of impatience entering her voice.
Dorothy drew herself up. "The point, my dear, is that Lady Pemberton and the dreadful Countess of Harwick have been whispering behind their fans about my June Flower for three seasons now.
'Such a shame,' they say, 'that the third Vestiere girl seems destined for spinsterhood.
' As if twenty-two were practically decrepit! "
"Mama," April interjected gently, "I'm not sure this is helping."
But Dorothy was in full flow, pacing the room with dramatic gestures. "Can you imagine their faces when they learn you've secured not just any gentleman, but a duke? And such a handsome one! With those eyes like summer skies and that jaw one could cut glass upon!"
June caught May's eye across the room, finding a sympathetic grimace that matched her own discomfort.
"The invitations must be sent immediately," Dorothy continued, hardly pausing for breath.
"And your dress! Perhaps Mrs. Beaumont can alter one of your existing dresses.
The cream silk with the pearl detailing would be lovely.
Or do we have time for something entirely new?
Oh, and flowers! We must have roses, of course, but perhaps lilies as well. .."
June's mind drifted away from her mother's planning, circling back to the question that had plagued her since she'd awoken: Did Dominic truly want this marriage? Or was he merely fulfilling an obligation thrust upon him?
"June?" April's voice broke through her thoughts. "Are you listening?"
"Forgive me," June murmured. "I was just thinking..."
"About your handsome duke, no doubt," Dorothy said with a knowing smile. "I don't blame you, my dear. If I were forty years younger..."
"Mama!" all three daughters chorused in scandalized tones.
Dorothy waved away their protests. "Oh, don't be so provincial. I'm merely acknowledging what everyone knows—the Duke of Icemere is considered quite the catch. And now he's caught by my June!"
The phrasing sent a pang through June's heart. Caught. As if Dominic were a wild creature snared in a trap rather than a man entering willingly into marriage.
But he didn't enter willingly, did he? a small voice whispered in her mind. He was forced by circumstance, by August's anger, by the threat of scandal.
And what of his mysterious condition? The apparent certainty of his early death? Would she truly become a widow before she'd had time to be a proper wife?
Her family continued to chatter around her, discussing fabrics and flowers and guest lists as if this were any ordinary wedding rather than a hastily arranged affair born of scandal and secrets. The room seemed suddenly too warm, too close, the voices too loud.
I'm to marry a man who may not want me, who may be dying, who kissed me as if I were precious only hours before agreeing to a marriage he never sought.
June twisted her fingers in her lap, trying to quiet the riot of emotions surging through her.
Excitement warred with dread, hope with despair.
She thought of Dominic's lips on hers, the hunger in his touch, the reverence in his eyes.
Had that been real? Or merely the practiced skill of a notorious rake?
"We should let June dress," May said at last, noticing her sister's distress. "There's plenty of time to discuss the arrangements over breakfast."
June shot her a grateful look as May ushered their mother and April toward the door.
When they had gone, she rose on shaky legs to pull the bell for her lady's maid once more.
The simple act of dressing would give her something tangible to focus on, a momentary distraction from the maelstrom of thoughts threatening to overwhelm her.
But as she stood gazing out the window, watching the morning light spill across the gardens where just last night she had danced in Dominic's arms, June couldn't shake the nervous flutter in her stomach or the sense that her life had altered irrevocably
And not in the way she had always dreamed.