Chapter 22 #2
He led her to the adjoining bedchamber, a modestly appointed room with a large four-poster bed at its center. June's trunk had been unpacked, her nightclothes laid out by some unseen servant. Dominic's belongings had been similarly arranged on the other side of the room.
"I'll step out while you prepare for bed," Dominic said, releasing her hand.
"No," June said quickly, surprising herself. "I mean—you needn't leave. We can simply... turn our backs to one another."
Dominic studied her for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish."
They undressed with careful propriety, each facing away from the other. June could hear the rustle of fabric as Dominic removed his coat and waistcoat, the soft thud of his boots hitting the floor. She focused on the tiny buttons of her dress, fingers clumsy with awareness of his presence.
When she had donned her nightdress and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders for additional modesty, she cleared her throat softly. "I'm decent."
Dominic turned, now wearing a nightshirt and banyan. His hair, freed from its careful styling, fell across his forehead in a way that made him look younger, more approachable.
"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the bed.
June nodded, unable to trust her voice. They slipped beneath the covers from opposite sides, maintaining a careful distance between them. The mattress dipped slightly with their combined weight, creating a gentle slope that threatened to roll them together.
"I feel I should apologize," Dominic said after a moment of silence, his voice quiet in the darkness.
June turned her head to look at him, his profile just visible in the moonlight streaming through the window. "For what?"
"This is hardly the wedding night most brides envision."
Despite her nervousness, June found herself smiling. "I doubt most brides envision any specific wedding night at all, beyond a vague sense of duty and perhaps trepidation."
Dominic propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "Lady June Blake, are you suggesting that proper young ladies don't spend hours imagining their wedding nights in explicit detail?"
"I am suggesting," June replied primly, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter, "that many of us are kept in such ignorance of marital relations that we couldn't imagine them properly if we tried."
Dominic laughed softly, and June found herself joining him, the tension between them easing into something more comfortable.
"In any case," she continued when their laughter had subsided, "I find I prefer this—talking like friends—to what I had imagined."
"And what had you imagined?" Dominic asked, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a pleasant shiver through her.
June's cheeks warmed. "Nothing specific," she hedged. "Merely... nervousness and awkwardness, I suppose."
"And are you nervous now?"
She considered the question honestly. "Less than I expected to be."
Dominic smiled, settling back against his pillow. "Good. I find I enjoy talking with you, June Blake. I would like to continue doing so for as long as possible."
The simple sincerity of his words touched her deeply. "I would like that too."
They continued to talk in the darkness, their voices growing softer and their responses slower as fatigue claimed them both.
June wasn't sure when exactly their conversation trailed into silence, or when Dominic's breathing deepened into sleep.
She only knew that the last thing she remembered was watching his face in repose, peaceful and unguarded in a way it never was in waking, and thinking that perhaps, despite everything, they might find happiness in whatever time they had.
When she opened her eyes again, the room was still dark, though a faint gray light at the edges of the curtains suggested dawn was approaching. For a moment, she couldn't identify what had awakened her. Then she heard it—a harsh, wracking cough beside her, followed by a rattling intake of breath.
June turned quickly to find Dominic sitting upright in bed, his body convulsing with each cough. His nightshirt clung to his skin, damp with sweat, and even in the dim light she could see the unnatural pallor of his face.
"Dominic?" she reached for him, her hand touching his arm and finding it trembling violently. "Dominic, what's happening?"
He couldn't answer, caught in the grip of another coughing fit. His entire body shook with the force of it, and when he drew breath between coughs, the sound was thin and strained, as if he couldn't get enough air.
Terror seized June's heart, cold and absolute. This was it—the thing he had warned her about, the weakness that had claimed his father and grandfather. Not in some distant future, but now, in this bed, on their first night as husband and wife.
"Dominic!" she cried, louder this time, gripping his shoulders as if she could physically anchor him to this world. "Tell me what to do. How can I help you?"
But Dominic only shook his head, unable to speak as another fit of coughing wracked his frame. His hand clutched at his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his nightshirt as if trying to reach the treacherous heart beneath.
June had never felt so helpless, so utterly terrified, in all her life.