Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
June slipped from the castle's side entrance, pulling her woolen cloak tightly around her shoulders. Dominic was still in his study, buried in estate ledgers and correspondence.
She'd considered disturbing him—the memory of their spice-laden kiss still burning on her lips—but had decided against it.
The man worked with such intensity, such purpose.
Besides, she had her own purpose today: the ruins he'd mentioned during their ride, the original Blake family castle that had stood for centuries before falling to time and war.
Her steps quickened as she followed the path he'd shown her, winding through a small copse of trees that shielded the grounds from the harshest northern winds.
The kiss they'd shared in the salon replayed in her mind, sending warmth through her despite the chill air.
That deliberate request, the words she'd never imagined herself saying to a man: Kiss me, Dominic. I want you to kiss me.
"And he certainly did," she murmured to herself, a smile tugging at her lips.
Since arriving at Icemere, something had shifted between them. The forced marriage of convenience was evolving into something else—something neither of them had anticipated. June wasn't yet ready to name it, this tender, fragile thing growing between them.
The path curved around an ancient oak tree, and suddenly the ruins stood before her.
June stopped, arrested by the sight. What had once been a grand castle now stood as a skeletal monument to time's passage—crumbling walls and archways reaching toward the sky like the fingers of a hand begging remembrance.
Ivy clung to the weathered stones, nature slowly reclaiming what man had built.
"Magnificent," she breathed, advancing with reverent steps.
She passed through what must have once been the main gate, its arch still intact though missing many stones.
Within the fallen walls, nature had established a new order—wildflowers grew from cracks in the flagstones, and birds nested in the remains of window openings.
June touched a wall, her fingers tracing the rough texture of stone that had witnessed centuries of Blake family history.
She spotted markings on one partially intact wall and moved closer, her curiosity piqued. Upon inspection, they proved to be carvings—a family crest, perhaps, though time had blurred its details beyond recognition. Below it, what appeared to be Latin text remained partially visible.
"Ad astra per aspera," she read aloud, translating automatically. "To the stars through difficulty." An apt motto for the Blake family, given what she knew of their history.
June moved deeper into the ruins, stepping carefully over fallen debris. What stories these stones could tell if they could speak! Weddings and births, deaths and betrayals—the entire tapestry of a noble family's existence, now reduced to this silent testament of mortality.
Not unlike Dominic's conviction about his own mortality, she thought, frowning slightly. So certain he's doomed to die young, yet so very alive in every moment.
A stone staircase, partially intact, caught her attention.
It curved upward along what remained of a tower wall, leading to a section of battlement that still stood.
The promise of a better vantage point was too tempting to resist. June gathered her skirts in one hand and began to climb, testing each step before committing her weight.
The staircase creaked ominously beneath her, but held. When she reached the top, June was rewarded with a breathtaking view—Icemere Castle in the distance, its windows catching the last rays of sunlight, and beyond it, the wild beauty of the Yorkshire moors stretching toward the horizon.
"Worth every precarious step," she said, turning slowly to take in the panorama.
A sudden gust of wind caught her cloak, billowing it outward.
June steadied herself against what remained of a merlon, the square projection along the battlement.
The stone felt cool beneath her palm, solid despite its age.
She moved along the battlement, mindful of her footing on the ancient stones.
From this height, she could make out the original layout of the castle—the central keep, the perimeter walls, what must have been gardens or training yards. The academic in her longed for paper and pencil to sketch it all before time erased even more.
"Dominic must see this," she murmured, making mental notes to share with him.
As she stepped closer to the edge for a better look at the former courtyard, a terrible groan emanated from beneath her feet. June froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. For a moment, nothing happened, and she began to think she'd imagined it.
Then came a cracking sound, like ice breaking on a pond.
"Oh no," she whispered, realizing her danger too late.
The stones beneath her feet shifted, then gave way entirely.
June screamed as the world collapsed around her, her body plummeting downward in a shower of ancient masonry.
The fall seemed to last both an eternity and no time at all before she crashed onto a hard surface below, pain blooming in her side.
Dust filled the air, choking her. When she could breathe again, June found herself in near darkness, trapped in what appeared to be a partially collapsed chamber. The only light filtered through gaps in the stones above where the battlement had been.
"Help!" she called, though she knew it was futile. The ruins were too far from the castle for anyone to hear.
June shifted and slowly gained her feet. No sprains. She sighed with relief, but her left rib ached fiercely where she'd struck it during the fall. She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dimness.
The chamber was small, what remained of it. Part of the ceiling had fallen in but the rest of the structure seemed intact, if unstable. June scanned her surroundings, looking for a way out.
A narrow opening in one wall might have been a doorway once. If she could reach it, perhaps she could find her way back outside. She moved as carefully as possible across the debris-strewn floor.
A small cascade of pebbles and dust showered down from above. June froze, looking up in alarm. The remaining ceiling groaned ominously.
"Not good," she muttered, resuming her cautious movement. "Not good at all."
She was halfway to the doorway when a larger stone tumbled down, missing her by inches. The impact sent more dust into the air and caused another, even louder groan from the structure around her.
June's heart raced as realization settled over her. Any significant movement might bring down what remained of the ceiling. She was trapped, injured, and alone as daylight faded. No one knew where she was. No one would miss her until dinner, hours from now.
Dominic rubbed his eyes, the figures in the estate ledgers blurring after hours of scrutiny. The study had grown dim, and he placed his quill in its holder and stretched, his back protesting the hours spent bent over his desk.
June would be waiting for tea, he realized with a smile that transformed his features from tired duke to eager husband.
It had become their ritual in these first weeks at Icemere—sharing tea before dinner, trading observations about their day, debating some obscure historical point she'd discovered in his library.
He rose, anticipation quickening his steps as he left the study.
Finding June had become his favorite part of each day.
The drawing room stood empty, the tea service laid out but untouched. Dominic checked his pocket watch—half past four, their usual time. Perhaps she'd lost track of the hour in the library. It wouldn't be the first time he'd found her surrounded by ancient tomes, oblivious to the passage of time.
"Your Grace," a housemaid curtseyed as she passed with fresh linens.
"Have you seen the Duchess?" he asked, maintaining a casual tone.
"No, Your Grace. Not since morning."
Dominic nodded. "She's likely in the library. Thank you."
The library, too, was empty—no June curled in the window seat with a volume of Roman history, no notes scattered across the reading table. Strange. Dominic moved through the adjacent morning room, the music room, even the conservatory where she sometimes sketched. No sign of her.
"Curious," he murmured, a small furrow appearing between his brows.
He encountered Mr. Winters in the main hall, the butler as impeccably composed as always.
"Winters, have you seen Her Grace this afternoon?"
"I have not, Your Grace. Shall I inquire among the staff?"
"Please do," Dominic said, that small furrow deepening. "She wasn't in the library or drawing room."
As Winters departed on his mission, Dominic climbed the grand staircase to check their chambers. Perhaps June had retired with a headache. She wasn't prone to such feminine complaints, but it would explain her absence.
Their rooms, like the public spaces below, stood empty—bed neatly made, no sign of recent occupation. June's cloak was missing from its hook, he noted, which suggested she had gone outside. But where? And why hadn't she mentioned her plans?
When he returned downstairs, Winters awaited him with a growing contingent of staff—footmen, maids, even the cook's assistant.
"No one has seen Her Grace since midday, Your Grace," Winters reported, his normally impassive face showing the first hints of concern.
"She must be on the grounds somewhere," Dominic said, his voice sharpening. "The gardens, perhaps, or the stables."
"I've just come from the stables, m'lord," a groom said, forgetting proper address in his haste. "No sign of Her Grace, and all horses accounted for."
"The kitchen gardens are empty as well," added Mrs. Braithwaite. "I checked when sending the boy for herbs."
Something cold and unfamiliar twisted in Dominic's chest. June wouldn't simply disappear. Not without telling someone. Not when she knew they took tea together daily.