Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Dominic arrived at Stone Manor with his heart pounding like a desperate prisoner against the bars of his ribs. The journey from Yorkshire had given him ample time to rehearse his words, yet now that he stood before the imposing manor, every carefully prepared phrase abandoned him.
He straightened his cravat, smoothed his rumpled coat, and squared his shoulders.
If he could face down highwaymen on the Damascus road, surely he could face the woman he had so foolishly pushed away.
But as the butler opened the door, Dominic knew with cold certainty that no danger he had ever encountered compared to the prospect of June's rejection.
"His Grace, the Duke of Icemere," the butler announced with impeccable formality, standing aside as Dominic strode into the entrance hall.
His boots echoed against the marble floor as he followed the servant toward the drawing room. The house felt both familiar and strange—he had been here before, but never with so much at stake. Never with the knowledge that burned in his chest now, threatening to consume him if not released.
The drawing room door swung open, revealing June seated between her sisters on a blue damask sofa.
She wore a dress of deep amber that matched her eyes, her chestnut hair arranged in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.
The teacup in her hand froze halfway to her lips as she caught sight of him.
For one suspended moment, nobody moved. Then June set down her cup with deliberate precision, her spine straightening until she sat as rigid as a queen receiving an unwelcome subject.
"Your Grace," she said, her voice cool and measured. "What an unexpected pleasure."
Her formal address struck him like a slap. He had been "Dominic" to her even in their worst arguments.
"Lady June," he replied, bowing with careful precision. "Ladies April and May. I apologize for the intrusion."
April rose first, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Not at all, Your Grace. I believe my son requires attention. If you'll excuse me."
May followed suit, adjusting her spectacles with an expression that might have been amusement, might have been judgment. "And I must check on... something terribly important elsewhere. Sister, you'll forgive us."
The sisters departed with matching glances over their shoulders that held warnings Dominic couldn't quite decipher. The door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded to his ears like the trap of a hangman's scaffold.
The drawing room fell silent. June remained seated, her hands folded in her lap, her face a perfect mask that revealed nothing of her thoughts. Dominic remained standing, suddenly aware of how large he felt in the elegant room, how his usual easy confidence had abandoned him completely.
"You look well," he said, then immediately cursed himself for such a banal opening.
June's eyebrow arched slightly. "Did you travel all the way from Yorkshire to comment on my appearance?"
"No." He moved further into the room, stopping a respectful distance from where she sat. "I came to tell you something. Something that changes everything."
"Does it?" Her amber eyes revealed nothing, but her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on the fabric of her skirt.
Dominic drew a deep breath. "My mother told me the truth, June. About the Blake curse. About my father."
Now she looked up at him fully, her gaze sharp with sudden interest.
"The curse that has haunted me all my life—that made me push you away—it was never mine to bear.
" The words tumbled out faster than he intended, raw with emotion he couldn't suppress.
"My father—the Duke—was not my blood father.
My mother was with child when they married.
Their arrangement was one of convenience—he needed an heir but wouldn't sire one due to the family illness.
I—" his voice caught, "I never carried the Blake curse. I never could."
June's expression remained unchanged, though something flickered in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, or disbelief.
"I've lived my entire life preparing to die young," he continued, forcing steadiness into his voice. "Every decision, every adventure, every relationship—all shadowed by the certainty that my time was limited. And now I discover it was all founded on a lie."
"A lie told to protect you," June observed quietly.
"A lie that made me hurt you," he countered. "Made me push away the one person I should have held closest."
She rose then, smoothing her skirts with careful hands. "And now that you know you're not dying, you've come to reclaim your wife. How convenient."
The bitterness in her tone cut through him like a blade. He deserved it, every word.
"I've come to beg your forgiveness," he said. "To tell you that I was wrong—not just about the curse, but about trying to decide what was best for your heart."
"Your mistake wasn't believing you would die young, Dominic," she said, his name on her lips sending a jolt through him.
"It was believing you had the right to make choices for me, to decide what pain I could bear.
" Her voice remained cool, controlled, but her eyes burned with banked emotion.
"It was the arrogance of thinking you knew my heart better than I did myself. "
Dominic took a step toward her, then stopped as she raised her hand, palm out.
"I am sorry, June," he said, the words wholly inadequate for the pain he had caused. "More sorry than I can express. I thought I was protecting you."
"And did it never occur to you that I might not want protection?" she asked. "That I might prefer truth, however painful?"
"It should have," he admitted. "You've never been one to shy away from difficulty. It was one of the first things I admired about you."
A hint of softness touched her expression, gone so quickly he might have imagined it.
"It will take more than pretty words to earn my forgiveness, Duke," she said, the formal title a reminder of the distance between them.
Dominic crossed the remaining space between them in two strides. He took her hand before she could withdraw it, brought it to his lips, and pressed a kiss against her knuckles with fevered intensity.
"I am madly in love with you, June Blake," he whispered against her skin. "And I will gladly spend the rest of both our lives showing you just how much."
He released her hand and stepped back, watching her face for any sign of what she was feeling. Her cheeks had flushed slightly, but her expression remained guarded.
"Good day, June," he said softly, backing toward the door. "I'll call again tomorrow, if I may."
Without waiting for her response, he turned and left the drawing room. He had won battles before. He would win this one too, no matter how long the siege.
"June, when do you plan on putting that poor duke out of his misery?
" April asked, linking her arm through June's as they rounded a perfectly trimmed hedge.
They were strolling through the gardens, enjoying the rare sunlight since winter began.
A week had passed since Dominic's unexpected arrival, but one that had been filled with extravagant gestures that left her both flattered and frustrated.
She adjusted her wool cloak against the chill, trying to ignore the sound of children's laughter drifting across the lawns.
Trying, and failing, not to search for the source of that deep, masculine laugh that accompanied the higher voices; the laugh that still made her heart skip traitorously in her chest.
May chuckled from June's other side. "He's like a lovesick schoolboy. The servants have started a wager on how many more days you'll make him suffer."
June shot her sisters a reproving look. "I'm not making him suffer. I'm considering my options."
"Options?" April laughed. "Since when do you have options beyond the Duke of Icemere? You've been infatuated with the man since you were sixteen."
"I was not infatuated," June protested, though her cheeks warmed at the accusation. "I merely found him intellectually stimulating."
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" May murmured, adjusting her spectacles with exaggerated innocence.
June opened her mouth to deliver a sharp retort when April touched her arm, directing her attention across the lawn. "Look," she said softly.
Against her better judgment, June turned.
There, in a patch of winter sunlight, Dominic played with April and May's children.
His fine coat lay discarded on a bench, his cravat loosened, his usually perfect hair tousled by exertion and the playful hands of her nieces and nephews.
As she watched, he swung little Leonardo in a circle, the boy's delighted shriek carrying across the garden.
Rydal, Logan's young brother who was visiting for the season, darted around them, clearly waiting for his turn.
Dominic looked different here than he had in London or even at Icemere. Younger somehow, unburdened. The man who had carried her from the ruins was visible in the strength of his movements, but there was a lightness to him now that she had never seen before.
Because he's free from the shadow that haunted him all his life.
"You should see the list of things he's done this week," May said, drawing June's attention back to her sisters.
"List?" June arched an eyebrow.
May nodded. "I've been keeping a record. For posterity."
"And to tease you with later," April added cheerfully.
May began counting on her fingers. "Daily bouquets, each with a different handwritten poem about your eyes, your wit, or your 'magnificent scholarly mind,' as he put it on Tuesday."
"The commissioned painting of the Oxford library where you first met," April continued. "Which, I might add, required him to dispatch a rider to Oxford with specific instructions for the artist."