His lips curved. "Did you imagine I spent my entire Continental tour drinking and gambling?"
"The thought had occurred to me," she replied dryly.
"Only about half, then," he said with a wink that somehow lacked its usual practiced charm. "The rest I spent indulging my curiosity. The world is full of remarkable things, Lady June."
She turned a page in her book, revealing an illustration of a papyrus fragment. "Like this," she said, tapping the image. "Imagine writing something that survives millennia. What would you say if you knew future civilizations might read your words?"
He considered this, running a finger along the edge of the table. "Something profound, I suppose. Though knowing my luck, they'd find only my tailor's bills or a poorly written sonnet from my school days."
June laughed despite herself, a genuine sound that surprised them both. "I suspect my contribution to posterity would be a shopping list or an inventory of books. 'Lady June requestedseventeen volumes on agricultural improvements and was denied fifteen of them by the librarian.'"
"A tragedy for the ages," he agreed, smiling.
She pushed the book slightly toward him, indicating a detailed drawing of hieroglyphics. "They've only recently begun to translate these properly. A French scholar found a stone with the same text in three languages—Greek, demotic script, and these hieroglyphs. It unlocked the entire written language."
"The Rosetta Stone," Dominic nodded. "I saw it in Paris before the British claimed it. Remarkable piece."
Their fingers nearly touched as they both pointed to different symbols on the page. June felt a strange current pass between them, not unlike what she'd experienced during their card game—a sense of connection that transcended their complicated history.
"You seem to know a great deal about antiquities," she observed, studying him with new interest.
"I had an excellent tutor at Oxford who encouraged wide-ranging curiosity," he replied. "And you? Where did you develop your interest in Egyptian excavations?"
"My father has an extensive library," she said. "When my sisters were learning to embroider and play the pianoforte, I was hiding among the bookshelves, devouring whatever I could find."
"Your childhood sounds remarkably similar to mine," Dominic said. "Though I doubt my governesses would recognize the studious boy in the man before you."
They fell into an easy conversation about books and learning, each revealing small pieces of their pasts. June found herself leaning closer, caught up in the exchange of ideas and observations. He matched her wit for wit, neither condescending nor showing off, but engaging with her mind in a way few men ever had.
After a particularly spirited debate about the merits of classical education versus practical knowledge, June realized with a start that she was enjoying herself—truly enjoying his company. The realization brought her up short.
This cannot be the same man who dismissed me so cruelly, she thought.Either he is a masterful actor, or...
An idea took shape in her mind. A test.
"Do you recall much of your time at Oxford?" she asked casually, though her heart thumped painfully against her ribs.
Dominic's smile was easy, confident. "Every detail."
The three syllables landed like stones in a still pond, sending ripples through June's composure. She stared at him, searching his face for any sign of duplicity, any hint that he recognized the significance of her question. She found none.
How do you not remember me, then?The thought rose sharp and bitter in her mind.Was I truly so insignificant?
The warmth that had built between them during their conversation dissipated like morning mist under a harsh sun. June closed the book with deliberate care, her movements precise and controlled despite the turmoil churning inside her.
"It grows late," she said, her voice cool and distant once more. "I should retire."
Confusion flashed across Dominic's face. "Have I said something to offend you?"
"Not at all," she replied, though the lie tasted sour on her tongue. "I am simply tired."
She rose, gathering her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as if it might shield her from the unexpected pain of his casual cruelty. How easily he had claimed to remember every detail of Oxford, when she—her very existence—had apparently left no impression whatsoever.
"Why are you leaving me so soon?" he asked, standing as well, genuine puzzlement in his expression. "Just when I've begun to enjoy your company."
June's chin lifted, pride reasserting itself in the face of hurt. "My company is not yours to enjoy, Your Grace," she said, each word precise and cutting. "Good night."
She swept toward the door, her back rigid and head high, refusing to betray by so much as a tremor the emotions roiling within her. His gaze followed her, she could feel it like a physical touch, but she did not turn.
