Only when she had closed the library door behind her, only when she had put the solid oak between herself and those piercing blue eyes, did she allow her composure to waver. She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, eyes squeezed shut against the sting of tears she refused to shed.
He truly doesn't remember me, The realization was both devastating and infuriating.All this time, I believed he was playing some cruel game, pretending not to know me. But the truth is worse—I made no impression at all.
Perhaps May and April were right, she thought, determination hardening within her like amber encasing an insect. Perhaps it was time for a change.
She would make him regret ever failing to remember her name.
Six
“Do you still remember how to shoot, Icemere?” Theo asked as he proffered Dominic a bow.
"I spent years on the Continent, not in a jungle, Stone," Dominic replied, accepting the bow. He tested the string with practiced fingers, the motion as natural as breathing, though his mind remained stubbornly fixed on the events of the previous night in the library—and the lady who had fled from him without explanation.
"One never knows what skills might fade with disuse," Theo replied with a good-natured shrug. "Last month I attempted to fence with Lord Pembroke and discovered muscles I'd forgotten existed. Couldn't lift my arms for days."
Dominic surveyed the field where servants had arranged targets at varying distances. The day was uncommonly fine for Norfolk, sunlight streaming across the manicured lawns where the house party had gathered for the impromptu tournament. Ladies inpastel dresses sheltered under parasols along the sidelines, while gentlemen clustered in small groups, wagering on the outcome with quiet enthusiasm.
April and May stood together beneath a maple tree, their identical faces animated in conversation. Their mother hovered nearby, no doubt plotting matrimonial ambushes for unsuspecting bachelors. But the third sister—the one whose absence Dominic felt with unexpected keenness—was nowhere to be seen.
Where is she?he wondered, scanning the crowd again. June's departure from the library had been abrupt, almost hostile, though he couldn't fathom what he'd said to offend her. One moment they'd been engaged in the most stimulating conversation he'd had in years, and the next she'd closed herself off like a flower at dusk.
"Care to make a small wager?" Theo asked, interrupting Dominic's thoughts. "Five pounds says you can't hit three bullseyes in succession."
"Ten says I can," Dominic countered, grateful for the distraction. He stepped up to the line drawn in the grass, selecting the farthest target to quiet the restlessness in his blood. He nocked an arrow, drew the string back to his cheek, and?—
"It is rather pathetic to aim for a closer target."
The voice at his shoulder nearly caused him to release the arrow prematurely. He turned to find June standing beside him,dressed in a dress of deep green that made her amber eyes appear almost gold in the sunlight. Her hair was arranged with more care than usual, soft brown curls framing her face in a way that drew attention to the elegant line of her jaw.
August, who had appeared at his sister's side, burst into laughter. "You've been challenged, Blake! My sister believes you're taking the easy shot."
Dominic raised an eyebrow, his focus shifting entirely to June. "Does she indeed?"
"I merely observe that a man of your... extensive experience should find little challenge in that particular target," June said, the curl of her lips suggesting both amusement and disdain.
He met her gaze steadily, refusing to be baited. Without looking away, he drew the bow again and loosed the arrow. It struck the center of the target with a satisfying thud.
"Your observation is noted, Lady June," he said, offering her the bow with a slight bow. "Perhaps you would care to demonstrate the proper level of challenge? I can teach you, if you don't mind."
"You needn't trouble yourself, Your Grace," she replied, accepting the bow with a graceful turn of her wrist. "I find I learn best through observation rather than instruction."
"Then observe away," he said, gesturing toward the target. "Though I dare you to hit the farthest one. Even accomplished marksmen find it a challenge."
Something sparked in her eyes—determination, perhaps, or the thrill of proving him wrong. "A dare, Your Grace? How very schoolboy of you."
August snorted. "Careful, Blake. When June was twelve, she accepted a dare to climb the tallest oak on our estate and ended up higher than the birds."
"Did she indeed?" Dominic murmured, watching as June selected an arrow from the quiver. "And did she succeed?"
"Spectacularly," August confirmed. "Father nearly had an apoplexy when he looked out his study window and saw her waving from the topmost branches."
June ignored their exchange, positioning herself with the calm precision of someone who had done this many times before. Her stance was perfect—feet shoulder-width apart, back straight, shoulders relaxed. She nocked the arrow, drew back the string with surprising strength, and took a single, measured breath.
The arrow flew true, striking the center of the farthest target with a decisive thwack.
A murmur of appreciation rippled through the spectators. June lowered the bow, her expression one of quiet satisfaction rather than triumph.
"It seems I have a steady hand when I am focused on a clear target," she said, her eyes meeting Dominic's with unmistakable meaning. This wasn't merely about archery—it was a declaration of intent, a promise that she was no easy conquest, no simple diversion.
