Yes, Dominic wanted to say.I believe I felt the first touch of death today. The same death that took my father and his father before him. The same death that awaits me, perhaps sooner than I'd imagined.
Instead, he said, "Nothing of consequence, Hastings. Merely contemplating the day ahead."
The valet nodded, completing his work with a final adjustment to Dominic's collar. "There. Most becoming, if I may say so."
Dominic turned to the mirror, studying his reflection with critical eyes. The face that stared back was handsome enough—the straight nose, the firm jaw, the blue eyes that had earned him admiration from countless women. But today, those features seemed like a mask worn by a stranger. His skin held a grayish undertone that hadn't been there yesterday. Shadows lingered beneath his eyes, despite a full night's sleep.
How long?he wondered, adjusting his cuffs to hide the persistent tremor in his hands.How many more mornings do I have?
The question had haunted him for years, an unwelcome companion that followed him from country to country, from pleasure to pleasure. But today, for the first time, it carried a new weight—a terrible immediacy that turned theoretical dread into imminent reality.
"Will there be anything else, Your Grace?" Hastings asked, breaking into Dominic's dark thoughts.
Dominic squared his shoulders, straightening to his full height. Whatever came, he would face it with dignity. That much, at least, he owed to his title, to his name.
"No, thank you, Hastings. That will be all."
When the valet had gone, Dominic allowed himself one more moment of vulnerability. He pressed his palm flat against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath. Normal now, as if the earlier episode had been merely a nightmare.
But he knew better. The clock had begun its final countdown. All he could do now was make each remaining moment count.
Dominic descended the grand staircase with careful deliberation, his hand resting lightly on the banister not for show but from genuine necessity. Each step downward sent a small jolt through his body, and he found himself counting them—seventeen, eighteen, nineteen—as if the mundane tally might somehow distract him from the subtle wrongness he felt in his chest.
Not pain, precisely. More like the awareness of a mechanism that had previously run without conscious thought now requiring his attention to function.
The breakfast room doors stood open, morning light streaming across the polished floor. Voices and the clink of silver against china drifted into the hallway—normal, everyday sounds that suddenly seemed precious in their ordinariness. Dominic paused, adjusting his cuffs and straightening his shoulders before striding into the room with his customary confidence.
"Ah, the sleeping duke awakens," August called from his seat near the window. "We were beginning to wonder if we should send a search party."
"The advantages of being a guest rather than a host," Dominic replied smoothly, making his way to the sideboard laden with covered dishes. "One can keep civilized hours."
The room held the usual morning gathering—August and Theo in conversation near the window, Logan buttering a piece of toast while reading correspondence. Several other gentlemen occupied chairs at the long table, though Dominic noted with amixture of relief and disappointment that none of the Vestiere sisters were present.
He selected a modest portion of eggs and a slice of ham, uncomfortably aware of his stomach's sudden reluctance toward food. As he took his seat beside August, a slight flutter disturbed the rhythm in his chest. He maintained his expression, though his grip tightened imperceptibly on his fork.
Just breathe. It will pass.
"You missed the excitement this morning," August said, pouring coffee into Dominic's cup without being asked. "Father announced that he and Mother will extend their stay for another fortnight. Apparently, the Continental journey has been postponed until September."
Dominic nodded, taking a careful sip of coffee. "Lord Wildmoore seems in excellent health. The delay is a good sign, I imagine."
"Indeed. Though it means Mother will have more time to plague June about potential suitors." August's eyes gleamed impishly. "Perhaps you should warn Lord Blackwood that he tops her list of candidates."
A peculiar sensation gripped Dominic at the mention of Blackwood in connection with June—something sharp and unpleasant that had nothing to do with his physical condition.
"Does he?" Dominic kept his tone deliberately casual. "I wasn't aware that Lady June had any particular interest in that direction."
"Oh, she doesn't," August said, cutting into a slice of ham. "But Mother has never let June's preferences interfere with her matrimonial schemes."
Dominic felt a disproportionate surge of relief, followed immediately by self-recrimination. What did it matter to him whom June Vestiere married? He had no right to an opinion on the matter, especially now.
He raised his cup again, and a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. The coffee trembled dangerously close to the rim, threatening to spill. With effort, he steadied his hand.
"Are you quite all right?" August asked, brows drawing together in concern. "You look rather pale."
"Late night," Dominic replied, setting down his cup with exaggerated care. "I found myself unable to sleep after our adventure in the rain."
It wasn't entirely a lie. He had lain awake far longer than usual, his mind filled with amber eyes and sharp retorts and the curious feeling that had overcome him when he'd carried June from the ruins.
