"We have indeed started this marriage on the wrong foot," he agreed. "But perhaps we might begin again."
June glanced at him, surprise evident in her expression.
"I want to marry you, June Vestiere," Dominic said, the words emerging with a sincerity that surprised even him. "Not because of scandal or obligation, but because for the first time in my life, I want something—someone—for myself. And that someone is you."
Disbelief shadowed her face. "You can't possibly mean that."
Dominic took her gloved hands in his, turning to face her fully. "I have never been more serious about anything in my life."
June searched his eyes, looking for deception or mockery. Finding none, her expression softened almost imperceptibly.
Dominic drew her closer, his heart performing that troublesome skip again—though this time, he suspected it had nothing to do with his condition and everything to do with the woman before him. His lips brushed hers, soft as a promise.
"I truly mean it, June," he whispered against her mouth. "Marry me."
He felt the moment she yielded, her body relaxing infinitesimally against his. She nodded, the movement so slight he might have missed it had they not been so close.
"Yes," she whispered back.
Relief flooded through him, so powerful he nearly pulled her into his arms regardless of propriety or witnesses. Instead, he stood and offered his hand.
"Shall we return? I believe we have a wedding to attend."
June placed her hand in his, rising with newfound composure. "I believe we do, Your Grace."
"Dominic," he corrected her. "If we're to be married, I should very much like to hear my name on your lips."
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Dominic, then."
They walked back toward the house, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Whatever came next—be it scandal, sickness, or something entirely unexpected—Dominic knew with sudden clarity that he would face it with June at his side. And somehow, that made even his uncertain future seem brighter than it had ever been before.
June leaned out the carriage window, waving until her arm ached and her family became mere specks against the sprawling façade of Stone Manor. The events of the day—her panic, their conversation in the garden, the hastily performed ceremony—swirled in her mind like leaves caught in an autumn breeze.
As the carriage rounded a bend in the drive, she settled back against the squabs with a small, incredulous sigh. Married. She was married to Dominic Blake, the Duke of Icemere. The thought was so extraordinary she nearly laughed aloud.
Looking up, she found Dominic watching her, one arm stretched along the back of the seat, his posture relaxed despite the gravity of what they had just done. A slanted smile played across his lips, transforming his handsome features into something almost boyish.
"Second thoughts already, Lady June?" he asked, though his tone suggested he knew the answer.
"Duchess," she corrected automatically, then blinked in surprise at her own words.
Dominic's smile widened. "Indeed. Duchess of Icemere. How does it sound to your ears?"
June shook her head, a small, disbelieving laugh escaping her. "Like something from a story someone else is telling. I cannot imagine I shall ever grow accustomed to it."
"You should," Dominic said, his blue eyes holding hers with unexpected intensity. "It suits you. Far better than it has suited any woman in generations of Blakes."
Heat rose to June's cheeks at the compliment, and she turned her attention to the passing countryside to hide her reaction.They rode in comfortable silence for several minutes, the rhythmic clatter of hooves and creak of leather a soothing counterpoint to the tumult of June's thoughts.
"I have a property here in Norfolk," Dominic said at last, breaking the silence. "Though I fear it is not in a state to receive the Duchess of Icemere. The housekeeper writes that the roof in the east wing has begun to leak, and the gardens have grown somewhat wild in my absence."
"I find I rather like wild gardens," June replied, surprised by how easy it felt to converse with him now that they were alone. "They have character that manicured lawns often lack."
"Then you shall adore Icemere Castle," Dominic said. "The formal gardens end where the moors begin, and the boundary between the two is gloriously uncertain. In summer, heather creeps into the rose beds, and in autumn, the whole landscape blazes with color."
June found herself leaning forward, drawn by the evident affection in his voice. "Is that where we are going? To Yorkshire?"
"Eventually. I thought perhaps we might journey in stages, if that suits you. The castle is my ancestral seat, and I believe you will love it, but it is a significant distance."
