June laughed, a short, sharp sound. "They are not my friends anymore."
"Good." He squeezed her hand gently. "Intelligence is nothing to be ashamed of, June. It is one of your finest qualities."
The simple compliment warmed her more than it should have. She studied his face in the fading light, noting the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the strong angle of his jaw, the unexpected gentleness in his expression. This was not the Duke of Ice she had imagined, not the heartless rake of reputation. This was a man—flesh and blood, flawed and complex.
"I once spent a sennight in a small fishing village in Greece," Dominic said suddenly, as if sensing her thoughts had turned too melancholy. "It was on my grand tour, though I had long since parted ways with my tutor—much to his relief, I'm certain."
June leaned forward slightly, drawn by the unexpected tale. "What happened?"
A genuine smile lit Dominic's face, transforming his features. "A storm drove our vessel to seek shelter in a tiny cove. While thecaptain made repairs, I stayed in the village. The people there had nothing by English standards—tiny homes, simple food, clothes mended until they were more patch than original fabric." His eyes took on a faraway look. "Yet I have never met people more content with their lot."
"What did you do there?" June asked, captivated by the warmth in his voice.
"I fished with them at dawn," he said, his smile deepening at the memory. "Can you imagine? The Duke of Icemere, up to his knees in the Mediterranean, learning to cast nets with men who spoke no English and laughed at my clumsiness. We communicated through gestures and the few Greek words I knew. By the third day, they treated me as one of their own."
June tried to picture it—Dominic stripped of his ducal trappings, working alongside common fishermen, his skin bronzed by the sun, his hair salt-stiffened, his hands rough from the nets.
"Did you catch anything?" she asked.
Dominic laughed, the sound rich and unexpectedly boyish. "Nothing but seaweed for the first two days. On the third, I managed a single fish so small the village children used it as a toy rather than food. But on the fifth day—" His eyes gleamed with remembered triumph. "On the fifth day, I hauled in a net so full it nearly pulled me into the sea. The village feasted that night, and an old woman with skin like parchment declared me blessed by Poseidon himself."
June found herself laughing with him, charmed by the story and by the animated way he told it. "I can't imagine Society's response if they knew the notorious Duke of Ice had played fisherman."
"I'm not sure which would scandalize them more—the manual labor or the fact that I enjoyed it immensely." His expression sobered slightly. "I've often thought of that village in the years since. Those people understood something I've spent my life trying to grasp—how to live fully in the present moment, how to find joy in simple things."
"Perhaps you could show me someday," June said without thinking. "Greece, I mean."
A shadow crossed Dominic's face, and June immediately regretted her words. Someday was precisely what they might not have.
"I'm sorry," she began, but Dominic shook his head.
"No, don't apologize. I would like nothing more than to show you Greece." His hand found hers again. "And Italy, and France, and all the places I've traveled. We shall simply have to begin our adventures soon."
The quiet determination in his voice—the refusal to surrender to despair despite everything—touched June deeply. Here was courage of a kind she hadn't expected, not from the man society called the Duke of Ice.
As the evening deepened into night, they continued to talk, their conversation flowing more easily with each passing hour. June found herself sharing stories of her childhood with her sisters, of mischief and lessons and dreams deferred. Dominic matched her tale for tale, describing travels and escapades that made her laugh until her sides ached.
When a maid brought supper on a tray, they hardly noticed, too engrossed in their conversation to pay much attention to the food. Only when the candles had burned low and June stifled her third yawn did Dominic glance at the clock on the mantel.
"It's nearly midnight," he said, sounding as surprised as she felt. "We should retire."
The word hung between them, laden with implications. June's cheeks warmed as she realized that retiring meant sharing a bedchamber—sharing a bed—with her new husband.
As if sensing her sudden nervousness, Dominic stood and offered her his hand. "Come," he said gently. "We both need rest after the events of today."
He led her to the adjoining bedchamber, a modestly appointed room with a large four-poster bed at its center. June's trunk had been unpacked, her nightclothes laid out by some unseen servant. Dominic's belongings had been similarly arranged on the other side of the room.
"I'll step out while you prepare for bed," Dominic said, releasing her hand.
"No," June said quickly, surprising herself. "I mean—you needn't leave. We can simply... turn our backs to one another."
Dominic studied her for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish."
They undressed with careful propriety, each facing away from the other. June could hear the rustle of fabric as Dominic removed his coat and waistcoat, the soft thud of his boots hitting the floor. She focused on the tiny buttons of her dress, fingers clumsy with awareness of his presence.
When she had donned her nightdress and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders for additional modesty, she cleared her throat softly. "I'm decent."
Dominic turned, now wearing a nightshirt and banyan. His hair, freed from its careful styling, fell across his forehead in a way that made him look younger, more approachable.
