"The innkeeper's son attended Oxford," she explained, holding up the volume. "He was kind enough to lend me his book on Egyptian excavations."
"Light reading for a sickroom?" Dominic asked, watching as she settled into the wooden chair by the hearth.
"I thought perhaps..." She paused, suddenly uncertain. "Well, the hours pass slowly when one is confined to bed. I thought I might read aloud, if it wouldn't disturb your rest."
The gesture touched him unexpectedly. "I should like that very much."
June opened the book, her profile illuminated by the lamp's glow. "'The Great Sphinx of Giza,'" she began, her voice steadyand clear, "'guardian of ancient mysteries, has stood watch over the desert sands for millennia...'"
Dominic let his head sink deeper into the pillows, allowing her voice to wash over him. She read with enthusiasm, occasionally pausing to share an observation or wonder at a particularly fascinating detail. The lamplight caught the determination in her amber eyes, the firm set of her jaw, the slight furrow of concentration between her brows. Not for the first time, he found himself thinking she was unlike any woman he'd ever known.
His eyelids grew heavy as night deepened, though he fought to stay awake, reluctant to miss a single word or expression. The last thing he remembered before drifting off was June's soft comment about the pyramids' astronomical alignments, her voice firm against his softer, drifting sighs.
Dawn arrived with pale fingers of light stretching across the floorboards. Dominic blinked awake, momentarily disoriented until his gaze fell upon June, slumped in the wooden armchair by the now-cold hearth. Her shawl had bunched around her shoulders during the night, and a thin line of drool glistened at the corner of her mouth. The book lay open in her lap, her finger still marking their place.
She stayed all night, he realized with a mixture of guilt and something warmer, less definable.
As if sensing his gaze, June stirred, brushing back a stray curl that had fallen across her forehead. She straightenedimmediately upon seeing him awake, hastily wiping at her mouth with embarrassed dignity.
"Good morning," she said, smoothing her rumpled skirts. "How do you feel?"
"Better," Dominic answered, surprised to find it true. The crushing pressure in his chest had eased, though weakness still pervaded his limbs.
She crossed to his bedside, helping him prop himself against the feather mattress with quick, efficient movements. Her hands were cool against his skin, her touch impersonal yet somehow intimate.
"You were reading Egyptian antiquities last night," he said, watching her adjust the pillows. "Do you truly yearn for pyramids?"
June paused, her amber eyes meeting his with unexpected candor. "Since I was a child, I've dreamed of unearthing secrets older than any man's folly."
Dominic leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "And you think a lady belongs in tombs?"
She fixed him with a steady gaze, chin lifting slightly. "I belong wherever knowledge calls."
His mouth twitched. "Which ruins would you visit first? What discoveries do you crave?"
The question opened a floodgate. June sat on the edge of the bed, her face animated as she described ancient sites she'd read about, theories she'd developed from studying obscure texts, her plans to publish scholarly articles under a male pseudonym.
"Society would never accept a woman's name on such work," she explained, "but the ideas—the knowledge—that's what matters."
Birdsong filtered through the window as they continued their conversation, the rustle of her skirts accompanying her occasional gestures. Dominic listened with unusual attentiveness, asking questions that revealed he was following her arguments rather than merely humoring her.
"You speak of these things as if they're possible," she said finally, a note of wonder in her voice.
"Aren't they?" Dominic replied, surprised by his own response.
For perhaps the first time since their hasty marriage, they were conversing as equals—not as Duke and Duchess, not as reluctant spouses thrown together by circumstance, but as two minds engaging with mutual respect. The realization struck Dominic with unexpected force.
I have never truly seen her before this moment, he thought, watching the morning light catch the determined gleam in her eye.
"You've tucked the blankets before I even mentioned feeling cold," Dominic said with mild astonishment as June drew the thick wool coverlet to his chin. Her movements had grown more assured with each passing day, the awkwardness of their hasty marriage giving way to a strange, domestic rhythm neither had anticipated. "Have you developed the ability to read minds alongside your scholarly pursuits?"
"I see you've mastered the art of excessive gratitude," June replied, smoothing the coverlet with practiced hands. "Such effusive thanks might overwhelm a less stalwart constitution than mine."
Dominic arched an eyebrow in mock reproach, watching as she moved around the chamber they'd inhabited for three days now. "I see you've mastered the art of forethought," he teased.
"I learned from the finest tutor: necessity," she answered, placing a silver tray with a steaming cup of spiced tea on the bedside table. The scent of cinnamon and cloves filled the air, warm and comforting against the chill that had settled over the countryside.
June adjusted the wick in the brass lamp, lowering it to a softer glow that cast gentle shadows across the low-ceilinged room. In the dimmer light, her profile seemed softer, less guarded than the woman he'd first encountered at Stone Manor.
