"I—" June set her cup down carefully, afraid her trembling fingers might betray her. "Forgive me. We've scarcely discussed such things, Dominic and I."
"There is time," Louisa said with serene confidence. "All the time in the world."
Those simple words struck June with the force of revelation. Louisa—who had known Dominic all his life, who had lost her husband to the same condition that supposedly threatened her son—did not speak like a woman who expected premature tragedy. She spoke like a woman who anticipated a futurestretching well beyond the handful of years Dominic had claimed remained to him.
A cautious hope unfurled in June's chest, tempered immediately by worry. Was Louisa simply in denial about her son's condition? Or did she know something June didn't; some reason to believe Dominic might be spared the fate that had claimed his father and grandfather?
And beneath it all, a new question she had not allowed herself to contemplate until this moment:
Children. Our children. Dominic's and mine.
The thought of it sent a wave of longing through her so powerful it took her breath away.
Twenty-Seven
Dominic paused mid-stride, bracing one gloved hand against the stable wall as a wave of dizziness washed over him. The familiar pressure squeezed at his chest, like some invisible hand clutching his heart and giving it a warning twist. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a measured breath of hay-scented air.
When he opened them again, he straightened his shoulders with deliberate effort, refusing to surrender to the weakness that had pursued him since their arrival at Icemere. The stable hands must not notice, June must not suspect. He was master here, not some invalid to be coddled and pitied.
He resumed his pacing along the row of stalls, nodding to the grooms while inspecting each mount. His body betrayed him with every step—muscles aching without cause, lungs struggling for air as though he'd run for miles rather than merely walked the length of the stables. Dominic rolled his shoulders, grimacing at the unexpected stiffness. Was this new, this bone-deep ache? Or merely another manifestation of the curse that stalked the Blake men?
"Will Dancer be ready within the hour?" he asked the head groom, forcing steadiness into his voice.
"Yes, Your Grace. He's been brushed down and is eager for a run. Been restless since your return."
"As have I," Dominic murmured, reaching out to stroke the velvet nose of his black stallion. The horse nudged his palm, a gesture so familiar it settled something within his restless spirit.
"And the chestnut mare? Has she been prepared as I requested?"
"Gentle as a lamb, Your Grace, but spirited enough for a lady who knows her seat," the groom assured him. "Perfect for the Duchess."
Dominic nodded, pleased. He'd spent nearly an hour that morning selecting just the right mount for June—one that would challenge her enough to be interesting but not so much as to endanger her. He'd finally settled on Marigold, a sweet-tempered chestnut with intelligent eyes and a smooth gait.
A gust of cold air announced a new arrival, and Dominic turned toward the stable entrance. June stood framed in the doorway, her slender figure almost lost within the folds of an enormous woolen cloak lined with what appeared to be fox fur. Only herface was visible, her cheeks and the tip of her nose already pink from the brief walk from the castle.
His heart performed that troublesome skip again as their eyes met—a flutter that had nothing to do with his condition and everything to do with the woman before him. Three weeks of marriage, and still the sight of her caught him unawares, still the amber warmth of her gaze made him forget, momentarily, the limits of his existence.
"Are you expecting a blizzard, darling?" he called, a smile tugging at his lips. "The snow hasn't arrived yet. Why are you dressed for a Siberian winter?"
June stepped into the stables, raising a single eyebrow with that imperious look he found impossibly endearing. "Have you stepped outside today, Dominic? It's absolutely frigid."
"Is it? I hardly noticed." He closed the distance between them, lowering his voice to a more intimate register. "I know several ways to keep warm that don't require quite so much fabric."
A delicate blush colored her cheeks, but her gaze remained steady. "Do you indeed? Perhaps you should write a treatise on the subject. I'm certain it would be most educational."
"Oh, I much prefer practical demonstrations to written instruction." He offered his arm with exaggerated gallantry. "Come. I've chosen a mount for you, unless you'd prefer to select your own?"
"I bow to your superior knowledge in this arena," June replied, placing her gloved hand in the crook of his elbow. "Though I reserve the right to form my own opinions once introduced."
"I would expect nothing less," Dominic said, leading her to Marigold's stall. He felt the subtle shift in June's posture as she caught sight of the mare—the slight straightening of her spine, the quick intake of breath that signaled genuine delight.
"She's beautiful," June murmured, extending her hand toward the horse. Marigold snuffled at her glove, then allowed June to stroke her forehead. "What's her name?"
"Marigold," Dominic answered, watching June's face rather than the horse. "Five years old, trained by Cooper himself. She has a smooth gait and a steady temperament, but enough spirit to make the ride interesting."
"Much like her rider, one hopes," June said with a small smile.
Dominic laughed, the sound echoing off the stable rafters. "I've never been accused of a steady temperament, but I appreciate the comparison." He gestured to the groom. "Saddle her, please. We'll ride within the quarter-hour."
