June pushed the troubling thoughts aside, focusing instead on the man before her—flour-dusted and disheveled, yet somehow more vibrantly alive than any gentleman she'd ever encountered in Society's gilded ballrooms.
"What is that you're adding?" she asked as he reached for a small ceramic jar and shook something dark and powdery into the sauce.
"Pepper from Damascus," Dominic replied. "Though not the kind you're familiar with. This has a different heat—slower to build but more lasting."
"Is it very hot?"
His smile turned slightly wicked. "That depends entirely on one's tolerance. I've made yours milder than mine."
"How gallant," June remarked dryly. "I assure you, I'm not some delicate flower who wilts at the first sign of spice."
Dominic's eyebrow arched in challenge. "We shall see, my brave Duchess."
True to his word, Dominic served the meal without summoning any servants. He arranged platters on the rough wooden table where the kitchen staff normally took their meals, poured wineinto simple clay cups, and pulled out a chair for June with the same courtly grace he might have shown in the finest dining room in London.
The fare was unlike anything June had ever tasted—flat breads warm from the oven, fragrant rice studded with nuts and dried fruits, tender lamb in a sauce that indeed carried a slow-building heat, and vegetables prepared with unfamiliar but delicious spices.
"This is extraordinary," she said after her first few bites. "You've truly brought Damascus to Yorkshire."
"The highest praise," Dominic responded, his pleasure evident in the warmth of his smile. "Though I confess, it's not quite the same without the sound of the marketplace outside, or the call to prayer echoing across the city at sunset."
"Tell me about it," June urged, captivated by this glimpse into worlds she'd only read about. "What was Damascus like?"
As they ate, Dominic painted pictures with his words—of ancient streets and ornate fountains, of markets filled with silks and spices, of courtyards hidden behind plain facades where orange trees grew and fountains played. He spoke of the people he'd met, the customs he'd learned, the foods he'd discovered.
June watched him as he talked, his face animated in a way she'd rarely seen it. This was a different Dominic than the one who moved through Society with careful control, different even from the man who'd shown her Icemere's grounds with quiet pride.This was Dominic unguarded, passionate about the world and its wonders.
She noticed him adding more of the Damascene pepper to his portion, stirring it into the sauce until it darkened visibly.
"Are you certain that's wise?" she asked, nodding toward his plate. "It already has considerable heat."
Dominic grinned, a flash of teeth white against his tanned skin. "I was terribly sensitive to it at first. But the more I ate, the more I loved it, until I built quite a tolerance."
"Is that a metaphor, Your Grace?" June asked, lifting her wineglass with a smile of her own.
"For what?"
"For acquiring a taste for initially overwhelming experiences."
His eyes met hers over the rim of his own glass. "Perhaps. Though some experiences require no acquired taste whatsoever. They overwhelm from the first encounter, yet one craves them immediately."
The look that accompanied these words sent heat rushing to June's cheeks that had nothing to do with Damascene pepper. She took another bite of the spiced lamb to cover her reaction, but Dominic's knowing smile suggested he hadn't missed it.
When they had finished their meal, Dominic surprised her again by efficiently clearing the dishes.
"We can leave the rest for the staff to handle in the morning," he said, offering his arm with a gallantry incongruous with their informal setting. "For now, shall we retire to somewhere more comfortable?"
June placed her hand on his offered arm, acutely aware of the solid warmth of him beneath the fine linen of his shirt. "I'm not certain the drawing room is prepared for guests. Your mother mentioned the fires hadn't been lit there today."
"Not the drawing room," Dominic replied, leading her from the kitchen. "I've had a fire lit in the small salon adjoining my study. It's where I go when I wish for privacy and comfort rather than formality."
The salon proved to be a cozy chamber, far smaller than the grand public rooms of Icemere but infinitely more inviting. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing light across walls lined with books and paintings. The furnishings were well-worn but of excellent quality—deep armchairs, a writing desk positioned to catch the morning light, and a chaise longue placed near the fire.
Dominic guided her to the chaise, settling beside her with natural ease. The firelight cast his features into sharp relief—the strong line of his jaw, the elegant arch of his brows, the fullness of his lower lip. June found herself studying him with an intensity that would have been embarrassing had he noticed.
But notice he did. His eyes, dark in the firelight, turned to meet hers with quiet amusement.
"Why do you gaze at me in that manner, June?" he asked, his voice dropping to a register that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
