Chapter Four
Dom had traveled to points around the globe. To Egypt so many times that a part of him felt homesick for its glorious sunsets
and ancient ruins at times. To Greece and Italy, where the wine and food were incomparable. To France for pleasure more often
than for work. And once, the year before his father died, they’d ventured together to Japan.
And yet despite his lifelong sense of wanderlust, his soul’s urgency to always be on the move, something about the green fields
dotted with spring flowers on the train ride up to Norfolk almost managed to charm him. He’d headed north soon after leaving
Lady Goddard’s and packing his usual kit back at his flat. Now, he stared out at the bucolic landscape. He hadn’t taken much
notice on the previous journey, as he and Eve were likely in discussion about their plans. But now, on his own, he could almost
understand why men yearned for a home in the countryside. Almost.
Find a lady as lovely and tempting as the one he’d met this morning and make a life. Wasn’t that what other men did? Wasn’t
that what Peter had urged him to do?
Of course, being the sort of man he was, all he could think about was how he should have kissed the blond library beauty senseless.
The train arrived at East Winch in the early evening, and it was a short ride in a hired cart to deposit him in the village of Wiggenstow. He and Eve had stayed at the local inn during their previous venture north, and she promised she’d once again make all the arrangements for this trip.
Dom wondered if she would leave Germany and join the dig as she’d vowed, or whether she’d get swept up in connecting with
other academics. That side of things always interested her most—poring over books, writing about what she’d found, and hypothesizing
about the past. He admired her knowledge and had needed it on every venture they’d undertaken together.
He opened the leather-bound journal he had tucked under his arm and found the details about Van Arsdale’s local man. He hoped—he
squinted down at the man’s name—T. S. Hawthorne proved as helpful as Eve would be if she were here.
After his bags and equipment were settled into his room at the inn, Dom headed down to the taproom. It was sparsely populated,
and he knew a more lively crowd could be found at The Black Swan up the lane.
“Good evening,” he said to the innkeeper, who stood with his wife preparing trays of food that would no doubt be taken up
to lodgers.
“Mr. Prince, is the room to your liking?”
“No complaints whatsoever.” Dom had found the rooms as tidy and cozy as during his last visit when he and Eve had each rented
rooms. “I’m wondering if you might know a T. S. Hawthorne and where I could find him.”
Mr. and Mrs. Randall exchanged a look.
“There’s a Tristan Hawthorne who all but resides at a table at The Black Swan,” Mrs. Randall finally offered. “Bit of a troublemaker,
he is.”
Dom arched a brow. That didn’t sound promising. “I believe my patron, Mr. Van Arsdale, selected him for his knowledge of the history of the area.”
“Oh yes,” the couple said in near unison and apparent understanding.
“All the Hawthornes know this land’s history,” Mr. Randall opined. “But take care with that young man.”
The Randalls’ warnings rang in Dom’s head as he walked the short distance to The Black Swan. It was as lively as he recalled
from their previous stay, and when he stepped inside, the publican tipped his head in recognition and welcome.
Dom beelined straight for the man and felt the perusal of the barmaid and a few others gathered around the pub’s scattered
tables.
“Hello, sir. Welcome back to Wiggenstow.” He glanced over Dom’s shoulder, noting the empty space. “No Miss Prince this time?”
“My sister will arrive soon, I hope.” Dom cast a gaze around those gathered in the warm, low-ceilinged space. “I’m seeking
a Mr. Hawthorne.”
The publican’s eyes ballooned. “Are you now? Doesn’t owe you money, does he? ’Fraid you won’t get it. He and his twin sister
are skint ever since their father died.”
Dom chewed on that additional detail. Did anyone in the village have a single good thing to say about Mr. Hawthorne?
“Is he here?” Dom said with more wariness now that he’d learned a bit about the man.
The publican wiped at the bar with a cloth and seemed to ponder his answer far too long. Finally he looked up, a bit remorsefully.
“Sorry to say you’ll find him in the village lockup.” He turned his gaze toward a back corner. “Magistrate, we’ve a gentleman
who needs directions to the lockup.”
Ten minutes later, Dom had learned even more about Mr. Hawthorne’s nefarious reputation.
Apparently, the man had terrible luck at cards, but grand success with the ladies.
According to Magistrate Darnley, who whispered behind the shelter of his cupped hand, Hawthorne had swived half the unmarried ladies in the village.
Dom was beginning to form a picture of the man that reminded him a little too much of himself. He swept a hand through his
hair. “But he’s been hired for his historical knowledge. He has that at least, doesn’t he?”
“Suppose that’s a talent the whole family possesses,” Darnley said amiably. “Ah, here we are, sir.”
The older man had led him to a structure shaped a bit like a large stone beehive with a few openings to serve as crude windows.
From those windows, Dom heard the distinct sound of two people laughing—a man and a woman.
“Good God, he can even attract a woman while he’s in the lockup?”
The elderly magistrate chortled. “In this case, it’s just his kin. Man’s blessed with a sister far more loyal than he deserves.”
“Indeed.” Dom couldn’t imagine either Eve or his younger sister Allie being willingly incarcerated with him if he’d done something
as stupid as attempting to start a drunken brawl, which according to the magistrate is what had landed the young man in custody.
“There’s someone coming.” A blond man’s face appeared in one of the openings as his words floated to Dom on the breeze.
“Mr. Hawthorne, I presume,” Dom said to Darnley.
“Aye, the very one,” the magistrate confirmed.
“Have you decided on mercy, Magistrate?” a lady’s voice called out.
Dom swallowed hard. Something about the timbre was familiar. Anticipation flared in his chest, though he wasn’t entirely certain why.
Darnley unlocked a wooden door with aged iron hinges on a flat side of the beehive, and a woman ducked her head as she stepped
out into the cool spring evening. Light from the lantern the constable held high gilded her face as she arched her back and
stretched her arms toward the early evening sky.
Dom’s mouth went bone dry, and the anticipation in his chest bloomed into something fierce and fiery. Pleasure rushed through
his veins at the sight of her.
Miss Librarian. He’d never imagined he’d see her again, and yet she stood before him as if he’d evoked her with his thoughts.
She was too busy thanking the magistrate before the man trundled off to even notice him at first, but her brother did. He’d
stumbled out after her and approached Dom, blocking his view of her.
“Well, well, well. Look who it is, Tess.” The young man was nearly as tall as Dom, with darker gold hair than his sister’s
and the same green eyes. “Come to apologize, have you?”
When Hawthorne turned back to check his sister’s reaction, Dom got a clear look at her again.
She stood unmoving, her lips parted, eyes wide. “Why . . . ?” she started and then fell silent. “How did you . . . ?”
Dom stepped past her brother. He understood the young man was the one he’d come to find, but she was the only thing that interested
him at the moment.
“So this is how I discover your name,” he said softly, only for her ears. “I had to come all the way to Norfolk to do it.”
He grinned at her, but she still looked stunned, and not a little annoyed, as she tried to work it all out in her mind.
“Good to meet you, Miss Tess Hawthorne. Again.” Dom held out his hand and dearly hoped she’d take it. The desire for that simple point of contact was intense.
She did. Her warm fingers slid against his, and then they were joined palm to palm. He resisted the urge to stroke his thumb
against the back of her hand. He found himself wary to overstep or cause her to withdraw.
“She fired me, you know,” she hiss-whispered to him, clutching his hand with surprising force. “You, sir, got me sacked. Lady
Goddard decided she wanted you back instead.”
Anger welled up to dim some of the pleasure of touching her. He clasped her tighter, and she immediately loosened her hold.
“I’m sorry. That’s outrageous. I never would have allowed her to do such a thing.”
She arched a brow at that. “Do you have such powers of persuasion over her?” There was a note of suspicion, perhaps accusation,
in her tone.
“I would have damned well tried.” He meant every word. The notion that the noblewoman had dismissed her made his gut churn.
He hardly knew Miss Hawthorne and yet every protective instinct made him furious she’d lost her post because of him. “I can
send off a telegram first thing tomorrow.”
“No, please don’t. I’m happy to be home. But now . . . you’re here,” she said, her hand still in his. “Why?”
“I know why,” her brother said from behind them in a singsong tone. “It’s to do with what I told you in the pub, Tess. He
must be Van Arsdale’s man on the scene, though the letter said a Miss Prince would be returning to Norfolk.”
At that, Miss Hawthorne pulled her hand from his.
“Of course, you’ve come for the dig.” A bit of annoyance entered her voice, much like he’d heard every time she’d addressed him this morning.
Good grief, had they only just met this morning? It felt as if she’d been on his mind much longer than that.
“I’ve come to hire your brother.” Dom cast one glance over his shoulder.
Mr. Hawthorne immediately approached and clapped a hand on his shoulder as if they were old chums. “No, Prince, your Van Arsdale
wanted my father, but Pater’s no longer with us. Though Tess will do the job nicely.”