Chapter Seven
Dom tugged at his neckcloth and ran a hand down his waistcoat to ensure every button was fastened. Yet none of it distracted
him from the lady sitting a few feet across from him in the finely turned-out carriage the Walcotts had sent around to fetch
him.
When the vehicle wheeled up outside of the Wiggenstow inn, he’d climbed in expecting to find it empty.
What he’d found was Tess Hawthorne, and she was once again transformed. She was no longer the irritated librarian, nor the
at-ease country gentlewoman she seemed to be earlier that morning. She looked regal, elegant, and thoroughly bewitching.
He’d climbed inside to sit opposite her and had been thunderstruck. All but speechless. He’d given her a nod, which she’d
returned.
And now as they rolled toward the Walcotts’, he snuck glances at her, enchanted with this version of her—bejeweled and garbed
in a gown that accented her every curve.
He wasn’t entirely certain what the hell was wrong with him.
In the last decade, he’d been acquainted with—and bedded—his share of beautiful women. When he wanted a woman, he’d never
had trouble conveying that desire. And God’s teeth, he wanted her.
But Tess Hawthorne wasn’t like any of them.
She was something else entirely. She’d challenged him the first moment he met her, and attraction, at least for him, had flared into flame immediately.
Now that they were partners, he sensed that she wished to maintain a professional, if not friendly, rapport between them.
He should accept that and look forward to the next beautiful lady to cross his path. There would always be another. His life
was transitory, his amorous liaisons temporary. Yet he could not deny the effect Tess Hawthorne had on him.
And now he’d seen her family home. He’d met her brother. He’d won over her delightful housekeeper. He’d felt oddly comfortable
in that cozy cottage of theirs, almost enough to make him appreciate the desire to make one place a haven—a home. That was
a feeling he’d never understood. Lodgings were meant to be as temporary as lovers, no matter how appealing they might be.
But each time he saw Tess, his craving for her grew. Indeed, he’d even dreamt about the damn woman, but he couldn’t sate his
hunger. He could not seduce her. He could not bed her. Theirs was a professional partnership now, and he needed her assistance
with what might prove to be the most significant dig of his life.
“You look well,” she finally said, breaking the silence in which he’d been twisting with the conundrum of how to stem the
ache he felt whenever she was near.
God, what an arse he’d been. He’d yet to tell her how gorgeous she looked, and she certainly deserved every compliment.
“Thank you.” He licked his lips, let himself look at her, felt his heart skitter in his chest. What in the blazes was wrong
with him? “You look dazzling,” he finally managed.
She quirked a brow at that. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Effusively compliment ladies?”
“Believe it or not, I tempered my compliment to you just now. I wished to be much more effusive.”
She huffed out a breath as if the answer disappointed her. “There you go again. Charming. Flirting.” A hand came up and she
laid it against her chest.
Dom adored the neckline of her gown. He stared at the juncture between her neck and shoulder and his mouth watered. He wanted
to taste that spot, and the hollow below her throat where a simple pendant hung.
Perhaps it was the fact that he could not bed her that stoked this mad craving.
“Your reputation would certainly dictate that you behave just as you do,” she continued. “But is any of it genuine, I wonder.”
A flirtatious response came instantly to mind, but he quashed it. Perhaps charm was a reflex. Did he do it because it was
expected of him? Perhaps. Or in order to live up to the reputation that he’d crafted for himself? Possibly.
Yet even if any of that was true, it had nothing to do with his reaction to Tess.
If only she knew that he had to contain himself when he was near her.
“You doubt my sincerity. Are you trying to tell me that you don’t trust me?”
“I hardly know you.”
“Then I hope the dig takes a while so that you can get to know me.”
“Why ever would that matter to you? You don’t need my approbation, Mr. Prince.”
“Dominic,” he reminded her softly. “And I want it just the same.”
“I’m not sure I understand why.” She gestured toward the carriage window. “You’ll get plenty of it from Miss Walcott this evening, I’m sure.”
“Miss Walcott is not someone I’ll be spending time with in the coming days. She’s not my partner in this endeavor. You are,
and your opinion matters a great deal.” He swallowed hard. He heard the vulnerability in his own voice and loathed it. Yet
every word he’d said was true.
Tess grew quiet, contemplative. She craned her neck to gaze out the window, as if hoping they’d arrive soon, and she could
be free of him.
That was entirely new. Ladies liked his company. Adored it, in fact. She wouldn’t let him get away with charming her and it
rankled.
When she looked back at him, he was on tenterhooks. Waiting for what, he wasn’t certain.
“In that case, can I ask something of you?”
“Anything.” He leaned forward, readying himself.
He liked that she was asking something of him. It would give him a chance to prove himself to her, and he wanted that opportunity.
“Be honest with me. You needn’t charm me or flirt with me or seduce me.” The merest tremor seemed to run through her, and
then she dipped her head as if considering her next words. “I’d ask that you tell me the truth, even if it’s difficult. Even
if it’s not the charming rogueish thing to do.”
She spoke with such passion that he sensed it was born of pain. He wanted to know where the vehemence had come from. Who had
lied to her and made trusting so hard?
Damn it all. He rarely wanted to delve into the pasts of the women he was attracted to. Learning about another’s pain created a sense of responsibility, of obligation, and he avoided such entanglement at all costs.
Once again, his impulses with Tess were singular.
“Be yourself,” she said softly. “The genuine Dominic Prince. That’s who I wish to work with. That’s who I hope to know.”
A simple request, and asked so gently. So why did he feel the urge to jump from the rolling carriage? His heart thrashed behind
his ribs.
Be honest. Be himself. Why the hell did it seem so much more perplexing than merely seducing her as he longed to?
He wasn’t sure he even knew how to be himself, or who that man was.
“Very well,” he finally told her because now that she’d asked something meaningful of him, he damned well had to try.
“Good.” She tried for a smile but still looked at him warily. She then fussed with her evening gloves, tugging them up on
her arms.
A moment later, the carriage rolled to a stop.
“I suppose we’re here.” She didn’t sound particularly pleased.
And as he helped her down from the carriage, he sensed the tension in her.
“You don’t like Miss Walcott,” he surmised.
“She doesn’t like me,” Tess corrected.
“I find that hard to believe. Everyone seems to adore you.”
She tsked. “Honesty, Mr. Prince. We agreed on it.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “I am in earnest. Each person we encounter seems drawn to you.”
“Well, Priscilla is somehow immune.”
Before he could learn more, they were assailed by the Walcott staff. A footman came forward to guide them up the path to the
front door, and a butler stood on the threshold.
“Good evening, sir, and Miss Hawthorne.” The man, like everyone else in town, seemed to know Tess.
Once a maid had taken his overcoat and Tess’s cloak, they were directed toward a drawing room teeming with people.
“Mercy,” Tess murmured under her breath.
It seemed she, like Dom, had expected that they were attending an intimate dinner, just Tess, himself, Miss Walcott, and her
father. Instead, there were at least a dozen people inside the spacious drawing room.
“Apparently, a few more were invited than just the two of us,” Dom said, as if Tess couldn’t see the gathering herself.
“Half the unmarried ladies of the village have been invited.”
His attention had been mostly on Tess, but now that she’d pointed it out, Dom felt the gazes of a room filled with colorfully
garbed ladies turned his way.
He was used to catching the notice of ladies wherever he went. It was what was expected of him, as Tess had pointed out. And
he was damned good at playing his part.
“I don’t see Priscilla.” Tess scanned her gaze around the assembled group, and the lady herself appeared as if summoned.
“Mr. Prince, how glad we are that you’ve come.” She approached in a crimson gown that glittered with a thousand faceted beads
and placed a hand lightly on his arm. “May I present the members of my ladies book club, and a few others from my Ladies Charitable
Society.”
As an afterthought, she beckoned Tess forward with her free hand. “And you all know Miss Hawthorne, of course.”
Almost as one, the assembly of ladies nodded at Tess.
“My father and a few of his friends are in the smoking room. Ghastly habit, but gentlemen will do as they please.” She smiled up at Dom coquettishly. “But before they join us or the dinner gong sounds, do regale us, Mr. Prince, with tales of your exploits.”
“Tell me what would please you, Miss Walcott, and I’ll oblige.” He smiled down at the diminutive young lady, who now had her
arm entwined with his as if they were about to promenade in Hyde Park.
“Oh well. Hmm.” She tapped her lip with her gloved fingertip, and he realized it was as much a performance for the assembled
guests as what she was going to ask of him. “How about one short tale now, as a sort of aperitif, and then a far juicier story
after dinner as our dessert?”
Dom inclined his head, offered the watching crowd of women a dazzling smile, and launched into a truncated story of his visit