Chapter Eight
Two days later
Dom sat in the taproom of the village inn, awaiting the breakfast that the kindly innkeeper’s wife insisted on making for
him. Thankfully, the coffee was dark enough to match his mood.
The one lady in all of Wiggenstow he actually wanted to see and speak to was avoiding him. Though, of no real interest to
him, two of the ladies he’d met at the Walcotts’ had already sent invitations. One wished him to join her family for tea,
and the other quite boldly asked him to squire her to the village’s spring fair, which was apparently imminent.
He’d set both invites aside, wishing he’d never agreed to attend the blasted dinner.
No, of course, that wasn’t true. Those few stolen moments with Tess that night had made all the smiling and boasting and forced
magnetism worthwhile.
Dom drank down a swig of the hot brew to distract himself, but it was too late. He was already hard at the mere memory of
the lush sweetness of her mouth. He wasn’t sure she’d even realized the sounds she’d made when he swept his tongue against
the seam of her lips, or the way her body arched into his, but he’d noticed everything. Every breath. Every slide of her fingers
against his skin. Every erotic little mewl she emitted as he tasted her.
His lust for Tess Hawthorne blazed far beyond what it should after only a few days’ acquaintance. Hell, it wasn’t appropriate at all, given their agreement to work together for Fenbridge.
What he hoped most is that she didn’t regret it.
He’d thought of calling at her family’s home when he’d heard nothing from her on Saturday, but as it was now Sunday, he didn’t
wish to invite himself and intrude. But he had sought out her brother via a note delivered by a local lad.
Even as he awaited Tristan Hawthorne’s arrival, Dom had already decided that he would apologize, if that’s what it took to
make amends with Tess. He didn’t regret a damn thing. Hell, it was all he could do on their carriage ride back from the Walcotts’
not to touch her. But she’d kept silent, seemingly lost in thought, and he didn’t want to give her more to fret about. So,
he’d say he was sorry if it allayed whatever regrets she might have.
He’d vow not to touch her again, not unless she invited him to. He groaned, hating that idea, suspecting he’d be tempted to
break the vow as soon as he was near her again. Yet he knew it was the proper and gentlemanly thing to do.
He shook his head and swigged more coffee. When the hell had he ever been concerned with being a proper gentleman?
That part of him that didn’t give a toss about propriety whispered possibilities in his mind. He wanted her, whatever the
cost. Her kiss, the way she’d tucked herself against him, confirmed that Tess was attracted to him too, at the very least.
Would it be so bad if they gave in to a craving that was undeniably mutual?
“Good morning, Prince,” Tristan Hawthorne called in greeting. “I was surprised by your summons. Thought you’d be seeking out
Tess rather than me.”
Dom stood to greet the man, taking his offered hand and giving it a firm shake. “Call me Dominic.”
“Tristan.”
“I’ll apprise Tess of everything I’m about to discuss with you, or you could. But I was hoping you’d agree to serve as foreman
among the men we’ve hired for the dig.”
Tristan blinked as if surprised by the offer and then smiled. “I’d be happy to.”
“Good.” Dom pulled out a document he’d prepared for Tess’s brother. It was a copy, more or less, of the cross section Eve
had drawn during their dig the previous fall. It also included estimated measurements for the trench they’d dig to begin this
excavation.
“As you see, we’ll likely need to remove around five feet of soil before we begin to find anything of value.”
Tristan nodded. “Understood. We could start as early as today if you like.”
“Are you certain?”
The innkeeper’s wife approached with a mug of coffee for Tristan, and he thanked her with a roguish wink.
Dom waited while the man took a sip, seeming to savor it as much as he did.
“Most of the men we’ve engaged work other jobs during the week. They’re expecting to devote hours on weekends. I can’t promise
all would be willing to start today, but I could likely gather a group of six or so.”
“Excellent.” Dom felt that familiar churn of anticipation in his gut. His fingers itched to touch the treasure they were going
to find in Fenbridge’s field. “I’ve had new supplies sent from Norwich and delivered to Fenbridge’s groundskeeper. The man
has cleared out some space in a shed at the estate.”
He handed over a pouch filled with coins. “We can pay the workers daily or weekly. You decide.”
“Daily will keep them happier and will draw more workers, no doubt.” Tristan took the pouch, jangling the coins inside. “We
have tools at Foxdene too if they’re needed. Tess and I were keen to dig and have our own little collection from excavating
the back garden. We just made do with whatever we could find.” He chuckled and then shook his head when he saw Dom’s brows
shoot up. “We found nothing of value, I assure you. Some interesting rocks, a coin or two, a bit of dinnerware a former mistress
of the cottage must have chucked out.”
When Mrs. Randall came by with Dom’s breakfast plated up, Tristan declined to order any for himself.
“I’ll go and let Tess know the plan and then begin gathering the men,” he told Dom. “We’ll get a few feet down before sunset,
I wager.”
“I’ll join you at the site within the hour.”
Tristan gave him a mock salute and made as if to stand.
“How is Miss Hawthorne?” Dom couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“Ah,” the lady’s brother said knowingly.
Dom didn’t know what to make of the man’s inscrutable expression. “Is she unwell?”
“Tess is always well,” he told him. “Or at least she pretends to be. She keeps a great deal to herself.” Tristan took another
sip of his coffee and set the mug down, then flicked his gaze up to look at Dom straight on.
“I considered inviting her today but . . .” Dom stumbled out, but he loathed volunteering anything to Tristan if Tess hadn’t
told him about the night at the Walcotts’.
“Look,” her brother began, “Tess would have my bollocks for prying, but what sort of a brother would I be if I didn’t?”
“I take it you plan to pry.”
Tristan looked off into the distance a moment. “I may play the fool, Dominic, but I’m not blind or unobservant.”
“I never thought you were. I wouldn’t hand a full bag of coin to a fool.”
Tristan dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I suspect something happened at the Walcotts’.”
Dom opened his mouth to speak, and Tristan stopped him with his palm out.
“I require no details. My sister is a grown woman and needs no approval or permission from me for her actions.”
“I agree,” Dom told him.
“You fancy her.” Tristan didn’t ask or even sound accusing. It was a mere fact. Dom had no doubt that anyone within ten feet
of him when he was near Tess could sense his reaction to her.
But what could he admit to her twin?
“Any man would.” The quip was too blithe, too flippant. “Yes,” he rushed to add. “Though we are barely acquainted.”
Tristan frowned. “Time doesn’t factor into such things, does it?”
“No,” Dom admitted.
Tristan took a deep breath, gripped the back of his neck, and then finally blurted, “Tread lightly with Tess.”
“Lightly?”
He stared up at the inn’s ceiling. “I know the Almighty is chuckling right now that I must be the one to explain this. I,
who have caused more heartache than I have a right to.”
“I would never—”
“No,” Tristan cut in. “I never intend to either, but it happens all the same. Matters of the heart are never without risk. Not truly. Even when it seems like nothing more than scratching a carnal itch.”
Dom swallowed hard. There had been a few ladies who’d sought more from him than he’d been able to offer in return. But, with
his reputation, most understood that any liaison would be fleeting.
“Are you warning me to steer clear of your sister? At least in that regard?” Dom asked the young man. “State it clearly if
you are.”
Eve had attracted undesirable suitors, and Dom had considered stepping in more than once, though she’d proven quite adept
at putting them off herself.
“I won’t ask your intentions because Tess must make her own decisions.” He leaned across the table closer to Dom. “She doesn’t
trust herself, you see, and the last thing she needs is a man like me judging her choices or pontificating.”
Dom leaned closer too, shoving his cold plate of food aside. “Why doesn’t she trust herself?”
“She’s been burned, man.”
“Burned?”
“By a blackguard, of course.” Tristan edged back, settling against the chair as if stunned that Dom could be so thick. “The
man wooed her, then hied off when he got what he wanted.” He ducked his head and mumbled, “He was a charmer. A libertine,
not unlike me.”
Then he lifted his head and gave a hard stare back at Dom. “Not unlike you.”
Tess shoved her foot into one long boot and then searched for the other in her wardrobe, all the while mumbling curses at
Dominic Prince under her breath.
The riding skirt that Wellsy had sewn into trousers fit inside the boots, so she was careful to put them on just right, despite how angry she was.
Once she found the other, she made short work of slipping into the boot, then swiped up her straw sunhat from where it hung
by her bedroom door.
When she emerged, Wellsy watched her warily as she cleared the table where they’d shared Sunday lunch.
“You’re storming over there then?” she asked as she wiped the table.
“They’ve started without me!” Tess huffed out a breath and tempered her tone. “This is high-handed nonsense, and he needs
to know it’s not acceptable.”
“Tristan did explain—”
“I know.” Tess resisted the urge to curse her brother too, though he was just as complicit as Mr. Prince.
And it would be Mr. Prince from now on. She’d made a mistake by allowing herself to be as drawn in as one of those panting ladies at the Walcotts’ party.