Chapter Eight #2
So what if one look at him made her belly flutter and he kissed like a dream?
He would never have an ounce of respect for her if she could not maintain a professional distance. And that’s what she intended
to do going forward.
“They just wanted to get down far enough that your work tomorrow would be fruitful.”
“Do you think me incapable of digging a hole, Wellsy?”
She shook her head decisively. “Not a bit of it.” Then she turned an amused look Tess’s way. “But do you want to dig a hole,
Tessie? Hasn’t this American hired you for your knowledge of the history?”
Tess closed her eyes, inhaled and exhaled thrice, willing her anger to ebb. “He did,” she acknowledged. “But Lord Fenbridge wants to know what happens on his land, and it’s my duty to report to him.”
“Could they not note it all down and share it with you?”
Tess sighed. “I want to be there. I want to be a part of every step. And if he thinks that just because he—”
Mrs. Wells arched a silver brow. “Just because he . . . ?” she prompted.
Tess had told no one about the kissing, which was a small miracle in and of itself, seeing as she’d hardly gone an hour without
replaying every single second in her mind.
“I’m going to the dig site.” Tess shoved her hat on her head. “Enjoy the rest of your Sunday, Wellsy.”
“Be safe, my dear.”
Tess cut straight across the back garden toward Fenbridge’s field, not bothering with the village lanes. It slowed her pace,
as she pushed through tall grasses, but the movement eased a bit of the tension in her body and the sun on her skin did wonders
for her mood.
Then, within a few minutes, she caught site of them in the distance. They’d already made quick work of removing the sod and
the first layer of soil. The men stood in a line, stretched out at nearly equal intervals. An organized dig, and she had to
admire that at least.
She kept marching toward them and gasped when she saw him.
He stood speaking to Tristan, the wind whipping at his dark hair. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up high and even from the distance
where she stood she could make out the corded muscles of his sun-kissed skin.
Her mouth went dry when he turned her way, gesturing as if directing Tristan. His shirt . . . was not buttoned all the way
to his neck.
All that resolve she’d just summoned seemed to wisp away on the spring breeze.
Then she noticed what was in Tristan’s hands and everything in front of her became tinged with crimson.
She stomped toward the two of them, and it took them an irritatingly long while to even note her approach.
Tristan spotted her first. Eyes wide, he waved at her tentatively.
Oh yes, he had good reason for that guilty dip of his brows. Tess pointed at the map in his hands. Her map. The one she’d
prepared when they went to Fenbridge nearly a year ago to ask for permission to dig.
She’d worked on the plan for months, gathering together any details she could from public records, studies of the region,
and her father’s own writings about the history of the village. Measuring and plotting and theorizing had taken up so much
of her time that she’d barely slept, sometimes forgot to eat. She felt so certain of what they’d find on Fenbridge land.
She had given some of those documents to Mr. Prince already, mostly the historical studies her father had completed, but the
map held special meaning. It was their dream—hers and Tristan’s—all laid out in graphical form.
They saw her now, Tristan looking uncharacteristically sheepish and Mr. Prince watching her approach with one of his roguish
grins tipping those lips she now knew the taste of.
No. Stop. Ignore his tempting mouth.
She didn’t miss how his gaze lowered to take in her trousers before looking up at her face again.
“You started without me, Mr. Prince,” Tess shouted when she was close enough to ensure they heard every word. “I consider
that a very poor play from a man who said we would be partners in this endeavor.”
“Tess—” Tristan tried.
“No.” She lifted a hand up toward her brother. “Do not Tess me when you come out here with my map yet without me.” She plucked it from his fingers. “This is my plan, Mr. Prince.” She
held up the document but did not release it to him. “Do you not have one of your own?”
He scrutinized her a moment, his eyes sparkling with much more amusement than he had any right to.
“Of course, Miss Hawthorne.” He reached into a leather satchel on a battered little table they’d set up at the edge of the
dig area. After pulling out a sheaf of papers in a folio, he handed it to her.
Inside the folio, Tess found meticulous notes about the dig the Prince siblings had conducted the previous fall, as well as
a projected plan for how the current dig should proceed. All were written in the same neat hand, though a few pages were typed.
“My sister prepared much of that,” he admitted while she flipped through each page.
“All of it, it seems.” Tess arched a brow and looked him square in the eye.
He managed to look the slightest bit chagrined. “Eve is better at the planning. I tend to be better at . . . digging in and
taking action.”
“I’m prepared to dig in, Mr. Prince, I assure you.” Tess only had the little digs she and Tristan had conducted on the fields
next to Foxdene as experience, but she’d conducted them methodically, documenting every step.
When Tristan stepped away to oversee the village men who continued to dig into the top layers of soil, Mr. Prince stepped
almost scandalously close.
“Are we to be foes again, Tess?”
“Someone needs to document everything that’s happening,” she told him, struggling not to reveal how his nearness unnerved her. “Who’s doing that?”
He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the pocket of his trousers and offered it to her. It was warm from being pressed
against his body. Tess tried to ignore that as she held the sheet in her hands.
He’d noted the start time, added a grid drawing of the area, and listed the name of each gentleman who’d begun working this
morning.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly while she perused his notations. His voice was low, a bit rough, as it had been the night before
last. “I didn’t mean to leave you out or exclude you.”
But you did, she barely resisted blurting.
“I wanted to spare you the boring bits,” he said, rocking on his heels and swaying a bit closer. She caught the scent of his
shaving soap, the smoky allure of coffee.
“None of it is boring to me. I’ve wanted to do this for years.”
He lifted a hand as if he wanted to touch her but then lowered it.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. This time his expression matched the warmth in his voice. He looked genuinely contrite, as if disappointing
her truly troubled him.
Was it real? She’d asked him for honesty and then watched him put on the greatest performance of charm and colorful storytelling
about his adventures for hours.
Still, regardless of her doubts, Tess found herself listing closer. “You’re forgiven.” The words emerged breathless, and it
only got worse when he beamed at her in response.
“Thank you.” He stepped back a bit, creating a respectable foot of distance between them. He then gestured to a pile of tools he, or perhaps Tristan or one of the other men, had assembled. “Want a shovel?”
“Yes.” Tess strode over and chose one.
“When we get down to the more careful work, you’re welcome to borrow my set.” He pointed to an assembly of hand tools tucked
into a leather pouch that lay spread out on the grass. They included a brush, a small trowel, even a magnifying glass, and
a tiny pickax.
“What will you use?” she asked him.
“I have Eve’s set with me too.”
Tess bent down and ran her fingers over the tools. She’d never had a proper set, but she’d always wanted one. That he was
offering her his made her want to believe him—that he hadn’t meant to exclude her today. That the kiss had been real too.
No, no, she wasn’t going to think about kissing him. This work they were undertaking mattered more.
“We may not get to use any of those for days.” He spoke from behind her, and when Tess turned back, he swept a hand through
his thick dark hair. “This is the part where patience is a virtue.” He grinned. “I’m always short of it, I’m afraid.”
Tess was too, but she was determined to take this opportunity to dig on Fenbridge’s land and do it right. Not for Van Arsdale’s
money, though heaven knew they needed it. But more importantly, this was a chance she’d always wanted.
She stood and pointed to the pile of larger shovels and spades. “If we’re impatient, we should help dig. The faster we dig,
the sooner we find it.”
He bent to retrieve a shovel. “You’re certain we’ll find treasure.”
“I’m certain,” she admitted. “The size of that mound means something. If it’s not already been looted, we’ll find a hoard.”
“Then let’s dig.” He lifted a shovel out to her.
She reached for it and their fingers brushed. That single touch was like a bit of flint striking that steely part of herself
she’d built walls around, threatening to spark it into flame.
Tess had avoided this for years. Avoided gossip. Avoided temptation. But now she would be spending much of her day with this
man who made her insides tremble.