Chapter Twelve
Half a dozen men assessed Dom as he proceeded down the row of stalls being assembled for the upcoming village fair. Some took
his measure, others shot him jealous glances before more lingering longing ones turned Tess’s way.
He couldn’t blame a single one of them.
The simple act of escorting her as she pointed out various items of interest gave him an immense feeling of satisfaction.
It was a strange sensation. Rarely did he seek feminine accompaniment for anything as simple as a walk.
Yet having Tess at his side, chatting and brushing against him now and then, was enthralling. He enjoyed her nearness. Her
voice. Her clear care and appreciation for others in her village.
He felt a swell of pride at being the one beside her. Perhaps because she hadn’t sought him out or spoken to him for any other
purpose than work in nearly a week. He’d been hungry for this—merely spending time with her.
As the sun set and dusk spread over Wiggenstow, he sensed the villagers’ eagerness for the coming bonfire. Everyone seemed
to be abandoning the main thoroughfare and moving toward the fields at the far end of town. All except for one gent, who’d
passed them twice as they walked and now approached with purposeful strides.
“Pardon me, Tess,” he called, stopping their progress.
“Hello, George. How’ve you been?”
“Very well.” He flicked a look Dom’s way, then immediately focused all of his interest on Tess. His very ardent interest.
“Looking forward to the bonfire?” she prompted when he said nothing more.
“Indeed, I am, but more so if you’d dance with me.”
Dom stiffened, but the young man seemed oblivious. He watched Tess for any sign of acceptance.
“Thank you, George. I’d like that.”
Dom bristled, but George, whoever the hell he was, looked over the moon.
“I’ll see you there,” she told him, her tone more polite than eager.
“You will. Until then.” The man didn’t seem quite sure what to do as a leave-taking. He raised a hand as if he might reach
for her, but Dom instinctively took a single step forward, which stalled the man with his hand in midair.
Then he sketched an awkward half bow, cast a beaming grin at Tess, and scurried off.
“I suppose we should head toward the bonfire,” she said once her suitor disappeared from view.
Dom was only willing to go if he could throw George what’s-his-name into said bonfire.
She started walking and then turned back to Dom. He couldn’t help it. He was stuck there, scowling after the man who’d wheedled
a dance out of Tess.
“You’re glowering quite fiercely, Dominic.”
He sighed, lifting his brows. “Forgive me. I didn’t expect to be so unnerved by another asking you to dance. Though I understand
the man’s enthusiasm.”
She pressed her lips together and strode back toward him. So close, he wanted to reach for her, hold her.
“I should have asked you to dance,” he said with a rueful smile.
“You still can.”
“Dance with me.” And not bloody George.
Tess stunned him by taking another step closer. Scandalously close. Her bosom brushed his chest. The skirt of the dress she’d
changed into pressed against his legs. It still wasn’t close enough.
“I have to dance with George first,” she said quietly.
“Lucky George.”
A chuckle bubbled out of her. “I was being polite.” She nibbled at her lower lip a moment. “And you hadn’t asked me, so I
didn’t have a good excuse.”
“Then I’m a fool.” Dom dipped his head, a hairsbreadth from kissing her. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
She drew in a breath, flicked her gaze down to his lips. “So you’ll claim me for the rest of the night?”
Dom’s own breath snagged in his chest. Blood thrummed in his ears. With that one seductive question, she’d made his cock hard
and his mind go blank.
“For dancing,” she clarified with an alluring smile, as if she understood just how much she’d stunned him.
That allowed a bit of the blood to return to his brain. But he was still shocked. Delightfully so. Was Tess Hawthorne . . .
seducing him?
The prospect made his mouth water.
“I’d claim you every night of the week if I had my way,” he told her quietly, aware that their nearness was beginning to attract
notice.
Not that he gave a damn about anything but whatever was happening between them.
“Dancing every night of the week?” she teased.
“Mmm.” Dom bent down a bit further to whisper in her ear. “I’d devote myself to you for any purpose you pleased.”
This close, he felt the tremor that rocked through her at his words. But it also seemed to break the extraordinary moment
between them.
She took a step back, and then another. Her eyes had widened. Her breath came fast.
“I must go . . . dance with George.”
Dom groaned. “Can I at least escort you?” It was a question he’d asked just a few hours ago, prompting an immediate refusal.
But not this time. She nodded, even reached for him, wrapping her arm around his as they had the night of her birthday, as
if they were setting out on a chaperoned walk in a London park. But tonight she held onto him tighter than propriety would
ever allow, as if he might steady her.
“Are you all right, Tess?” he whispered.
She shot him an odd look. “After I dance with George, I have a question for you.”
Dom dared to place his bare hand over hers where she held onto his arm. “Of course. You can ask me anything. I’ll look forward
to it.” And grit his teeth while he watched her dance with that damned blighter, George.
Tess barely heard the music and all but forgot the steps as she danced around the bonfire with her hand clasped in George
Faircross’s.
As they weaved and turned, she sought a sight of Dominic.
Every time she spotted him standing among those gathered to watch the dancers, his chiseled features gilded in fire glow, her body hummed with a wild hunger for him. Each glimpse of him sparked a warm fizz in her blood, a pulsing need in her core.
It was as if she’d plucked at a bit of ribbon, tugged ever so slightly, and now the whole knot of control she’d kept over
herself—her passions and yearnings—had begun to unravel. And she remembered now how fierce and powerful that part of her was.
She didn’t want to repress it anymore. She didn’t want to deny herself or the desire she felt for the first time in such a
long while.
This isn’t the same. She repeated that to herself like a vow. If she gave in to her feelings for Dominic, it wouldn’t be the same. She was going
into every moment of it with her eyes open. Not naive and gullible. She was older, wiser, and willing to set rules and boundaries.
It’s why she needed to speak to him. She needed to know what the parameters would be. If they could agree to expectations
and outcomes, then she could give herself to this . . . hunger without fear that she’d lose herself again. Lose her heart
again.
George pulled one way as Tess’s body tried to go the other, and she smiled apologetically at him.
Then, past his shoulder, she noticed Dominic and Priscilla Walcott standing next to each other. She smiled as she said something
to him, but he only spared her a glance before turning his attention back to Tess.
That was heady. They’d shared nothing but one kiss and yet the attraction they shared was palpable, and she was thrilled at
the proof that it was entirely mutual.
When the guitarist and flutist brought the song to an end, Tess offered George a dutiful thanks for the dance.
“Shall we go again?” he asked eagerly.
“No.” She tried for a soft tone. “I’m promised for the next dance.”
Like an arrow shot straight and true, he turned and pinned Dominic with a look.
“Hope he treats you right, Tess,” George told her, his voice tight, his gaze still locked on Dominic. Then he turned to her
with a pitying look in his eyes. “Not like the other one.”
Tess gritted her teeth and suddenly felt very much like Tristan because suddenly all she could think about was punching George
Faircross in the nose.
“Thank you for your concern.” She spun on her heel and beelined straight for Dominic.
Priscilla, standing at his elbow, offered Tess a smile in greeting. “Miss Hawthorne.”
“Miss Walcott,” Tess said with a smile and a nod, but all of her attention was truly on Dominic, as his was on her. He lifted
his hand out as she approached.
“Ready for our dance?” he asked warmly.
“I am.” She slid her hand into his, and felt a shot of heat up her arm when he clasped it tight, stroking his thumb inside
the cup of her palm. “Excuse us,” she told Priscilla.
“Enjoy your dance.” Priscilla shifted her glance between the two of them and strode off to the food stalls.
Tess led Dominic through the gaggle that had gathered for the bonfire. A few offered them cider, but Tess shook her head and
kept moving farther into the field.
They were moving away from the dancing, away from the bonfire, but Dominic didn’t seem to mind.
She pressed closer to him as they walked, and he slid his free arm around her waist.
“Don’t you wonder where I’m taking you?”
“I’d follow you anywhere.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Though people may talk.”
“Of course they will.” She looked up at him, feeling freer than she had in years. “They already talk about me. I’m a siren
in some people’s eyes.”
“You are a siren.” His voice had dropped to that husky murmur that made her shiver.
“Over here there’s a bit of privacy.” A few more steps and they were in an old apple orchard with trees covered in apple blossoms.
The scent was almost as heady as the spice and orange of his shaving soap.
“Why do we need privacy?” he asked her.
Tess stopped when they were far enough in to be unseen and stepped close to him, a hand on his chest. She pushed gently and
he immediately understood and backed himself up against the wide trunk of a tree.
She leaned into him, let him take her weight, and he lashed an arm around her waist to pull her flush against him. Tipping
her head, she studied his face in the moonlight.
He seemed almost pained, tense, waiting for what came next.