Chapter Fifteen
Tess wanted to kiss him too. From the moment he’d come to find her at Fenbridge’s, it had grown like a deep-seated craving.
“Tell me, then, about the treasure associated with the castle.”
He lifted his hand and made a circle with his fingers just touching the inner tip of his thumb. “Imagine a rounded blood-red
gem. A crimson spinel from Spain. Imagine a Spanish king challenged by his brother and in need of allies.”
Tess listened rapt, the way she used to when her father told a story from history as if he was recounting a tale of Shakespearean
proportions.
“Desperate to hold onto power, King Peter of Castile looked to England. To Queen Isabella’s grandson.”
“The Black Prince.”
Dom smiled. “The very one, and he gave his aid . . . for a price. Two of the Castilian king’s daughters to marry his sons
and one gem as fat as a hen’s egg.”
Tess knew of the red spinel because it was wrapped up in the history of England’s royalty, and those annals had fascinated
her father as much as they did Tess and her brother.
“And you know where that big red jewel is now, don’t you?” he asked as if fully confident of her answer.
“Since our queen had it added to her imperial crown, I suspect it’s sitting safe and well-guarded in the Tower of London.”
“One of these days, we should go see it together, and I’ll tell you the full story of my sister’s escapade related to the
crown jewels.”
Tess swallowed hard, and Dom looked immediately chagrined as if he realized he’d misstepped without meaning to.
The notion that they’d go on a visit to see the royal regalia or spend their days in the future together as they often did
now was tantalizing. It made her heart yearn for things she knew were foolish. And that she could not allow.
“An admirable recitation,” she told him rather than mentioning how wistful his words had made her. Then she turned toward
the hollow interior of the castle, imagining the lives lived inside its strong, thick walls.
Dom took up a spot next to her. So close, she felt instantly warmer and could smell his spice and citrus shaving soap.
“I wonder if the gem was ever inside these walls,” he said quietly, as if imagining the past noise, colorful people, and finery
that would have been a part of the notorious queen’s household.
“It’s unlikely,” Tess told him without looking his way. “The queen died in 1358. The Black Prince was already installed in
his own castle in Hertfordshire.”
“You’re encyclopedic,” he said with an undisguised admiration. “I always struggle to recall precise dates, though I realize
that’s a dreadful thing for Octavius Prince’s son to admit.”
“I forget dates sometimes too, though my father encouraged memorization,” she admitted. “Tristan and I read whatever history
books he’d lend or gift to us, and we each kept a journal and drew out a timeline where we’d plot out events and details we’d
learned.”
Dom’s arm tensed where it rested against hers. She glanced over and noticed his jaw had tightened too. “I understand having a demanding father.”
“Oh, he never demanded anything of us, except to have good manners and not run wild. Of course, Tristan ran wild regardless.”
They exchanged a grin.
“But was it hard to live up to the example he set?” he asked her.
Tess frowned. “He never expected us to be as erudite about history as he was. In fact, when Tristan showed aptitude at mathematics,
Father encouraged him to pursue it at university.”
“And did he?”
“No.” Tess shook her head at the memory of all the times their father had encouraged each of them to pursue various fields
of study, only to find himself with two children as in love with the past as he was.
“I’m glad your father wasn’t like mine,” Dom said, a new gruffness in his tone.
“What was he truly like?” Tess asked softly, knowing a bit of the man by reputation alone but aware that Dominic wrestled
with his father’s legacy.
He lowered his head for a moment and then looked over at her. “He was a bit of a colorful blur, forever on the move, always
on to the next adventure. Never content. And he was truly as fearless and charming as they say.” She heard a bit of admiration
in his tone, but also a thread of sadness.
“That sounds like what the papers say of you.” Tess reached out and laid her hand atop his where he rested it on the wrought-iron
rail. “But they don’t have it quite right.”
A grin curved his mouth, and he turned his hand palm up so that he could lace his fingers with hers. “Are you saying I don’t live up to the picture they paint of me?”
“Oh, you do, in some ways, but I’ve seen more. The Dominic Prince I see each day is fair, openminded, and hardworking. And
willing to pitch in to save local cows.”
He chuckled. “Only Daisy. She’s the only one I’d risk it all for.”
“I’m sure she’ll never forget you.”
He flashed her a blinding grin. “I’m glad you see those parts of me, Tess.”
She adored those parts of him, but she hesitated to confess that much. Hesitated to let those feelings fully expand in her
heart.
Looking out at the castle walls, she returned to safer territory. “However dissimilar our fathers were, they both loved history.”
“Mmm. But your father simply passed on the love of it. Mine used it for gain.” He arched a brow as he looked over at her.
“And yes, you may call me a hypocrite for doing the same.”
Tess stroked her thumb along his. “In truth, regarding the current dig, we are both doing the same.”
“But for very different reasons.”
A drop of rain landed on Tess’s hand and trickled down to his.
“It seems the rain clouds have caught up with us. Perhaps we should head back,” she suggested.
“We should . . .” he said, “but there’s a matter we must settle first.”
“Oh?”
“There was some talk of a prize, I believe.”
They turned to face each other.
He ran his tongue along his lower lip, and Tess thought how much she wanted to kiss that very spot. She leaned into him, both hands braced on his broad chest, and he stroked a hand along her neck to cup her nape.
Tess’s stomach tightened with anticipation, but he didn’t make her wait long.
After one hungry look at her as if he wished to devour her, he bent his head and swept his tongue against the seam of her
lips. Tess gasped, and like the scoundrel he was reputed to be, Dominic slipped inside, tasting her, teasing her, all the
while drawing her closer with an arm cinched around her body.
Like the night before, he braced her against him as if he knew that his kisses made her knees feel as if they might buckle.
With their bodies seamed together, she found herself arching into him, as molten and aching as she’d been when he touched
her in the orchard.
“Dominic,” she breathed when he broke their kiss and traced his lips along her neck, nipping at a spot near her ear that made
her moan.
Then he lifted his head, smiling down at her as if quite pleased with his effect on her. He traced the shape of her lips with
his fingertips and then bent to whisper in her ear.
“Kissing you is the real treasure, Tess. I relish each of them, and then greedily want more. I want an entire hoard.”
She turned her head to look again at the castle walls because she felt something in her coming undone. The more she touched
him, kissed him, the harder it was to keep up any defense at all around her heart.
And yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from wanting more of him either. This closeness that felt so right even as a far-off
warning bell pealed inside her.
“We should go back.”
“Tess, if I said something amiss—”
“You didn’t.” Reaching up, she drew her fingers along the hard line of his jaw. “But let’s go home.”
On the short carriage ride back to Wiggenstow, Dom told himself that he had to tread more carefully with Tess’s feelings.
She’d told him what this would be. She’d laid down the rules and boundary lines of what would be between them.
It had always been enough for him in the past, but now it wasn’t nearly enough. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment, didn’t know
whether it had begun when she’d stormed into Lady Goddard’s library, but somehow, at some point, everything had changed.
Dom could no longer imagine a future day, week, or even a year of his life that didn’t include Tess.
He told himself to take what she offered as the gift it was. A few days or weeks with her was a bounty.
Yet no matter how much he told himself to keep to her parameters, to enjoy what she gave him, and focus the rest of his mind
and energy on the reason he’d come to Norfolk in the first place, he couldn’t deny that something inside him had altered.
They made the journey in silence. She seemed pensive too.
Dom feared they’d part ways in Wiggenstow, and he wouldn’t see her again until the dig resumed the next morning, weather willing.
But as the road wound toward the village, she turned to him on the narrow cart’s seat.
“Will you come back to the cottage with me?”
“Of course.” Dom felt her gaze on him as she studied his profile before he tipped a grin her way. “I’d like that.”
Any opportunity to spend time with her, he’d take.
“I haven’t had time to take a proper look at Tristan’s notes from yesterday’s work at the site. I thought perhaps the three
of us could make a plan for the coming week.”
“Tristan won’t be there,” he told her. “He mentioned a trip into King’s Lynn with a young lady.”
“I see.” Tess smiled and then shook her head. “Did he mention who?”
“A Miss Bromley, I believe.” Dom wasn’t entirely certain that Tristan would want his sister to know that detail, but he’d
only asked Dom not to mention it to Bill Bromley.
By the time they arrived at Wiggenstow, their clothes were damp from a light drizzle that followed them back from Castle Rising.
“We’ll have to light the fire. Mrs. Wells is visiting her sister in Norwich.”
Dom took the initiative and had fresh fire flaming to life within a few minutes. When he turned back to Tess, brushing off
his hands, he found her standing near the window, staring out with a fretful look.