Chapter Nineteen
The crowd dripped with jewels. Diamond chokers, bracelets flashing with rubies and sapphires, stick pins glinting with emeralds.
Their gowns and dark evening suits were equally elaborate, and the very air seemed thick with wealth and refinement.
Tess had dug out her single ball gown, a green velvet relic that, though lovely, felt painfully out of date among such extravagance.
She felt underdressed, certainly under-adorned.
Perhaps that was why she kept accepting glasses of champagne from the Fenbridge footmen, who appeared agog at the spectacle
around them, taking in the dramatic display taking place in Fenbridge’s enormous drawing room, which likely hadn’t been used
in years.
Each glass of champagne seemed to dull the sharp edges of her anger, her confusion about Dominic, her frustration that she’d
let herself fall so far.
Her eyes kept drifting around the gathering, searching for Dominic, though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.
Van Arsdale had whisked him away, according to Tristan, to charm a few aristocratic collectors eager to contribute to his
growing museum. It was hard to keep bitterness at bay as the Americans seemed to claim everything—Fenbridge Hall, the treasures
in its mounds, and now Dominic.
Without Dominic in sight, what continually drew her eye was the centerpiece of the evening—the gold buckle she’d found. Her discovery. It felt like a real, tangible accomplishment at a time when she felt increasingly uncertain about everything else.
Van Arsdale had somehow, in a very short time, arranged for an elaborate display for the artifact. It sat atop a pillar on
a platform covered in deep burgundy velvet that adorned the gold to perfection.
Guests swarmed around the find, some reaching out to stroke the buckle’s delicate curves. Tess flinched every time someone
touched it and then called herself a fool for caring so very much, for her sense of possessiveness. The long-dead Anglo-Saxons
might argue that she had plundered it from its rightful resting place just as the robbers of old had stolen from the burial
site, but it still stung to see it treated as nothing more than a pretty bauble.
Her glass was empty, and a servant approached a moment later to exchange it for a full one.
“Slow down, sister dear.” Tristan appeared beside her and plucked the glass from her hand, taking a sip himself.
Tess turned to find him looking every bit the polished gentleman with Justine on his arm, radiant in a deep pink evening gown.
Tess’s heart swelled. “I’m so happy for the two of you,” Tess rasped as she hugged each of them in turn. Her joy for her brother
and Justine was the only feeling she was utterly certain of tonight. Everything else felt like a murky quagmire.
“This is a bit much,” Justine said quietly, voicing what all of them seemed to feel.
“Can’t believe Fenbridge is stomaching this.” Tristan scanned the room. “Where is he?”
“I haven’t seen him at all,” Tess said, her voice tight. “It’s as if he’s forfeited his home as well as everything dug from
his land to the Americans.”
Just then, a ripple of murmurs swirled through the drawing room, followed by applause. Tess’s stomach lurched as she turned toward the sound.
Sofia Van Arsdale had climbed up onto a dais that Tess hadn’t even noticed at the edge of the room. She held a glass of champagne
raised high in her hand.
“Tonight,” the young lady called out, “we celebrate my father and his brilliant museum, which grows with wonders by the day.”
A round of applause followed. Then she gestured out into the crowd. “And, of course, we honor the famous Dominic Prince for
finding this extraordinary artifact today!”
She waved toward him, urging him to join her on the dais. Tess’s heart was in her throat as she watched him take his place
beside the heiress.
“Hip-hip hooray to Mr. Prince,” Miss Van Arsdale said and then lifted her glass as if to toast him.
Dom raised his hand, and the cheers faltered. “There’s been a misunderstanding.” His gaze found Tess again, locking with hers.
In that instant, the world seemed to still. “I didn’t make this find.”
Tess’s pulse quickened.
He looked directly at her, his admiration so palpable, she felt it as something physical. A warmth that rushed through her
from her cheeks all the way to her toes. His eyes softened and there seemed to be a message in them, meant only for her.
“Tess Hawthorne found the extraordinary piece on display this night.” His deep voice carried across the room and seemed to
echo in her chest. “She deserves all your praise.”
He lifted his glass and the crowd turned to find her.
“Who is she?”
“Is that her?”
“Come, Miss Hawthorne,” Miss Van Arsdale called. “Let us celebrate you properly.”
She waved her forward, and Tristan put a hand on her shoulder. “Go, Tess, you deserve it.”
Tess felt woozy as she wended her way through the overheated room. A swell of scents, perfumes, and pomades washed over her,
and just as she was stalled by an elaborately garbed couple, he was there.
Dominic had stepped down from the dais to cut through the crowd and reach for her. She took his hand and felt instantly steadier.
Then he wrapped an arm around her to escort her to the dais, and she had to remind herself not to lean into him too freely,
not to bury her face against his neck, as the deepest part of her wished to.
Miss Van Arsdale was still on the dais and reached a bejeweled hand down to help her up. She clasped the young woman’s hand
with her free hand but was loath to let go of Dominic. He understood and ascended onto the dais with her.
It was a tight fit with the three of them, and he rested a hand on her lower back—that warm point of comfort kept her from
bolting when all gazes turned her way.
She’d never liked being on display or being the focus of so much attention. The last time she’d felt so many eyes on her had
been after her ruin. Her scandal.
“To our treasure seekers!” Sofia Van Arsdale said before sipping at her drink.
Tristan now held Tess’s drink, but she watched as Dominic took a sip. Then he offered his glass to her.
She took a smaller sip than she had all night, and Dominic’s expression turned heavy, hungry as he watched her swallow and
lick her lips.
The crowd went back to murmuring, back to circling around the gold buckle she’d found.
And Sofia departed the dais, leaving them to stand facing each other.
“Why did you do that?”
He blinked as if confused by her question. “I only told the truth.”
“But all of this will be your achievement.”
“That’s nonsense,” he said, almost affronted by her claim. “I won’t ever claim credit for your finds.”
“But I work for you. We all do on the dig.”
He took the glass from her hands and downed the rest in a single swallow. “Are you determined to argue with me? Are we back
to being at odds like the day we met?”
“I’m not arguing, just being precise.” Part of her wanted to row with him. It would make it all so much easier.
“You’re maddening.” He stepped closer. “From the moment I met you, you have been.” His voice had dropped low, quiet, just
for her ears. “And I’ve wanted you from that moment to this one.” His breath gusted against her cheek as he bent further to
whisper in her ear. “The question, darling Tess, is what do you want?”
His nearness made her feel as if she was going to tip off the dais, and she reached for him, a hand against the heat of his
chest.
Immediately, he laid his hand over hers. “Tell me you feel as I do.” There was a thread of desperation in his voice.
Then a deep-toned bell rang somewhere in the house, quieting the conversation in the room.
“Dinner is served,” a footman announced loudly, and as a wave the bejeweled and richly garbed crowd moved one after the other
from the drawing room toward the dining room.
“We should go in to dinner,” Tess told him because this wasn’t the time to say more.
“I’ll escort you.” He offered his arm, and she took it.
“Will you sit by me?” She wasn’t sure why she asked, but she wanted it all the same.
“Yes, if you want me to. Do you?”
But even as he asked the question, Sofia Van Arsdale rushed up to them and grabbed him by the arm.
“Come, Mr. Prince, you must be meet Lord Gowring. He says he’s followed your career and knew your father.”
He held fast to Tess, where she had laid her hand on his arm. But she knew he was in an impossible situation and slipped her
hand free.
“Go on,” she told him. “Find me after dinner.”
Tess watched him go and then followed the last of the guests into the crowded dining room. Van Arsdale sat at one end of the
long table and his daughter sat at the opposite end. Fenbridge was, once again, missing from an event in his own home.
Tristan waved from the near side of the table. “Sit with us,” he called to her over the din of conversation.
Tess approached, nearly colliding with a footman who’d already begun serving. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
He frowned, but before he could stop her, she headed out of the dining room in search of a member of Fenbridge’s staff. She
found a harried-looking maid in the hall.
“Could you direct me to his lordship, please?”
“I believe he’s in his study, miss.”
“Thank you.” Each step Tess took away from the dining room and the clutter of guests, she breathed a bit easier, thought a
bit more clearly. Though she didn’t feel at ease.
Everything about the night, barring the moments with Dominic and the pleasure of seeing Tristan and Justine together, felt wrong. And she was determined to solve the mystery of why the garrulous Fenbridge was behaving like a kicked dog in his own home.
The study door was closed over, but she twisted the latch and found it unlocked. When she stepped inside, it was as if she’d
entered a separate world from the noisy, gem-crusted one of the Van Arsdales.
His study was lined with bookshelves along one wall, polished wood paneling on all the rest, and lovely landscape paintings