“I’m not exactly short,” Tristan put in with faux outrage.
“How do you do?” Dominic Prince’s warm-as-syrup tone made a little shiver tickle down Tess’s spine.
She understood why women succumbed to his charms. The moment she’d seen him outside the lockup, she’d had the urge to rush toward him. As if he were an irresistible magnet and she was some lump of very susceptible metal. And then she’d touched him and found she couldn’t stop. He’d thrust out his hand and she’d taken it, but they didn’t shake hands as two people who hardly knew each other might. They’d held on to each other until she could feel her body listing toward his, yearning to melt into the tall, warm enticement that he seemed to exude like a scent.
Thank heavens she’d pulled away before breaking all the rules she’d set for herself. As if him finding her dirty, disheveled, and in the local lockup with her mischief-making brother wasn’t sufficiently embarrassing.
He and Mrs. Wells made small talk, speaking of his train journey.
Tess just yearned for a washcloth and to fix her hair before she had to face him in a well-lit room.
“Shall we go inside?” she asked the three of them as dusk began to darken to night.
“Come right along, Mr. Prince,” Mrs. Wells urged. “A spot of tea after a journey will do you wonders. And there are fresh biscuits too.”
“Never fear,” Tristan whispered to him as they walked side by side toward Foxdene’s wisteria-edged front door. “There’s whiskey too, if you fancy it.”
At the threshold, Mr. Prince turned back to look at her.
Tess licked her lips and time seemed to slow. The lights from inside the cottage lit all the beautiful aspects of his face—those full lips, that square jaw, the dark amber depths of his eyes. She imagined heat in those eyes. She thought she saw him swallow hard, his gaze flicking down to her mouth as it had in Lady Goddard’s library.
“Don’t dally, love, there’s a nip in the air now the sun’s down,” Mrs. Wells called.
The moment broke, and Tess came back to her senses. Mr. Prince had gone inside.
She reached up to try to right her hair, then button the top button of her shirtwaist that she’d loosened because the lockup had been warm and confining.
There was nothing for it. She looked a fright, and now she had to welcome Dominic Prince into her home.
By the time she stepped inside the cozy warmth of Foxdene, Mrs. Wells already had biscuits plated up and a teapot and cups on the tea tray, which she carried into the room, her eyes flicking to Mr. Prince every now and then.
His eyes, to Tess’s dismay, were trained on her.
“The letter, Tris, where is it?”
Her brother had already slumped onto his favorite overstuffed chair, one leg flung over its arm. At her question, he got to his feet and collected a small pile of post from the mantel.
“On the top, as you’ll see.” He winked at her as he handed them over, and she could tell he was sobering up. He seemed to be suffering no ill effects from the night’s hijinks.
Tess turned away from everyone and faced the window that looked out on the old oak that had stood sentry on this land for ages. Something about it grounded her, comfortedher. When everything inside her felt topsy-turvy, the old oak stood strong and unwavering.
The typed letter was brief and to the point. Van Arsdale had definitely intended it for her father, as he referred to the previous letters they’d exchanged. The American had first reached out to her father years ago, and his knowledge was given freely. Even eagerly. It had never required much urging to get Papa to speak of the Celts and the Anglo-Saxons and Vikings who came after them to Norfolk.
I herein enclose a check for the sum of 500 pounds. The same sum upon completion of the project will be forthcoming.
“Get the smelling salts, Wellsy,” Tristan called in a teasing tone.
Tess heard him approach. “You knew I couldn’t refuse,” she said, still staring out at the wide trunk of the oak and the rolling fields beyond. “A thousand bloody pounds.”
Tristan chuckled.
“So you’ll do it?” Even from across the room, Dominic Prince’s voice affected her.
She turned to face him, the letter and check clutched tightly in her hand. “Do you think he’ll mind that I step in for my father?”
Mr. Prince set his teacup on a table near the settee and stepped closer.
Anticipation glittered in his dark eyes, and that confident smile of his curved his mouth. “I know he won’t, and if he did, I’d persuade him otherwise.”
