Once again, so certain of his ability to persuade. What would he be able to persuade her of in the coming days? Nothing, because she’d learned that lesson all too well. Once burned, now determined to never be a fool again.
And yet a rogue brazen shiver made her bite her lip.
“It’s all settled then,” Tristan said, clapping his hands merrily. “This calls for whiskey.”
“You’ve had enough,” Tess murmured to him before brushing past to approach her new partner in this endeavor of Mr. Van Arsdale’s. “You should know,” she told Dominic Prince, “that I don’t relish the notion of digging up our history to have it shipped off to America. We could start a museum here.”
Tristan let out a little groan at her return to the topic.
“Perhaps Van Arsdale could be persuaded to leave some of what’s found here,” Mr. Prince opined.
Tess blinked. “Do you think he’d do that?”
Mr. Prince shrugged. “He likes credit for his good deeds. As long as you slapped an etched plate on the museum crediting him, he might be persuadable.”
“Would you speak to him about it?”
After a moment of hesitation, Mr. Prince, a soft smile playing at his lips, said, “For you, I would, but I can’t make any promises.”
“Understood, but I’d appreciate the attempt.” Tess no longer believed in promises made by rogues anyway.
“But he’ll want the finest finds to go to America,” Tristan added, sounding terribly practical and not at all bothered by the truth of his words.
Tess wouldn’t have any sway with the American at all if she refused to help Mr. Prince. And heaven knew they sorely needed a thousand pounds.
“Very well. I’ll assist you,” Tess finally said, confident in her decision, her chin notched up a tinge.
She was immediately gifted with a beaming smile from Dominic Prince. Not one of his sultry grins or cheeky smirks.This smile was boyish in its enthusiasm, bone-melting in its sincerity.
Tess knew this land’s history as well as her father had, but whatever was happening between her and Dominic Prince was entirely unknown, dangerous territory.
“Where do we begin?” she asked, forcing her voice not to quaver.
He took a breath, a smile still lingering on his lips. “I think we should start tomorrow by speaking to the landowner, Lord Fenbridge.” He reached up and gripped the back of his neck before meeting her gaze again. “Apparently, he’s still not entirely in favor of this project. Van Arsdale hoped that with a Hawthorne’s help, we could convince him.”
Tess seamed her lips together to keep from scoffing the way she had when he’d called her lovely, but a wave of wariness blotted out how tempting it was to have his dark-honey gaze on her.
What Van Arsdale and Mr. Prince didn’t know was that Lord Reginald Fenbridge loathed nothing in the world more than a Hawthorne.
Chapter Five
Dom awoke to birdsong and in a far softer bed than his one above Princes.
Ah, Norfolk. Part of him missed the clatter of horses in their traces and the smoky waft of coffee from the coffeehouse next door to his family’s shop. Yet something savory was baking, the linen was soft and clean, and the beds at this inn were ridiculously spacious and comfortable. He sat up and scrubbed a hand across his face.
The same hand that held Tess Hawthorne’s last night.
He’d enjoyed that simple contact far too much.
A knock sounded at the door, and he quickly dressed in trousers and a rumpled shirt. He’d almost forgotten this part from his previous stay when he and Eve organized an exploratory dig nearby. The innkeeper’s wife seemed to have impeccable timing, delivering breakfast the moment her inn’s occupants stirred.
“Mrs. Randall, you—” His greeting died on his tongue, and for a moment his brain couldn’t muster any other words.
“Good morning, Mr. Prince.” Tess Hawthorne stood in the inn’s narrow hallway, looking fresh and lovely and smiling warmly at him as if she’d stepped right out of that not-so-proper dream he’d had of her during the night.
“Is that for me?” he finally managed, though his mind still felt sluggish and his eyes kept straying to her smile. Still there. Not a figment of his imagination.
“Indeed.” She offered him the cup of steaming coffee on a little tray with a scone, a crumpet, and some sort of biscuits. “Mrs. Randall said you prefer this to tea, and the rest is freshly baked.”
