Dom took the tray, and his stomach rumbled.
“I know it may seem early...” She swept her gaze around his room and the bed he’d just rolled out of. “But Lord Fenbridge is extraordinary among aristocrats in that he prefers early calls. He might be less prickly if we seek him out this morning.”
“Then I’ll wash and dress quickly and we can set off.”
At the word dress, she flicked her eyes down to the spot where his bare chest was exposed by his half-buttoned shirt.
Dom tried not to grin. Maybe he hadn’t misread her reaction to him yesterday entirely.
“I’ll... wait downstairs.”
“I won’t be long.”
Dom rushed through washing, shaving, and dressing in one of the finer day suits he’d brought along with him, all while stealing bites of Mrs. Randall’s buttery baked goods. As Fenbridge’s agreement was crucial to the success of the whole endeavor, he decided the nobleman was worth the effort of donning his best. Yet Dom was also intensely aware that Miss Hawthorne waited for him.
Twenty minutes later, he descended the stairs to find her assisting Mrs. Randall to set out small vases of fresh flowers on each table in the taproom.
“There you are,” Tess said as soon as she spotted him. “And well-polished too.” She took in his suit, cravat, and waistcoat, and seemed to find him wanting.
She approached with a little pinch between her brows. When she was close enough for her floral scent to surround him, she fixed her gaze on his neckcloth.
“May I?” she asked, gesturing to the silk cloth.
“Yes,” Dom replied a little too quickly.
He had no doubt he’d made a muck of tying his tie. He hated the bloody things and wore them as infrequently as possible.
After only a moment’s hesitation, she took the cloth in her hands and pulled it loose.
Dom studied her face—the soft peach flush in her cheeks, the plump fullness of her lips, the quiet focus in her eyes, the scatter of copper freckles across her nose.
When the back of her hand brushed his chin, she glanced up. “Stop staring, Mr. Prince, and tip your head back.”
He bit his lip against a teasing retort and obeyed. But with his gaze off her face, he became acutely aware of her nearness, the warmth of it, her simple floral scent. Lavender, perhaps. It shouldn’t have been so enticing.
“There.” She stepped back, tilting her head to survey her work. “Much better.”
“Thank you.” He offered her a smile to match the one she’d offered upon greeting him, but she didn’t return it.
“Shall we head off?”
Dom nodded, and Tess waved a goodbye to Mrs. Randall.
“Thank you for the help, Tess dear. Bless you.”
They walked in silence for a mile, and Dom wondered what he’d done to burst the momentary amity between them.
“So he’s not an amiable sort?” Dom tried, keeping his tone light and his gaze from lingering on her.
She looked ridiculously lovely in a pale peach day dress. No gloves. No hat. She’d forgone the starched shirtwaist and ink-black skirt he’d seen her in the day before and seemed lighter, more at ease. Or at least she had been until she’d tied his tie.
Perhaps she was simply pleased to be back home. The whole of Wiggenstow seemed to adore her. They’d been greeted warmly by half a dozen villagers as they made their way down the lane and past a few cottages before heading toward Fenbridge Hall.
In reply to his question, she slid him a sly smile and let out a knowing little chuckle. “Van Arsdale didn’t forewarn you at all? You’ll soon see.”
Dom knew she was worried about their meeting with the curmudgeonly nobleman whose estate he could glimpse in the distance, but he was so pleased that her smile had returned that he couldn’t worry about Fenbridge.
Miss Hawthorne’s smiles set something in him alight. Warm and sweet, and every bit as provoking as the scowl she’d given him in Lady Goddard’s library. He didn’t want to examine the why of it too closely, didn’t dare snuff it out. But she affected him in a way no woman ever had.
