“When did this row between Fenbridge and your father start?” Dom asked, recalling her insistence that the nobleman maintained a grudge against the Hawthorne clan.
“Oh, there wasn’t a single disagreement. They rowed constantly, and then they’d make amends, and then something would set them off again.” She shrugged. “They were sometimes friends, sometimes enemies.”
“And now Fenbridge has transferred his ire toward your father to you and your brother?”
She shook her head and a tendril of honeyed-blond hair slipped across her cheek. “I think he misses my father, but Tristan and I asked him about digging on his land, and that set him off.”
“Your father never pressed him on the matter?”
“I don’t know. Papa preferred books and historical documents to digging up antiquities. It all interested him, of course. He read of Schliemann’s excavation of Troy, Petrie’s digs in Egypt, and he knew what might be in those mounds...”
“A hoard,” Dom finished for her when her voice trailed off as her eyes fixed on the broad, long mounds dotting Fenbridge land. One was more pronounced. As if some giant had tucked his largest loaf of bread under the green field.
“So your American has mostly persuaded Fenbridge?”
“Van Arsdale offered him a fortune, but he’s yet to sign for his permission.” Dom tipped his head toward her. “Your assistance, well, your father’s, was meant to be a final enticement.”
Miss Hawthorne reached out a hand and pressed back against his chest. Dom stopped and was a bit disappointed when she immediately ceased touching him.
“My assistance might displease him,” she insisted. A flash of worry put a crimp in her brow. “Do you have an alternative plan if he doesn’t sign?”
Dom shook his head.
“Isn’t that a wee bit presumptuous of the American? And you?”
Dom couldn’t help but smile.
“Why do you look so pleased, Mr. Prince?”
She was why, but he could hardly tell her that. Whether they were sparring or chatting amicably, he was enjoying himself. And it was a feeling he hadn’t felt in... if he was honest, a good long while.
“We’ll convince him. A bit of that spirit of yours and my undeniable charm—”
She scoffed, but it immediately turned to a chuckle. “You do not lack for confidence.” Her hand came up and tuckedthat stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The difficulty is that Fenbridge is not fond of my spirit.”
Without explaining further, she turned and began walking again, her stride long and determined.
Dom’s longer stride brought him to her side in a few steps.
“He once told me I should cease my meddling and marry. That I needed taming.”
“Old fool,” Dom said, though a more colorful condemnation danced on the tip of his tongue.
“You don’t go in for the taming of ladies?” she asked teasingly.
“No, I bloody well don’t.” Dom felt his own temper rising and took a deep breath to tamp it down. His father had been given to angry outbursts, and it was one aspect of the man he never wanted to emulate.
But the idea of breaking ladies’ spirits struck something deep inside him that railed at the notion that anyone must diminish themselves to fit into society’s strictures.
“Ridiculous,” he added with a glance her way.
A tiny smile flickered on her lips. “Well then,” she finally said.
Dom wasn’t certain if it meant he’d grown in her estimation, but he hoped it did.
Not long after, they crossed from grassy field to gravel drive and started toward the enormous country house that sat on a small rise, higher than all the mounds nearby. It had been designed to impress, but the years had taken their toll. Though the worn stone and swaths of ivy covering the hall’s face only added to its character.
“Lady Fenbridge has been gone for over a decade and his lordship never remarried.” As their footsteps crunched ongravel on their approach to the front door, she added, “I suspect he must be very lonely. Perhaps that’s why he’s so cross with everyone and everything.”
