When they’d almost reached the polished wooden front door, Miss Hawthorne stopped and turned to him.
“Do I look presentable?” She swiped a hand at the loose hair at her ear again, tucking it into neatly pinned hair that had been pulled back into a knot at her nape.
The ruffled fabric at her neckline had become untidy during their walk, particularly near her shoulder.
He approached, lifting a hand. “May I?”
She shot him a wary look, studied his expression a moment, and nodded.
Dom reached up gently and ran his fingers along the fabric across her shoulder, laying it so that the ruffles were folded neatly.
“There,” he said, stepping back and catching her gaze. “Eminently presentable, Miss Hawthorne. One might even say lovely.” He wasn’t sure how it would land, but he kept his tone light, felt his mouth tipping in a smile.
She smiled too, and he felt as if he’d won. Passed some very important test.
“You’re incorrigible,” she whispered.
“I promise not to be to Lord Fenbridge. I can play the proper gentleman when necessary.”
Miss Hawthorne’s brow shot up, but she said nothing as she lifted the polished bronze knocker affixed to the massive front door.
It slid open a few moments later, and a tall, austere white-haired man looked down at them through a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles.
“Dominic Prince and Miss Tess Hawthorne to see Lord Fenbridge,” Dom told the man, presumably the butler.
At mention of Tess’s name, the old man jolted.
“Miss Hawthorne?” The man’s cold, thin-lipped expression melted into a genuine grin. “My goodness, it’s been too many years.” He leaned a bit closer. “The spitting image of your dear mother, you are.”
“It’s good to see you, Teague.”
“Come.” He reached out an arm, and Tess laid a hand on it as she stepped into the house.
Dom followed her inside.
“Is he awake?” Miss Hawthorne asked the butler, who she seemed to know well. “He will be expecting a visit from Mr. Prince, but he doesn’t know I’ll be accompanying him.” She and the butler exchanged a look that Dom couldn’t decipher.
“Very well.” Teague nodded. “Wait here, and I shall prepare the way.”
The high-ceilinged entry hall was dim, with doors of nearby rooms closed and no lamps lit. The only light filtered in from a half-moon window above the door’s lintel. The house felt as if it rarely admitted visitors.
“This way,” Teague called from a spot near the stairwell.
When they joined him, he directed them to a room near the end of the hall. Dom heard the groan of a chair’s springs and footsteps as they crossed the enormous library’s threshold.
“We had no appointment, Mr. Prince. You’ve told my retainer a lie.”
“Forgive me, Lord Fenbridge,” Dom offered in a warm tone, determined to win the gruff-looking man over. Though he had no intention of groveling and suspected Fenbridge wouldn’t like him much if he did. “Mr. Van Arsdale wouldhave apprised you of my arrival via letter. Have you not received it?”
The gaunt, broad-shouldered man with overlong silver hair swiped an arm through the air. “He did not indicate the day of your visit, Mr. Prince. Do not prevaricate.”
“Regardless”—Miss Hawthorne stepped forward, positioning herself at Dom’s side—“you did know Mr. Prince would show up on your doorstep. Though my presence may be a surprise, here we are.”
Lord Fenbridge’s eyes, which had been squinted in irritation, opened wide at the sight of Miss Hawthorne.
“Teague did not exaggerate,” he murmured as he stepped out from behind a massive desk and approached her, his gold-tipped cane thudding on the carpet with every step. “You are quite like her, but, most of all, I see your father staring back at me through those green eyes. So sharp. So knowing. As if you’re as ready to find fault with me as he was.”
“My father visited you nearly every day, my lord, so he must not have found you too distasteful.”
