“I thought you should have your own set rather than being forced to use my blunt old tools, and I wanted you to have the best.”
“It’s perfect.” Her smile lit up the whole room and seemed to ignite something within him too.
His heart drummed in his chest. Relief, he told himself, because he’d chosen well, and she was pleased.
But the feelings were more potent than that. A bit terrifying. What he felt was new. He’d never belonged to anyone. Never wanted to offer a woman more than charm and pleasure. But when she smiled at him—open and joyful—it felt a bit like she’d taken that shiny new trowel of hers and carved her initials on his heart.
“Thank you, Dominic.”
He swallowed hard. “You’re welcome, Tess.”
Tess had never received a more thoughtful gift in her life, and every time she looked at the man who’d chosen it for her, she felt a blush warm her cheeks.
In that moment before the fire, she’d wanted to touch Dominic. No, she’d wanted more than that. She’d wanted to kiss him. Again.
Not just because he’d given her something precious, but because the gift proved that he saw her aspirations and thought her capable of achieving them.
After dinner and cake, Tristan stood to complete the mortifying birthday tradition of writing ridiculous poems about each other.
He stood, cleared his throat dramatically, plucked a piece of paper from atop the mantel, and began.
“Here’s to Tess, my dearest pest, who once declared—at age four—she’d dig up Romans by the score.”
Mrs. Wells clapped at that and winked at Tess.
“She knows her kings,” Tristan continued, “from Aethelred to the single one who lost his head. May your cake besweet, your toes never cold. Now you’re another year closer to old.”
Dominic applauded and burst into deep, booming laughter that Tess felt echo in her chest. She laughed too, and then harder once she saw how much the poem amused him.
Tristan took a bow and then another as if he stood before an adoring audience at the Drury Lane theater.
Mrs. Wells, who’d applauded him the most fervently, stood and began collecting plates and glasses. Tess got up to help her.
“’Tis a full moon tonight, Tess,” Mrs. Wells said as they carried the dishes into the kitchen. “Fine night for a wee walk, wouldn’t you say? Mayhap to the sacred tree.”
A week ago, Tess would have balked at the suggestion that she go out into a cloudless night for a wander with a dangerously handsome man. But now she craved a moment alone with Dominic, and Mrs. Wells had suggested a spot that Tess suspected he would find as interesting as she did.
“Would you join me for a walk, Dominic?”
He stood and shot her a surprised look. “I’d love to.”
Mrs. Wells made a little sound of satisfaction, and Tess went to the threshold, where Dominic soon joined her.
For a while, they walked in silence, close enough that their arms brushed.
“I think you’ll like this spot I plan to take you to,” Tess finally said.
“I’d enjoy being with you even if we had no destination in mind.”
Tess said nothing in reply. She didn’t dare, for if she did, whatever this spark was between them would certainly blaze. And the thought of it, as tantalizing as the prospect was, made something tighten in her chest.
She reminded herself that he wasn’t the other man who’dhurt her. He’d proven that with his thoughtfulness, by abiding by her insistence that they treat each other in a professional manner, and by never mentioning the kiss that was seared in her mind.
“Tell me about your sisters,” she said to stop herself from ruminating and because she wanted to know about his life back in London.
He glanced at her. “Well, they’re quite remiss, for one thing. I’m sorry to say that neither writes me a poem for me on my birthday.”
Tess chuckled.
