Tess scoffed and pitched her brow.
Though she’d hate for him to say it when she was so full of righteous fury, she looked beautiful when she was fierce.
“I could be wrong,” Dom admitted in a soft tone.
He took a step toward her and his pulse jumped when she matched the movement, until they were within whispering distance.
“Promise me,” she said in a hushed tone. “We’ll make them understand the value of all we find amounts to more than gold and gems.”
He understood why she was disturbed by the Van Arsdales and their attitude toward the antiquities they hoped to unearth.
Dom reached for her hand without thinking, needing the anchor of her touch. Tess let him, her fingers tightening around his, though her gaze remained stormy.
“I promise you,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her knuckles. “We’ll make them understand.”
Her shoulders relaxed just slightly, but something flickered in her eyes. Fragile trust, maybe, or the hope that he would be the sort of man who wouldn’t let her down. The weight of it settled in his chest, heavier than any artifact they might pull from the earth.
Before he could say more, the dining room door swung open behind them.
“Well then. Shall we?” Van Arsdale’s booming voice shattered the quiet moment between them.
Tess pulled her hand from Dom’s and turned, her expression composed once more. But Dom felt the loss of her touch like a frayed thread in a tapestry, unraveling something he wasn’t sure he could stitch back together.
With every step toward the excavation site, he wonderedwhich would change everything first, the artifacts buried beneath the earth, or the feelings unfolding between them. Last night hadn’t just been about becoming lovers. She’d offered him her trust. Yet her walk this morning—her hesitance when he met her in the field—made him wonder about her doubts.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time Tess reached the dig site after stopping at home to change, she found that the Van Arsdales had been delivered by Fenbridge’s carriage and coachman and were just descending.
Van Arsdale stomped down first, then his daughter waved helplessly at Dominic to assist her. Shockingly, Miss Van Arsdale still wore jewels and a pastel frock that Tess feared would be ruined as soon as she stepped around the muddy site.
The young lady placed her hands on Dominic’s shoulders, her smile warm as he gently lowered her to the ground. She said something to him, and he returned her smile—it was his charming smile. The one that could stop hearts. The one that left ladies breathless.
Then, as if he sensed her watching, he turned and locked eyes with Tess.
A new smile curved his lips—a bit lopsided, wider, one she almost believed he reserved only for her. But a moment later, Miss Van Arsdale tugged at his arm, and Dominic turned, responding to whatever question she’d posed.
“You must guide me, Mr. Prince,” Tess heard her say. “I’m terribly curious about every little thing.”
Tess turned away, trying not to let the Americans’ presence and the young lady’s command of Dominic’s attention irk her.
He was not hers to feel possessive of, at least not in thelong term. They were each other’s for now. She knew that; understood it from the very start of whatever this was between them. Yet the arrival of the Van Arsdales felt like a pointed reminder of the distance that should exist between them, a distance she had once told herself was necessary. If they were to work together with clear minds, she could not afford to let herself become so deeply entangled.
“Excuse me, Miss Hawthorne.” Mr. Townsend approached, his hat in his hand. “There’s no sign of Mr. Hawthorne. Is he unwell?”
Tess hadn’t even noticed that her brother wasn’t among the workers already gathered at the site. “Not that I’m aware of. Let me ask Mr. Prince. He saw him this morning.” Tess felt her cheeks flame at that admission and turned to wave a hand toward Dominic.
He’d begun leading the Van Arsdales on a promenade around the trench’s perimeter but broke away immediately and strode toward her.
“Are you all right?” he asked with a furrowed brow and genuine concern in his tone.
“It’s Tristan. You said you saw him this morning, but he’s not shown up at the site.”
“That’s not a good sign.”
“How did he seem this morning?”
He hesitated. “He has news that I suspect he won’t wish me to share.”
