A shadow passed over them, and Tess curled her fingers around the buckle, as if to shield it, but it was too late for that. Even the other workers on the dig were gathering around, sensing the excitement in the air.
“What do we have here?” Van Arsdale’s voice was almost breathless, seemingly edged with the thrill of acquisition. He crouched beside them, peering at the artifact with the sharp eye of a man weighing worth and ownership, rather than history.
Tess hesitated. Dom felt it as much as saw it.
“It’s a belt buckle,” Dom said, then cleared his throat of the lump that seemed to have formed there. “Gold. Perhaps made for royalty, given the craftsmanship.”
Van Arsdale whistled. “A true treasure!” He reached an arm out and slapped Dom on the back. “You’ll be in the papers again, Prince. Your father would be proud.”
Dom flinched at the words he might have savored weeks ago.
That kind of praise was what he’d sought; it had fueled his restlessness. He’d once relished notoriety as much as his father had.Like father, like son, he’d often been told.
But now, looking at Tess and the emotions swirling in her eyes, that legacy felt like a weight, pulling him away from who he truly was and what he wanted.
Tess’s gaze on him held steadily. She said nothing. Expressed no anger. Made no demands. If she’d pleaded in that moment, he would have given her whatever she wanted.
Yet her eyes held something that shook him even harder than tears or anger. Something far more dangerous—hope. As if she trusted him to fight for her.
She reached for his hand and let the magnificent buckle slide from her palm into his.
“Let me have a closer look,” Van Arsdale demanded.
Dom closed his fingers over the intricately carved gold. It should have been an easy choice. Two weeks ago, it would have been. For the first time in his life, Dom didn’t care about the story of his exploits of the glory of this find. He wasn’t determined to follow an already-trod path carved by his father. He wanted something more. He wanted her.
Yet he knew what he’d agreed to, that his work and his finds on this dig had been bought and paid for by the Van Arsdales. The battle couldn’t be won in this moment.
So he stood, turned toward his patron, and held out his hand.
But he glanced back at Tess.
She didn’t look away. Didn’t try to hide her disappointment, but there was no condemnation in her gaze. As if she knew the inevitability of and expected the choice he’d make.
And, somehow, that was worse.
Chapter Nineteen
The crowd dripped with jewels. Diamond chokers, bracelets flashing with rubies and sapphires, stick pins glinting with emeralds. Their gowns and dark evening suits were equally elaborate, and the very air seemed thick with wealth and refinement.
Tess had dug out her single ball gown, a green velvet relic that, though lovely, felt painfully out of date among such extravagance. She felt underdressed, certainly under-adorned.
Perhaps that was why she kept accepting glasses of champagne from the Fenbridge footmen, who appeared agog at the spectacle around them, taking in the dramatic display taking place in Fenbridge’s enormous drawing room, which likely hadn’t been used in years.
Each glass of champagne seemed to dull the sharp edges of her anger, her confusion about Dominic, her frustration that she’d let herself fall so far.
Her eyes kept drifting around the gathering, searching for Dominic, though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t.
Van Arsdale had whisked him away, according to Tristan, to charm a few aristocratic collectors eager to contribute to his growing museum. It was hard to keep bitterness at bay as the Americans seemed to claim everything—Fenbridge Hall, the treasures in its mounds, and now Dominic.
Without Dominic in sight, what continually drew her eye was the centerpiece of the evening—the gold buckle she’d found.Her discovery. It felt like a real, tangible accomplishment at a time when she felt increasingly uncertain about everything else.
Van Arsdale had somehow, in a very short time, arranged for an elaborate display for the artifact. It sat atop a pillar on a platform covered in deep burgundy velvet that adorned the gold to perfection.
Guests swarmed around the find, some reaching out to stroke the buckle’s delicate curves. Tess flinched every time someone touched it and then called herself a fool for caring so very much, for her sense of possessiveness. The long-dead Anglo-Saxons might argue that she had plundered it from its rightful resting place just as the robbers of old had stolen from the burial site, but it still stung to see it treated as nothing more than a pretty bauble.
Her glass was empty, and a servant approached a moment later to exchange it for a full one.
“Slow down, sister dear.” Tristan appeared beside her and plucked the glass from her hand, taking a sip himself.
