“But my father wants you back in the dining room, Mr. Prince,” Miss Van Arsdale called. “He sent me to find you.”
“I don’t have much of an appetite.” The only thing he needed was more time with Tess. “I’ll bid you good evening, Miss Van Arsdale.”
“You can’t just walk out when my father’s asking for you,” Miss Van Arsdale said, her voice full of shock that he’d dare to do other than Van Arsdale’s bidding. “Surely, you don’t mean to forfeit your position too.”
“Don’t,” Tess said softly, reaching out to clasp his hand. “Don’t make some hasty decision because of me. Go back and do what you must. We can talk in the morning.”
“I can come tonight, or you could come to me,” he whispered.
“I’ve had too much to drink, and it’s been an eventful day. Let’s talk in the morning.” She arched up onto her toes, pressed a hand to his chest, and kissed his cheek.
His heart thudded hard as he watched her walk away.
Chapter Twenty
Tess barely slept a wink despite how exhausted she’d been when she returned to the cottage.
She had listened in the dark as Tristan and Justine tiptoed in hours later, and some part of her settled at the sound. They had made it back safely, and that was something, at least.
She smiled to think that her brother had finally found the courage to give his heart to someone. What she asked herself over and over was whether she had the courage to do the same.
Dominic had spoken of them making a life together, and yet nothing underscored the differences between them more sharply than Miss Van Arsdale’s voice, clear and commanding, calling him back to join the adoring crowd who wanted to think of him as some dashing treasure hunter.
Regret sat in her chest like a weight. She had given up her spot on the dig, but that didn’t mean she was finished. If Fenbridge challenged Van Arsdale and took back control, she’d happily work all the hours of the day to continue excavating. Yet in the cold light of day, it seemed a tenuous possibility—Fenbridge had signed a contract, and the Van Arsdales would not let the dig go without a fight.
She feared her choice had put her and Dominic on opposing sides too. At the least, it put him in an awkward position, especially if Fenbridge did challenge the Van Arsdales as she hoped he would. She hadn’t meant to do that to him, hadn’t even considered it in the moment.
If he was forced to choose, she could not blame him for choosing his livelihood. His reputation. Even his family’s reputation. All could be at stake if he walked away from Van Arsdale’s patronage.
His words from the night before, so tantalizingly full of hope for their future together, played in her mind, made her heart fill with warmth. But whenever she tried to imagine a practical means of making it happen, she couldn’t.
Even if she knew he was more than the man in the papers, he was that man too. People like Van Arsdale would insist upon it.
As the first rays of daylight peeked through her curtains, she sat up in bed and rubbed at her tired eyes.
To her surprise, she heard movement in the cottage’s kitchen.
After dressing quickly in a simple day dress—there would be no need for trousers if she wasn’t employed on the dig—she left her room to find Tristan warming a teapot of water on the hearth.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked without looking up.
“I might ask you the same. It’s five in the morning.”
He huffed a rusty laugh, then scraped a hand through his mussed hair. “Justine decided to return home rather than stay. Propriety. Her brothers. All that. So, no, I didn’t sleep well.”
Silence settled between them, broken only by the clink of porcelain as he prepared two cups of tea.
“I quit the dig, Tris,” Tess admitted as she sought some comfort by wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.
He froze, the teacup midway to his lips. “What? Why on earth did you do that?”
Tess bristled at his tone. “Can you not guess? Did you not see how they treated the buckle? How they see it all as—”
“Baubles?”
Tess frowned. “It doesn’t disturb you?”
“Did you really expect anything more? They’re paying a ridiculous amount of money for the dig, and then they’ll pay through the nose to transport it all back to New York, where there are already fine museums.” He looked at her expectantly, as if astounded she’d missed some crucial detail. “It’s a vanity project for Van Arsdale. That’s always seemed obvious.”
