“But I regret it now,” she admitted, eyes searching his. “I want to be back out there.”
“So do I,” he told her, watching the way the sunlight made her green eyes glow. “I want us working together.”
She nodded, a bit of tension in her posture seeming to loosen. “Then I’ll speak to Mr. Van Arsdale when he returns to Norfolk.”
“What if we both speak to him?”
Her lips curved him an amused smile. “Tristan did say you could convince the American to take me back.”
“Actually...” Dom started, then shifted to face her more fully. “I have another idea.”
Tess’s burnished gold brows winged up. “Oh?”
“Have you ever been to the British Museum?”
“Of course.” Her face softened at some memory. “Father took Tristan and me many times. I once fantasized about working there. It’s a favorite place of mine.”
“I thought it might be.” Dom grinned, feeling the pleasure of knowing her well enough to guess at what the place might mean to her. “I know you spoke of a museum in Wiggenstow—”
A sigh gusted out of her, and she settled closer to him. “I realize it won’t ever happen. Tristan’s right. The Americans won’t leave anything truly valuable behind in Wiggenstow.”
She curled her arm around his and leaned close, kissing him softly on the cheek. “I appreciate that you offered to try, but we both know what they’ll say.”
Dom leaned closer, savoring that fleeting warmth of her lips on his skin. “They’d refuse outright because it would gain them nothing. But what if there were a way to persuade him it was in his interest to leave the finds in England?”
Tess shot him a skeptical look. “Do the Van Arsdales strike you as particularly magnanimous?”
Dom chuckled. “No, not unless there’s self-interest involved.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a folder. “But they do like good press.”
The folder seemed to pique her curiosity; she leaned in as he sifted through the clippings.
“That was the whole purpose of bringing me to London,” he explained. “They met with twice as many journalists as Idid. Wined and dined them. All for colorful write-ups in the papers.”
“The gold buckle is just the beginning.”
“Exactly.” He pulled out one particular clipping and handed it to her. “Have you ever heard of T. T. Aldridge?”
Tess frowned, examining the article. “I don’t believe so. Should I?”
“Theodore Tiberius Aldridge,” Dom told her, excitement building in his chest. “Van Arsdale’s greatest rival. Their wives are rivals too. Always trying to outdo each other in New York society. And the two titans are forever attempting to one-up each other in terms of wealth and success.”
“Sounds exhausting,” Tess muttered.
Dom laughed deeply. “Agreed, but it might work to our advantage.” He tapped the clipping.
Tess’s breath hitched as she read. When she looked up at him, her eyes were alight with the anticipation he felt.
The article detailed how Aldridge had recently donated an impressive collection of prehistoric bronzes to the British Museum. A generous act, for certain, but it had also earned him resounding transcontinental praise, with glowing articles in both the London and American newspapers.
“You think Van Arsdale might do something like this?”
“If he saw the benefit, the opportunity to outdo Aldridge. A ship burial and all its riches donated to the British Museum? The press would be agog. Wouldn’t that tempt him?”
Tess pursed her lips, considering. “That seems too much to hope for.”
He nodded. “It’s ambitious.” And there was no certainty of success. “But we can assemble allies.”
She turned toward him, gaze sharp, curious. “Allies?”
