“I was . . . ?” Dougless trailed off. Was that jealousy in his voice? She walked over to the big oak desk. “He’s very good looking, isn’t he? And a scholar at his age, imagine. How’s Arabella doing? Told her about your wife yet?”
“What conversation did you have with that man?”
“The usual,” she said, running her finger along the desk. “He told me I was pretty, that sort of thing.”
When she looked back at Nicholas, she saw his face had an expression of controlled rage. Her heart swelled with happiness. Revenge, she thought, can be sweet. “I did find out some things though. Lee—that’s Dr. Nolman—hasn’t really read much of the papers yet. It seems that your Arabella took her time in choosing from the many scholars who asked to look at the papers. From what I gather, she chose the best-looking man from the photographs she insisted that the applicants send. Sort of a male beauty contest. I hear she threw away the women’s photos. Pure heterosexual, our lovely Arabella is. Lee said she was awfully disappointed that he turned out to be shorter than she is. He said Arabella took one look at him and said, ‘I thought all Americans were tall.’ Lee, thankfully, seems to have his ego intact, because he just laughed. He pretty much thinks Arabella is a jerk. Oh, sorry, I’m forgetting how much you adore her.”
Nicholas’s face was still enraged, and Dougless gave him her biggest smile. “How is Arabella?” she asked sweetly.
Nicholas glared at her for a moment, then his eyes changed. Turning, he pointed at an old oak table standing against a wall. “That, madam, is the true table.” With a smug little smile, he left the room.
With her fists clenched, Dougless went over to the table and gave it a good, hard kick. Hobbling about, holding her toe, she cursed all men.
THIRTEEN
Dinner was to be served at eight, and as Dougless dressed in her museum-visiting clothes, she hoped Elizabeth would send the gowns to her as soon as possible. But as eight drew near and no one summoned her to dinner, she wondered what was going on. She knew the servants had eaten earlier and she hadn’t been invited to eat with them, so she assumed she was to eat with the family. Sitting in her room, she waited.
At eight-fifteen, a man came to her and told her to follow him. She was led through the maze of rooms to a narrow dining room with a big fireplace and a table long enough to use for skateboarding. Arabella, her father, Nicholas, and Lee were already seated. Arabella, as Dougless had expected, was wearing a dress so low cut it pretty much left her bare from the waist up. She was showing more than Dougless even possessed.
As unobtrusively as possible, Dougless slipped into a chair next to Lee that a servant held out for her.
“Your boss wouldn’t eat until you were here,” Lee whispered as the first course was served. “What’s going on between you two? Is he a descendant of the Nicholas Stafford, the one that was almost beheaded?”
Dougless gave Lee the same story she had given the cook, a story she was sure that by now every servant probably knew, that Nicholas was indeed a descendant, and he very much wanted to clear his ancestor’s name.
“I’m glad I had ol’ Arabella sign a contract,” Lee said, “because if he’d asked first, I think she would have given him exclusive access to the papers. Look at the two of them. With the way she’s looking at him, they just might go to it on the table—again.”
Dougless choked on her salmon so badly, she had to drink half a glass of water to clear her throat.
“What is this boss to you? You two aren’t . . . ? You know.”
“No, of course not,” Dougless said as she watched Nicholas lean over Arabella, his eyes looking down her dress. Looking down to see what? Dougless thought. There weren’t but a couple of inches that she wasn’t exposing for everyone in the house to see.
When Nicholas glanced up at her, Dougless moved a little nearer Lee. “I was thinking, Lee, since my boss seems to be so busy, maybe you need a secretary for the weekend. My father is a professor of medieval history, so I’ve had some experience with helping him research.”
“Montgomery,” Lee said slowly; then his eyes lit up. “Not Adam Montgomery?”
“That’s my dad.”
“I once heard him present a brilliant paper on thirteenth-century economics. So, he’s your father. Maybe I could use a little help.”
Dougless could almost read his mind. Adam Montgomery would be in a position to help a struggling young professor. But Dougless didn’t mind. Wasn’t ambition good? Besides, she would let Lee believe whatever he wanted if it helped her find out what secret Nicholas’s mother knew.
“The trunk is in my room,” Lee was saying, and his glances were decidedly warmer since finding out who her father was. “Maybe after dinner you’d like to, ah . . . visit.”
“Sure,” Dougless said as she envisioned an evening spent running around a table trying to escape his advances. At the thought of a table, she glanced at Nicholas and saw he was glaring at her. Smiling, she lifted her wineglass to him in salute, then took a deep drink. Nicholas turned away, glowering.
After dinner, Dougless went back to her room to get her notebook and a few supplies as well as her handbag. She thought she might as well be prepared for a long night spent rummaging through four-hundred-year-old documents.
Twice she got lost in the house as she turned wrong corners in her search for Lee’s room. She halted outside an open door when she heard Arabella’s seductive voice coming fr
om inside. “But, darling, I get so frightened when I’m alone at night.”
“Truly,” Dougless heard Nicholas say, “I would have thought you past such childish fears.”
Dougless rolled her eyes skyward.
“Here, let me refill your glass,” Arabella said. “And then I’d like to show you something.” Her voice lowered. “In my room.”