Dougless knew, of course, who “he” was. Besides Nicholas, there was only one “he” in England who knew where she was—or where she’d been left, that is. So now was her chance to sort out things with Robert. This is what she’d wanted. Why, then, was her stomach starting to hurt? She suddenly remembered the pills the doctor had prescribed for her stomach. She hadn’t needed any in days. “Who is here?” she asked softly, biding for time.
“Robert Whitley,” the landlady said.
“Alone?”
“No, there’s a young lady with him.”
Dougless nodded and, with her stomach hurting more with each step, she went up the stairs to the entryway. Nicholas was busy ordering the taxi driver about, but he stopped when he saw Dougless’s face. Calmly, she paid the driver, saying not a word; then she went into the parlor, where Robert and Gloria were waiting for her.
Gloria was seated on a chair, her face angry, but Dougless ignored the girl. Instead, she looked at Robert, who was standing in front of the window. She couldn’t see any remorse on his face.
“At last,” Robert said when Dougless entered. “We have been waiting the entire day. Where is it?”
She knew what he meant, but she refused to let him know she did. Hadn’t he missed her at all? “Where is what?”
“The bracelet you stole!” Gloria said. “That’s why you pushed me down in that graveyard, so you could take my bracelet.”
“I did no such thing,” Dougless said. “You fell against the—”
Moving to stand beside her, Robert put his arm around Dougless. “Look,” he said as he smiled at her, “we didn’t come here to quarrel. Gloria and I have missed you.” He gave a little laugh. “Oh, you should see us. We get lost every few minutes. Neither one of us is good with a road map and we can’t figure out the hotels at all. You were always so good at figuring out schedules and whether a hotel had room service or not.”
Dougless wasn’t sure whether to feel elated or dejected. He wanted her, but only to read the road maps and to order room service for the two of them.
Robert gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I know you didn’t steal the bracelet. That was something that was said in the heat of the moment. But it was certainly lucky that you found it.”
When Gloria started to speak, Robert gave her a look to be quiet, and that look made Dougless feel better. Maybe he was going to force his daughter to show her some respect. Maybe—
“Please, Lessa,” Robert said, nuzzling her ear, “please come back with us. You can sit in the front half the time, and Gloria half the time. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
She wasn’t sure what to do. Robert was being so nice, and it was wonderful to hear his apology, and to think that he needed her.
“Well, madam,” Nicholas said, striding into the room, “do you mean to unkiss our bargain?”
Robert jumped away from Dougless, and immediately she was aware of hatred coming from him—a hatred that was directed toward Nicholas. Was Robert jealous? she wondered. Never before had he shown any signs of jealousy. And, as for Nicholas, he was staring at Robert with wide eyes, as though he were staring at an apparition. It took both men a few minutes to recover themselves.
“Who is this?” Robert asked.
“Well, madam?” Nicholas asked.
As Dougless looked from one man to the other, she felt like running from the room and never seeing either of them again.
“Who is this?” Robert demanded. “Have you obtained a . . . a lover in the few days since you left us?”
“Left you?” Dougless said. “You left me, and you took my handbag with you! You left me without money or credit cards or—”
Robert waved his hand in dismissal. “That was all a mistake. Gloria picked up your bag for you. She thought she was helping you. Neither of us had any idea that you’d decide to remain here, or that you’d refuse to travel with us. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
“Helping me?” Dougless gasped, so overwhelmed with his twisting of the truth that she could hardly speak. “I decided to remain here?”
“Dougless,” Robert said, “do we have to discuss our private problems in front of this stranger? We have your luggage in the car, so I suggest that we leave here now.” Firmly taking her arm, he started to lead her away.
But Nicholas stood in the doorway, blocking their way. “Do you mean to leave me?” he asked as he looked down at Dougless, anger in his voice. “Do you mean to go with this man who wants you for the service you do him?”
“I . . . I . . .” Dougless said, feeling confused. On the one hand, Robert was being a jerk, but at least he was real. For all the romance that surrounded this Nicholas Stafford, if he found what he was looking for, he’d be gone in a second. Besides, both men wanted her for what she could do for them. Robert wanted her to read road maps; Nicholas wanted her to help him research.
Dougless didn’t know what she should do.
Nicholas decided for her. “This woman has been hired by me,” he said. “Until I have done with her services, she will remain with me.” At that he clamped his hand on Robert’s shoulder and pushed him toward the door.
“Get your hands off of me!” Robert shouted. “You can’t treat me like this, I’ll have the police on you. Gloria, call the police! Dougless, either you come with me now or you’ll never get a marriage proposal out of me. You’ll never—” His last words were cut off as Nicholas shut the door behind him.
Dougless sat on the nearest chair, her head down.
When Nicholas returned, he took one look at Gloria and said, “Out!”
Gloria ran for the doorway, then pounded down the front stairs.
Nicholas went to the window and looked out. “They are gone now, but they have left your capcases on the ground. We are well rid of them.”
Dougless didn’t look up. How did she get herself in these messes? She couldn’t even go away on a vacation without something awful happening to her. Why couldn’t she have a normal, ordinary relationship with a man? She’d meet a man in a classroom somewhere, he’d ask her out, then they’d go on simple dates to movies or to play miniature golf. After a few dates, he’d propose marriage over a bottle of wine. They’d have a nice wedding, a nice house, two nice kids. Her whole life would be simple and ordinary.
Instead, she met guys who had been in jail or were about to be taken off to jail, guys who were ruled by their obnoxious daughters, or men who were from the sixteenth century. Honestly, she didn’t know any other woman who’d ever had as much trouble with men as she’d had.
“What is wrong with me?” she whispered, burying her face in her hands.
Kneeling before her, Nicholas pulled her hands away from her face. “I find I am most tired. Mayhap you will come upstairs and read to me so I may rest.”
Like a dumb animal, she let Nicholas take her hand and lead her upstairs. But once upstairs, he didn’t expect her to read to him. Instead he told her to stretch out on the bed, which she did, while he sat beside her on the bed and began to sing to her. He sang a soft, sweet lullaby that she doubted anyone else in this century had ever heard before. Gradually, she drifted off into sleep.
NINE
When she was asleep, Nicholas leaned back against the headboard and stroked her hair. God, but how much he wanted to touch her! He wanted to put his hands in her thick hair of that glorious dark red. He wanted to run his hands over her pale skin, wanted to feel those legs of hers wrapped around him. He wanted to kiss away her tears, then kiss her mouth. He wanted to kiss her all over until she smiled and laughed and was happy.
She slept bonelessly, like a child, but there was a catch in her breathing as though she’d been weeping. He’d never seen a woman cry as often as she did, he thought. But then, he’d never seen any woman who was like her. She wanted love so very much.
He had asked her about marriage in this strange new world, and the answers did not please him. In his mind, marriage should be a contract, something made as an alliance, made to breed a su
itable heir. But it seemed that in this new century marriage partners chose each other for love.
Love! Nicholas thought. The emotion was a waste of a man’s energy. Too many times he had seen men who’d lost all because of the “love” of some woman.
He touched Dougless’s temple, stroked the soft hair there, and looked down at her beautiful body of full breasts and slim legs. Look what this girl had suffered for “love,” he thought. With a smile, Nicholas thought of what his mother would have said to the idea of marrying for love. Lady Margaret Stafford had had four husbands, and she’d never considered loving any of them.
But as Nicholas looked down at this modern woman, he felt a softness inside him that he’d never felt before. She wore her heart on the outside of her body, ready to give it to anyone who was kind to her. As far as he could tell, she had no ulterior motives for the help she gave, for the warmth she gave. She didn’t ask for money. Nor did she try to take advantage of his constant confusion in this century. No, she gave help because someone needed her help.
He put his hand to her cheek, and in her sleep, she snuggled her face against his hand.
What bond had brought them together? And what bond held them? He had not told her, as she did not seem to experience it, but he could feel her pain. From the first day, when she felt pain, so did he. That first day, outside the church, she had made what he now knew was a telephone call to her sister. He’d had no idea what she was doing, but he’d sensed that she was hurt.
Today, he’d been directing the driver with the bags when, suddenly, he had sensed a feeling of great despair, and he knew it was coming from her. His first sight of the lover who had abandoned her was such a shock to him that he’d had difficulty understanding the words.
At first his only thought had been that Dougless was going to leave him. How would he find the key to returning if she left him? But more than that, what would he do without her? Without her smiles and teasings? Without her innocence and her laughter?
It was still difficult for him to understand the modern speech, but he understood that her ex-lover wanted her to go with him, and he could see that Dougless was having difficulty deciding what to do. When Nicholas threw the man out, he had reacted out of a primitive instinct. How could Dougless consider leaving with a man who gave his daughter precedence over a woman? If for no other reason, Dougless deserved respect because she was older. What manner of country was this that worshiped children to the extent that they were treated as royalty?
Now, as she lay beside him, Nicholas touched her shoulder, then ran his hand down Dougless’s arm. Three days, he thought. Three days ago he had never seen her before, but now he found himself doing whatever he could to make her smile. She was so easy to please. All it took was a kind word, a gift, or even a smile.
Leaning over her, he softly kissed her hair. The woman needed caring for, he thought. She needed someone to watch over her. She was like a rosebud that needed a little sunshine to make it open into a full blossom. She needed . . .
Abruptly, Nicholas pulled away from her, then got off the bed and went to stand by the window. Her needs were not his concern, he told himself. Even if he could somehow take her back with him, he could do no more than make her his mistress. He gave a one-sided smile. He did not think the soft Dougless would make a very good mistress. She would never ask her master for a thing, and what she had she’d give to any child who had no shoes.
Nicholas ran his hand over his eyes as though to clear his vision. There was more in this twentieth century that he did not understand than machines that produced light and pictures. He did not understand their philosophy. Yesterday he had seen an outrageous thing called a movie. It had taken him some time to be able to see it, as the people were so large, and the concept of flat giants who looked so round was difficult for him to understand. Dougless had told him the people were normal size, but, like a person could be drawn small, one could be photographed large. After he got over his horror of the pictures themselves, he found that he did not understand the story. A young girl was to marry a perfectly suitable man of means, but she had thrown him over for a penniless young man who had nothing more than a fine pair of legs.
Afterward, Dougless had told him she thought the story “wonderful” and “romantic.” He did not understand this philosophy. If his mother had had a daughter and that daughter had refused to honor a good marriage contract, Lady Margaret would have beaten the girl until her arm grew tired; then his mother would have directed the strongest groom to beat the girl some more. But in this age it seemed that disobedience in children was to be encouraged.
He looked back at her, asleep on the bed, her knees tucked up, her hand under her face.
If he remained in this age, he thought, then perhaps he could remain with her. It would be pleasant to live with such a soft female, a woman who put his needs before her own, a woman who held him when his dreams were bad. A woman who did not want him because he was an earl or because he had money. Yes, life with her could be pleasant.
No! he thought, then turned away from her to look out the window. He thought back to that hideous beldame at Bellwood, that hag who had laughed at the memory of Nicholas Stafford. If he remained in this time with Dougless, he would never change how he was remembered. The woman at Bellwood had said that after Nicholas’s death, Queen Elizabeth had taken the Stafford estates, and later most of them had been destroyed in the Civil War. Only four of his many estates now remained—and none of them belonged to a Stafford.
Honor, Nicholas thought. People of this age seemed to think little of honor. Dougless did not really understand what he meant by honor. She thought the story of Lady Arabella was amusing. Even the idea of what a man’s execution for treason did to his family did not bother her. “It was so long ago,” she’d said. “Who rememberers what happened so many years ago?”
But it wasn’t long ago to Nicholas. To him, just three days ago he had been in the White Tower, trying to save his family’s honor, and his own head as well.
This changing of time had happened to him for a reason. He was sure that God was giving him a second chance. He was convinced that somewhere in this century was the answer to who had hated him enough to want him killed. Who had benefitted by his death? And who so had the queen’s ear that she would believe this person completely?
Nothing had come out at his trial. The facts were that he had raised an army, but he had not sought the queen’s permission. Men had come from his estates in Wales to swear that they had requested the troops, but the judges would not listen to the men. The judges swore they had “secret” evidence. They said that they “knew” that Nicholas Stafford had been planning to overthrow the young Queen Elizabeth and return England to the Catholic religion.
When Nicholas had been condemned to death, he had believed that would be his fate. But his mother had sent a message saying that she had found new evidence and soon the truth would be known. Soon Nicholas would be a free man.
But before he could find out what the evidence was, he’d “died.” At least that is what history wrote of him. An ignoble death to be sure, he thought. He’d been found slumped over an unfinished letter.
Why hadn’t his mother brought the evidence forth after his death and cleared his name? Instead, she had relinquished all control over the Stafford estates and married a fat-brain like Dickie Harewood. Why? For money? Had she been left without even the estates she had inherited from her mother?
There were so many questions to be answered and so much injustice to correct. And there was so much honor at stake.
All Nicholas felt he knew for sure was that he had been called forward to this time to discover what he needed to know. And, for some fortuitous reason, he had been given this lovely young woman to assist him. Looking back at her, he smiled. Would he have been as generous as she if she had come to him and told him she was from the future? He thought not. He might have ordered the lighting of the fires that burned her as a witch.
But she had devo
ted all her time to him, reluctantly at first, but he had soon discovered that it was not in her nature to be ungenerous.
And now, he thought with a sigh, she was falling in love with him. He could see it in her eyes. In his time, when a woman started to love him, he left her. Women who loved you were an annoyance. He much preferred women like Arabella who liked jewels or a fine piece of silk. He and Arabella understood each other. There was only sex between them.
But that was not the way with this Dougless. She would be one to give love, and to love with all her being. That man Robert had had some of her love, but, obviously, he was too stupid to know what to do with it. Nicholas could see that the man used Dougless, played with her love, and enjoyed his control over her.
Nicholas took a step toward her. If he, Nicholas, had her love, he would know what to do with it. He would—
No! he told himself, then looked away. No, he could not let her love him. When he left this modern world, she would be overcome with grief. Nicholas would not like to return and think of her here alone, think of her loving a man who’d been dead over four hundred years.
Therefore, he had to find a way to make her stop loving him. He couldn’t feign anger and send her away because he needed her knowledge of this foreign world. But, at the same time, he couldn’t bear to think of leaving her behind in misery. He had to find a way to stop her love, and it had to be a way she could understand, a way that related to her world, not his.
Smiling at the absurdity of the idea, Nicholas thought that perhaps he could tell her he was in love with another woman. That usually set women off in any century. But who? Arabella? He almost laughed aloud when he thought of the postcard Dougless had bought. Perhaps a woman she’d not heard of would be better. Alice? Elizabeth? Jane? Ah, dear little Jane.
He stopped smiling. What about Lettice?
In love with his wife?
Nicholas hadn’t thought of that cold-eyed bitch in weeks. When he had been arrested for treason, Lettice had started looking for a new husband.
Jude Deveraux - A knight in Shining Armour Page 14