Nicholas snorted. “A fat lump that.”
Dougless’s anger flared. “Not beautiful like the woman you’re to marry, is she?”
Nicholas smiled. “Jealousy becomes you.”
“I’m not jealous; I’m—” She turned away. Jealousy didn’t begin to describe what she felt for Lettice, but she said nothing. Nicholas had already made it clear that he loved the woman he was to marry, so she was sure he wouldn’t listen to anything Dougless said against her. “I have to go,” she said at last. “And I want you to sleep.”
“I would sleep well if you would but stay with me.”
“Liar,” she said, smiling. She didn’t dare go too near him again. She was tired from the excitement of the day and from a night without sleep. Lifting her tote bag, she stepped to the door, gave one last look at his bare chest, his skin dark against the white of the pillows; then hurriedly, before she changed her mind, she left the room.
Lucy was waiting for her by the fountain, and after Dougless had showered, they rehearsed their vaudeville act. Dougless was going to play the straight man, the dummy who asked the questions, so Lucy would get all the laughs.
At daybreak, Dougless made her way back to the house, and Honoria was waiting for her, holding up the purple velvet dress.
“I thought I might take a nap,” Dougless said, yawning.
“Lady Margaret and Lord Christopher await you. You are to be rewarded.”
“I don’t want any reward. I just want to help.” Even as she said it, she knew her words were a lie. She wanted to live with Nicholas for the rest of her life. Sixteenth century, twentieth century, she didn’t care which if she could just stay with him.
“You must come. You may ask for whatever you wish. A house. An income. A husband. A—”
“Think they’d let me have Nicholas?”
“He is pledged,” Honoria said softly.
“I know that only too well. Shall we start getting me harnessed?”
After Dougless was dressed, Honoria led her to the Presence Chamber, where Lady Margaret and her oldest son were playing a game of chess.
“Ah,” Kit said when Dougless entered; then he lifted her hand and kissed it. “The angel of life who gave me back mine.”
Smiling, Dougless blushed.
“Come, sit,” Lady Margaret said, pointing to a chair. A chair, not a stool, so Dougless knew she was being greatly honored.
Kit stood behind his mother’s chair. “I wish to thank you for my life, and I wish to give you a gift, but I know not what you would wish. Name what you would have of me. And think high,” he said, eyes twinkling, “my life is worth much to me.”
“There is nothing I want,” Dougless said. “You have given me kindness. You have fed and clothed me most sumptuously. There is nothing more I could want.” Except Nicholas, she thought. Could you gift wrap him and send him to my apartment in Maine?
“Come,” Kit said, laughing. “There is something you must want. A chest of jewels perhaps. I have a house in Wales that—”
“A house,” Dougless said. “Yes, a house. I’d like you to build a house in Thornwyck, and Nicholas is to draw the plans for it.”
“My son?” Lady Margaret asked, aghast.
“Yes, Nicholas. He’s made
some sketches for a house, and it will be beautiful. But he must have Kit’s . . . I mean, Lord Christopher’s backing.”
“And you would live in this house?” Kit asked.
“Oh, no. I mean, I don’t want to own it. I just want Nicholas to be allowed to design it.”
Both Kit and Lady Margaret stared at her. Dougless looked at the women around them, sitting at their embroidery frames. They were gaping.
Kit recovered first. “You may have your wish. My brother will get his house.”