Elias choked a little on his own spit.
“So much theory and guesswork,” she said with a shrug, “when instead, they could simply ask us and listen to what women say. But that would be too radical, I suppose.”
He cleared his throat, but his voice was still rough: “You hold men in low regard.”
She tilted her head, as if considering it. “No,” she then said. “I find the human species as a whole rather disappointing.”
A laugh escaped him. “Equal misanthropy for all,” he said, “fair and just.”
He was shaking his head at her, intrigued and disturbed. Her intention was to repel him; Have I shocked you yet? said the look in her eyes. Color was cresting high on her cheeks, and her full lower lip was stained red with Ksara wine. His heart thumped far too fast against his chest. The woman from the lake was back. She was a mountain river in winter: an icy burn, a mighty current under a quiet surface. A man might find himself in troubled waters if he attempted to navigate her without a plan. Too bad that he had an innate urge to figure out the solutions to a challenge. He locked his gaze to hers. Don’t exert yourself, he messaged back, I’m no threat to you. He would dream of her body for the foreseeable future but he didn’t press his attentions, and she was entirely unsuitable in any case . . .
“Wonderful,” the earl said, his voice shattering the mounting tension like a thunderclap, “a very stimulating exchange.”
With a hot jolt, Elias realized he was leaning toward the lady and that his hands on the table had inched that way, too.
“We appreciate a vigorous discussion at dinner,” Wester Ross went on, “and I rarely see my daughter so at ease with guests.”
The man was so enthusiastically mistaken that the cogs in Elias’s brain briefly malfunctioned. He made a noncommittal sound while reassuming proper posture.
“This is fortunate,” the earl said as he looked between Elias and his daughter, “because I have a proposition for the both of you.”
Lady Catriona froze. Elias’s mind blanked.
“Middleton offered to reconsider the land sale today,” the earl told his daughter.
“Oh,” Lady Catriona said after a small pause. “Such news.”
“It appears he has separated from Lady Middleton.”
“MacKenzie mentioned it, yes.”
“I suspect he needs more funds, to maintain the Lady Middleton living separately from him down in London.”
A pucker formed between Lady Catriona’s brows. “What does it have to do with Mr. Khoury and me?”
What indeed.
The earl sounded serious. “I shall have to deal with the Middleton business, so I suggest you accompany Mr. Khoury to Oxford in my stead.”
“What?” The lady said it out loud, aghast.
“You know everything I know, and the fellows at St. John’s hold you in high regard,” her father said. “You could introduce Mr. Khoury, instruct him, assist with the classification of the artifacts, even. I shall follow as soon as possible.”
Her mouth quivered. “Can the dealings not wait,” she managed.
The earl took off his glasses and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. “Middleton plans to go overseas and he’s in quite a hurry. A new woman, I reckon. Excuse the gossip,” he said to Elias.
Normally, Elias would have let the elder man, the local, the host, make the suggestions, but Lady Catriona’s hand had curled into an agonized, white-knuckled fist on the table.
“It’s no trouble for me to stay at Applecross longer than planned,” he said to Wester Ross, suppressing a surge of frustration. To gain the professor’s trust and assistance, he needed to spend time with him.
The earl slightly bowed his head. “I appreciate that. However, I would be absent from the house for days at a time, as the legal business requires travel to Glasgow, possibly London, and we don’t wish to give the neighbors something to talk about, do we. Especially not when Lady Middleton is about to infiltrate London society.”
“Of course not,” Elias said reflexively, though it was beyond him how traveling with the daughter should be any less scandalous than staying alone with her in the castle. “If Lady Catriona prefers to stay at Applecross, then I shall go to Oxford by myself,” he suggested.
The earl smiled. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Khoury, but much of your work takes place in the Ashmolean—I believe you would be more comfortable and your studies more efficient when someone associated with the university assists you with navigating the bureaucratic hurdles and idiosyncrasies.”
Neither the earl’s tone nor his posture had changed, but it was quite clear that Elias would not be left unsupervised in a room full of treasure. The earl was scruffy but not stupid. He had moved mildly like a pawn through most of the conversation, only to do an unexpected promotion to queen. Check.
Elias returned the man’s smile. “As you wish.”
They both turned their attention back to Lady Catriona.
She appeared to look right through them.
“Well, it all appears to be decided,” she said after a brittle silence.
“There’s another option, my dear,” the earl replied. “I accompany Mr. Khoury as planned, and you negotiate with Middleton. Including the honorable Charles.”
She stiffened. “No,” she said softly.
“I thought not,” the earl said under his breath. He signaled one of the footmen that they were ready for the final course.
Lady Catriona ate her dessert with minute bites, her back rigid as a fence post, because she had been given a choice between plague and cholera: Elias, or Mr. Charles. Who the hell was Charles?
Before the last plates were cleared, she took her napkin off her lap and stood. “Please excuse me,” she said to no one in particular. “I ought to look after the lambs.”
She left, her stride so quick that her dark head bobbed with every step. The thud of the mighty doors falling shut behind her echoed through the hall.
Wester Ross turned to Elias, his weathered face unreadable. “You have my word that she is a worthy representative for me at Oxford,” he said. “She is my best man.”
Oh, but she was a woman, too, Elias thought. And she loathes my very presence.
He had to find out where the Campbells kept their sheep.
Chapter 3