CHAPTER TWO

For a heavy man, the innkeeper of the Tolbooth Tavern had a dainty touch.

He came out from behind the bar when they entered and ushered them to a table in one of the windowed alcoves with a graceful sweep of his meaty arm. When Balfour requested whisky—inviting the man to take a dram for himself—he brought them a jug of the good stuff and three tiny pewter dram cups. Placing the cups in a neat, precise line on the table, he poured a measure of whisky into each, before picking up his own between a sausagey finger and thumb.

“To yer very good health, sirs,” he toasted them. With a flick of his hand, he threw back his dram in one gulp, then, with a polite nod, left them to their business.

David watched Balfour raise one of the other cups to his lips, his eyes closing with pleasure as he took a sip. When he opened them, he smiled and admitted, “That’s my first taste of whisky in a long while.”

“I remember you saying you only drink whisky in Scotland,” David replied. “And that the first dram is always the best.”

Balfour gave a laugh. “You have a good memory. And yes, there’s nothing quite like the first taste of something, is there? Though seasoned pleasures have their place too.”

Balfour always had been able to make the most innocent phrases sound rich with promise. David lifted his own dram to hide his sudden discomfiture and swallowed the contents. The taste of metal from the cup was sharp on his tongue. Then the fire of the whisky bit, and its smoke unfurled more slowly in his mouth.

“You were surprised to see me,” Balfour observed. “At the tailor’s.”

“Of course,” David replied. “Weren’t you? To see me?”

Balfour’s cheek dimpled as his smile curved deeply. David remembered that smile. It made Balfour’s very masculine, darkly handsome face appear suddenly and disarmingly boyish.

“Well, I had the benefit of prior warning,” Balfour said. “Obviously I knew when I came to Edinburgh there was a chance I’d see you. Even so, when the boy at the tailor’s interrupted my fitting with the news that a Mr. Lauriston was rapping at the window demanding to be seen and wouldn’t go away, I was a little taken aback. Riddell told him to ignore you, but I couldn’t let you slip through my fingers, so I bade him let you in.”

David’s chest felt suddenly tight. He was amazed at how calm his voice sounded when he replied, “Just as well, or I’d’ve missed my appointment.”

Balfour gave another soft laugh. “Riddell was very accommodating.”

“To you,” David supplied dryly.

“You can’t blame him. It’s good business sense. Now he can boast an aristocrat as a customer.”

“He’s probably had aristocrats beating down his door all week. I’ve never seen so many people in the city,” David replied. “They’re sleeping in tents on the Calton Hill.”

“So I heard.” Balfour shook his head in wonderment. “I’d never have thought my fellow Scots would’ve been so excited by a visit from a Hanoverian king. It’s not that long since the ’45.”

“It’s very odd,” David agreed. “But somehow the people have been convinced that we Scots are the most loyal subjects the King has in all the British Isles.”

Balfour shook his head again and leaned back in his chair, his dram cup sitting patiently in front of him, barely sipped. When David glanced at his own cup, he found it empty. He couldn’t even remember drinking it all. He found he wanted another and clenched his hands under the table to stop himself reaching for the jug.

“So why have you come back here?” he asked after a brief silence. “Are you playing a part in the festivities?”

“A bit part. I’m representing the family—excuse me, the clan. One must observe Sir Walter’s Celtifications. To pass muster as acting head of the clan, I’ve had to be fitted out in the finest highland dress—I’ve spent a fortune on tartan and eagle feathers over the last few weeks.”

David chuckled, then asked, “Why isn’t your father here?”

“Oh, Father’s far too busy with the Verona business to come up—that’s exactly what the government wants the King to keep his nose out of. It had to be me or my brother, and since the King’s not too fond of my brother, it fell to me.”

David recalled Balfour speaking of his dislike of his father’s manipulations. “I’m surprised to find you doing your father’s bidding so willingly,” he remarked.

Balfour just shrugged. “I was planning to come up to Scotland anyway. Once this fiasco’s over with, I’m going up to Perthshire to my own estate. I’ve not managed up since I bought it, and I plan to stay for a couple of months at least.”

“I remember you talking about buying an estate in Perthshire—is it the same one? The one with the beautiful views?”

“The very same. And the views are wonderful, but I’ve a thousand and one problems to resolve. The previous owner seems to have had disputes with every man within fifty miles, every one with a history as long as your arm. It was bad enough when I first bought the place—then, a few months ago, the estate manager took another position and it’s become ten times worse. I need to spend a good while up there to get it turned about.”

David laughed softly. “Mr. Chalmers told you to beware beautiful views.”

“Yes, but I still think they’re worth it. The best things in life invariably require the most effort, don’t you think?” Balfour lounged in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him, the very picture of confident masculinity. “Wasn’t it you who once told me that life isn’t all about pleasure?”

David swallowed. “I don’t remember,” he said, looking away.

That was a lie. He remembered every part of that particular conversation—that last conversation—as though each word had been branded on his flesh.

“If life isn’t about pleasure or happiness, what is it about? Tell me, Lauriston, so I can learn from your great wisdom.”

“I think it’s about being true to yourself…”

This time, David did reach for the jug, sloppily topping Balfour’s glass to the brim, then his own, and lifting the cup to his lips to take a gulp of the spirit.

“I see you still like to drink,” Balfour remarked dryly, adding, “and you look as though you still forget to eat. I take it you ignored the last bit of advice I gave you?”

“What advice?”

“To get yourself a wife to take care of you. Specifically, that young woman who was so enamoured of you. Miss Chalmers, wasn’t it?”

David realised that Balfour couldn’t know how sensitive a subject that was, but he couldn’t stop himself snapping, “Of course I ignored you. What did you expect?”

Balfour took another small sip from his cup before he replied. “Just that. You were very clear in that last conversation, when you told me you would never marry.”

“It was more of an argument than a conversation, if I remember correctly,” David replied tightly.

For a while, Balfour didn’t say anything. Then he sighed and said, “Later—when I returned to London—I came to regret the way we parted. My anger especially.”

That admission took David by surprise. “Why were you so angry?”

Balfour fixed his gaze on the scarred wooden table, one hand idly playing with his dram cup. “You took a huge risk that night when you stepped in front of MacLennan’s pistol. I was angry at you for risking your life—especially to save my worthless cousin.”

“Euan would never have shot me,” David said.

Balfour gave a bark of humourless laughter. “He was this close,” he said, holding his thumb and finger half an inch apart.

David just shook his head. Impossible to explain that his decision to step in front of that pistol had been to save Euan, not Hugh Swinburne. And that when Euan had run away rather than shoot David, David’s faith in the lad had, thankfully, been vindicated.

“That wasn’t the only reason you were angry,” he said.

Balfour glanced at him, then gave a defeated sigh. “No,” he admitted. “I found you…provoking. Your views were so earnest, so uncompromising. All or nothing. I could tell you despised me for saying I intended to marry at some stage.”

“I didn’t despise you,” David protested. “In fact, I made a point of saying that I could only speak for me and my conscience.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Balfour said with a wry look. “Yes, I was shocked by your reckless act that night. And yes, it bothered me to feel judged by you. But when I thought about why I was so angry, I realised it was…fear for you.”

“Fear?”

“I could see how easily it could destroy you—this passion you have, this commitment to your principles. You can’t seem to walk away from it, even when it endangers you. I couldn’t believe anyone could have so little instinct for self-preservation. It made me angry.” He paused. “But as I said, I regretted that, later. Wished we could have parted on better terms. The time we spent together before that was—interesting.”

David didn’t know what to say. His throat felt as if it had closed up entirely. He’d felt regret too. Regret for allowing Balfour to seduce him. Regret for opening himself up to the desolation that had swamped him in the months that followed that last, bitter conversation.

“Was Miss Chalmers disappointed?” Balfour asked, changing the subject abruptly. “I rather had the impression she had set her cap at you.”

He was right—Elizabeth had set her cap at him, and David hadn’t even realised. Oh, he’d known she liked him, but it was months after Balfour went back to London that David had finally, far too slowly, caught on. And then there was that awful day, the day David asked to speak to her in private. He’d wanted to tell her, gently, that he intended never to marry. Only she’d misunderstood and thought he meant to propose. That had been a painful conversation, and when he’d left her, he’d been weighed down by a burden of guilt that had only begun to ease when she’d married, quite suddenly, a few months later.

“Miss Chalmers is now Lady Kinnell,” he told Balfour calmly. “She lives in Galloway on her new husband’s estate. So she has done far better for herself than if she’d married me.”

“She is married to Sir Alasdair Kinnell?” Balfour replied. An expression of dislike arrested his handsome face. “Surely not? She’s much too sweet for the likes of him. His first wife was an unhappy girl. I wondered if she did away with herself to get away from the brute.”

David felt himself pale. “You know him?”

“I went to school with him. He liked to terrorise the younger boys, of whom I, unfortunately, was one. For a time anyway.”

The thought that Elizabeth may have married a man who would mistreat her made David feel sick. Made the old feelings of guilt stir in him again. He’d been so relieved when he’d heard of her engagement to Kinnell, pleased that she’d found a husband so obviously more eligible than himself.

He realised Balfour was watching him and shoved his disturbing thoughts aside to be examined later.

“What about you?” he said to deflect Balfour’s attention. “Have you taken your own advice?”

“Have I married, do you mean? No, not yet.”

Not yet.

“But you intend to.”

Balfour stared at David for a long moment. Was he remembering their last conversation again? When Balfour had confirmed his intention to eventually marry, while continuing to enjoy male lovers at his whim.

“I intend to wed at some stage, yes,” Balfour said finally.

An entirely predictable statement, that. David felt suddenly flat.

Why was he sitting here? Why had he agreed to come here with Balfour in the first place? He should’ve declined the man’s invitation and gone home to tackle the work sitting on his desk.

Throwing back the rest of his whisky, he set his cup down on the table, very quietly and precisely, then glanced up and smiled pleasantly. “Well,” he said. “It was good to see you, Balfour, but I really must be going. I’ve a lot of work to do this evening.”

He scraped his chair back, moving to rise. Before he could do so, Balfour leaned forward and laid his hand on David’s forearm.

“Wait a moment,” he said. A faint frown drew his brows together. Those brows were dark against his pale skin; his eyes were too, black as ink. It was a wild, dramatic combination, the pale skin, the dark eyes. This close, David recalled, pointlessly, what it felt like to look into those eyes when they glittered with desire. Memory flooded him; his cock throbbed.

David jerked back, pulling his arm from Balfour’s grip even as he subsided back into his chair, ruining his pretence at cheerful unconcern. “I can’t stay,” he muttered. “I have things to do. Work.”

“I just—I need to tell you something,” Balfour persisted. “Though you may know already, I suppose.”

“What is it?”

“Your friend is in town,” Balfour said. “Euan MacLennan.”

David didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “Euan?” he said at last. “Are you quite sure?”

Balfour regarded him calmly for a long moment. “You didn’t know.” It was a statement rather than a question, and his still, quiet face gave nothing away of what he made of the conclusion he’d reached.

“No. I haven’t seen him for a long time. Not since the night we spoke of earlier.”

On hearing that confirmation, something in Balfour seemed to relax, a faint tension in his shoulders easing. He leaned back in his chair again. “Have you any idea why he might be here? Has he written to you?”

David didn’t reply straightaway. A vague sense of unease settled over him. At last he said, carefully, “As I said, I’ve not seen him—not for two years. Nor have I heard from him in that time.”

He watched Balfour’s reaction more carefully this time, but the man never gave much away, and he didn’t now.

“That’s good to hear.” Balfour seemed to consider for a moment before adding, “You don’t want to be associated with him.”

David frowned. “Why would you say that?”

Balfour looked up at the ceiling, regarding its murky gloom for several seconds before he looked back at David. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but amongst the visitors to Edinburgh, there are a number of men—some of them Peel’s official men, some less official—who’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on certain unsavoury characters.”

Peel. Balfour meant Sir Robert Peel, David realised. The Home Secretary.

“Unsavoury characters? Euan’s an ‘unsavoury character’?”

“In Peel’s eyes, yes. He’s on a list I’ve seen.”

“A list,” David said slowly. “What kind of list?”

“A list of men Peel wants to keep his beady eye on during the King’s visit. MacLennan’s a known radical. I don’t know what he’s been doing precisely these last two years, but I gather there’s a file on him in Peel’s office. There are others on the list too, all kinds of potential troublemakers—anyone who might be a threat to the King and who’s known to have travelled north.”

“Why were you shown this list?” David asked, suspicion pricking at him.

Balfour shrugged. “My father’s a minister of government. I am his representative on this visit. As such, I’ve been made privy to certain information.”

“And why,” David continued, watching Balfour carefully, “are you telling me about it?”

Balfour didn’t answer straightaway. He picked up his cup and drank from it. Set it down again and sighed. Looked out the window.

Then, with his gaze still averted, he said quietly, “If you’re seen with MacLennan, it might affect you. Guilt by association. A suspicious rumour about your political leanings, and you may find your career suffers. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you. I wanted to…warn you.”

There was something melancholy about Balfour as he spoke, something sad about the slightly distant look he wore as he stared out the window. Then he turned back and gave a quick quirk of a smile. Bright and unconvincing. “And now I’ve been indiscreet enough. Please don’t mention what I’ve told you to anyone else, will you?”

David shook his head slowly. “No. No, I won’t. Though frankly, I doubt Euan will seek me out, given how we parted.”

Euan had been furious at David for depriving him of his chance of revenge.

There was a brief silence when they looked at each other, really looked. For the first time, David saw, not the amused and elegant exquisite that was Lord Murdo Balfour, but another man. A man with secret desires and perhaps secret griefs too.

Balfour was the first to look away. “I’ll let you go, then,” he said lightly. “Let you get back to your work. I know how important it is to you, and you must have a great deal to do if you’re contemplating spending the evening on it.”

If there was a trace of sarcasm in there, David chose to ignore it. He stood, and Balfour rose from his chair too, readying himself to bid David farewell.

God, but this was civilised. At their last meeting, two long years ago, they’d exchanged a barrage of harsh words. A kiss that left blood in David’s mouth.

I came to regret the way we parted…

A slow smile tugged at Balfour’s lips as they stood there, facing one another. The smile was so unexpected, it tripped David up for a moment.

“It was good to see you,” Balfour said softly, the tone of his deep voice uncharacteristically sincere, no trace of his usual mockery.

David nodded. Swallowed. “And you,” he said at last. He offered his hand, and, after a moment, Balfour took it. The man’s grip was warm and steady, and it grounded something in David.

“I would…like to see you again,” Balfour said then, his voice low.

David didn’t know what to say. He searched Balfour’s face and saw he was serious. “I don’t know—” he began. He recalled too easily the long, melancholy winter that had followed their last parting.

“You don’t need to give me an answer,” Balfour replied. “You know where my house is. Come anytime. I’ll be in town for the next month at least. I’ll instruct my servants to admit you, even if I am not there.”

He released David’s hand. Their arms fell to their respective sides, and they were separate again.

“I’ll think about it,” David said, after a pause.

He suspected he’d do little else.

He nodded at Balfour once; then he turned and walked out the tavern.

The door closed behind him. He lingered for a moment to turn his coat collar up against the drizzling rain before he began the short stroll to his rooms in the Lawnmarket.

As he paced up the street, he heard Balfour’s words in his mind again.

“I would like to see you again.”

I would like to see you again.

They were such commonplace words.

Such commonplace words to make him feel so utterly hollowed out.