CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“I HOPE IT WAS WORTH it,” Murdo said under his breath as Kinnell escorted Elizabeth away, his hand at the small of her back. “I fear she may pay for this, later.”

David glanced quickly at the other man. “Why do you say that?”

“Did you notice how angry he was when he found her talking to us? I don’t think my attempt to take the blame cut the mustard with him somehow.”

“I thought he believed you,” David replied. “You were quite convincing.”

“Oh, I think he believed me, but he’ll be angry with her anyway. He doesn’t want her talking to anyone on her own, does he?”

David pondered that acute observation with a sick feeling. He had a feeling Murdo was right, and he didn’t want to think of what Elizabeth might be facing when she got home tonight.

“I shouldn’t have interfered,” Murdo said flatly. “It was impulsive. I didn’t think—”

“I’m glad you did,” David interrupted, adding after a pause, “though I’m still puzzled as to why you did it.”

Murdo frowned. “It was her face when she said she wanted to speak to you. She looked desperate.” He paused, then added softly, “I think she still loves you.”

“She doesn’t love me,” David protested. He meant to defend her, but somehow the words felt like a betrayal, and fresh guilt bloomed in him. Elizabeth had loved him once, even if she had every reason to hate him now. “She is unhappy,” he added. “She needed to speak to me about her father. And I had—things to tell her from him.”

“You are blind, David,” Murdo said, though he smiled faintly. “If you’d seen the expression on her face…”

“I did see it,” David retorted. “And she is not heart-sore over me, I assure you. Not anymore. Though she is heart-sore, and for good reason.”

“I hope she’s all right tonight,” Murdo said. “I would not wish Kinnell’s anger on a dog, never mind a gentle young woman.”

“She’s stronger than she looks,” David replied. He said it with more firmness than he felt, then forced himself to change the subject before he revealed more than he ought to. “Tell me, how much longer must we stay here before our departure would be commented upon? Have we put in enough of an appearance, do you think?”

Murdo raised his brows, surprised. “We’ve barely been here an hour and a half.”

David shrugged. “Isn’t that enough? I’ve danced, and I’ve paid my respects to the King. Do you want to stay?”

“Not particularly,” Murdo admitted, a small smile just touching his lips. “Do you want to leave right this minute?”

“Why not? I am not much of one for dancing, as you know.”

Murdo laughed at that, a warm chuckle that made David smile. “Would you care, perhaps, for a nip of brandy by a warm fire instead?” The look he gave David suggested that sitting by a warm fire was very far from what he really had in mind.

“That sounds very pleasant,” David agreed, grinning back.

They made their way downstairs, passing Townsend the runner again as they went. He observed their departure with the same bland watchfulness as before, and David felt oddly guilty as they passed him, as though the man knew precisely what they were up to.

Soon enough they were strolling through the little grotto of lights and emerging from the outer doors into a sea of people and noise.

The crowd was even denser and rowdier than before. A line of soldiers had been deployed to guard the entrance to the Assembly Rooms with raised bayonets. One of them stood aside to let David and Murdo pass through, then just as quickly took his post again.

“Let’s go,” Murdo muttered in David’s ear. “I don’t like this crowd.”

David nodded his agreement. “I’ll follow you.”

Murdo began to push his way through the tightly packed throng, and David plunged after him, staying as close as possible. They attracted a few curses, though thankfully nothing worse, as they fought the tide of people. Everyone seemed to be trying to get nearer to the entrance to the ball, possibly hoping to see the King when he emerged later.

After a quarter hour of jostling and squeezing, they were through the worst of it and striding down the hill to Murdo’s house.

“Need I ask if you enjoyed yourself?” Murdo asked, his tone very dry.

“Let’s just say I’m glad it’s over.”

Murdo chuckled. “I was surprised you came at all. You’re not generally one to do anything you don’t want to, even at the request of a king.”

“It was interesting,” David prevaricated, unable to disclose that he’d come to see Elizabeth and for no other reason. Well, perhaps for one other reason…

“Interesting, how?”

“The pageantry of it all. It might have been of dubious authenticity, but it was magnificently done, I have to admit.”

“Ah, we’re back to this, are we? Your disapproval of all the tartan flummery?”

“I’m not being disapproving. It’s just that my idea of Scotland is not the same as the one that’s being portrayed to the King, that’s all.”

“What is yours, then?”

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours. What is David Lauriston’s Scotland like?”

“Well—this is the Scotland I inhabit now, I suppose.” David gestured around them, at the elegant New Town with its clean lines and gas lamps and private gardens. “Rational. Modern. Just think—who lives in these houses?”

“I do, for one,” Murdo said, his white teeth gleaming as he flashed a grin at David.

“True, but most of them are occupied by merchants, lawyers, bankers. Professional men. Sir Walter might like to promote the fantasy of noble highland chiefs, but these are the men of the new Scotland. And they don’t look to aristocrats to guide them. They’re more interested in what Adam Smith and David Hume would have had to say.”

Murdo snorted. “It sounds to me like you’re swapping one kind of privilege for another. Does it really matter whether our kingmakers are aristocrats or philosophers or bankers?”

“Ah, but this is only the beginning,” David retorted. “One day we will have universal suffrage. And then, how things will change!”

Murdo merely shrugged. “We’ll see. I have always found that men are defined more by their desire to do each other down rather than to lift each other up, but time will tell.”

“You are a pessimist,” David accused, smiling. “I think we are better than that.”

“I’m not so sure,” Murdo replied. “And I’m not sure the general population want the changes you think they do.”

“Oh, they want them. That crowd in George Street might’ve started out cheering, but there was an angry undercurrent there. You felt it as well as I did.”

“There was something, yes. But haven’t crowds always been like that? It’s the mob. A mob is capable of things individuals are not.”

Murdo came to a halt, and David stopped beside him, only realising when he looked over the other man’s shoulder that they’d reached Murdo’s townhouse already.

“So. Here we are again,” David said. Despite the serious tone of their conversation, a smile tugged at his lips. He felt like there was laughter inside him, just waiting to escape. He knew, without the benefit of a looking glass, that he looked happy—he saw his elation reflected on Murdo’s face, in the curving smile that mirrored his own.

“Shall we go inside?” Murdo asked, one eyebrow raised.

David grinned, and then they were dashing up the steps together like boys, practically bowling over the footman who opened the glossy door.

Murdo briefly assumed a more sober expression in front of his servant, issuing a few brief orders as they handed off their outer garments—primarily that no one should intrude upon their privacy without being called for—and then they were mounting the stairs to Murdo’s chambers.

They maintained their composure right up to the door of Murdo’s sitting room, but the moment they stepped inside and the door closed behind them, they came together in a hard embrace, their mouths fusing in a deep, hot kiss.

“Ah, Christ but I need this—” Murdo gasped when they broke apart. He pressed his mouth to David’s throat, his hands working to strip away David’s cravat and expose the tender flesh beneath. The scrape of his roughened cheek and the sharp nip of his teeth made David hunch a shoulder in startled pleasure, a prickle of gooseflesh rising up the back of his neck.

David’s cock felt as hard as a hammer, his balls tight and aching. A twitchy desire for Murdo to touch his arse consumed him, shaming him even as he yearned. Over the last few nights, he’d fallen asleep reliving what it felt like to have Murdo’s mouth teasing the entrance to his body, the terrifying, wonderful feeling of Murdo’s fingers penetrating him.

Just the thought of that now, right at the moment that Murdo nipped his throat again, made David groan and circle his hips against Murdo’s, their clothed cocks brushing as he did so.

“What do you want?” David breathed against Murdo’s ear. “Tell me.”

Tell me you want to fuck me.

“I hardly know,” Murdo murmured against David’s skin. “Everything. You. I can’t get enough of you.”

David shifted, frustrated, unwilling to ask for what he wanted even as he craved it.

Murdo raised his head, perhaps sensing David’s turmoil. He looked down at David with an unreadable expression for what felt like the longest moment, and David stared back, trying to interpret his look, willing him to speak.

At last Murdo said, startling him, “Is it that you want to fuck me? We’ve never spoken about that possibility, have we? I admit, I’ve avoided the subject.”

David just stared at him, astonished into silence. In truth, he’d never considered that possibility, and now he found himself wondering why.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, adding after a pause, “Why? Would you let me?”

Murdo was silent for a long moment. “I’d be willing to try.” His voice was calm, but a muscle leapt in his cheek, a betraying tic. “The truth is, I’ve not allowed anyone to do that to me for a long time. Not since that first time I told you about. The thought of letting anyone—” He gave an awkward laugh in lieu of finishing the sentence, then added, “But I’d try—for you.”

David felt the oddest easing inside his chest, a ligature being loosened, a constriction he hadn’t even known was there, giving way. He raised a hand and stroked the cheek where that tic had leapt.

“I don’t think we should do that tonight,” he said. “The truth is, I wouldn’t have the first idea what to do. We should do it the other way first, I think.”

“The other way?”

“You fucking me. At least you know what to do.” David tried to look nonchalant, but he knew that the heat he felt creeping into his cheeks had to be turning his pale skin scarlet.

Murdo was silent for a long moment. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want you to feel pushed into it.”

“I don’t. I want it. I want you.”

Murdo’s dark gaze searched his own, as though checking for uncertainty. “All right. I’ll do everything I can to make it good.”

“I know.”

I know you’ll try.

“Come on, then. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly, in my bed.”

Murdo took David’s hand and towed him into the bedchamber, leaving him stranded in the middle of the room for a moment while he lit a branch of candles off the fire. After placing the candles on the mantelpiece, he turned his attention to the big bed, stripping the silken bedcovers entirely away to reveal the bone-white linen sheets below, a stark field for their play. Then he returned to face David and pulled him into another deep kiss.

“I don’t even know why I want this so much,” he breathed against David’s mouth when he released his lips. “I’ve had plenty of lovers I’ve never fucked. I don’t even think it’s the physical thing I want so much as—”

“As what?” David’s lips grazed Murdo’s as he spoke, and just that brief, brushing caress made Murdo groan and press their mouths together again, and whatever they’d been talking about was purely lost, a half-formed thought that fell away as their kiss deepened.

Murdo began to strip the clothes from David’s body with the skill of man who’d undertaken the task many times before, his fingers nimble and knowing. Once David was naked, he urged him to lie down on the mattress of the big bed. The linen was cool under David’s naked back, the candlelight casting a warm, dim glow over his skin. Murdo paused a moment to look at him, his gaze eating up the picture David presented, lingering on the hard, aching shaft that rose from the brush of fox-red hair between David’s legs.

Murdo stripped away his own clothes with no care for their expensive elegance, tossing them aside like rags, his turbulent gaze intent on David. And Christ, but he was a sight to behold. Tall and powerful and dark. He was no fop, this Lord Murdo Balfour.

Fully naked now, Murdo crossed the room to open a drawer in the armoire and withdraw something. As he turned back to the bed, David saw that he held a small bottle, stoppered with a cork and three-quarters full of something greenish-gold and viscous.

“What’s that?” David asked.

“Oil. It makes it easier.” Murdo crawled onto the mattress and straddled David’s thighs. His gaze was hot, his faint smile promising. “I’m going to rub it on you—and in you—and do other unspeakable things to you too.” He grinned, boyishly handsome, carelessly happy. “Things that will have you so ready for me you’ll be begging for my cock.”

David gave a nervous laugh. Was it possible he’d beg? Given how anxious he felt about what was to come, it seemed unlikely.

Something about his thoughts must’ve shown on his face. A tiny frown appeared between Murdo’s dark brows.

“We don’t have to do this—” he began.

“I want to,” David interrupted, his voice firm.

Murdo stared at him for a long moment; then he nodded. “All right, but I’ll stop anytime you want. Just say the word if you change your mind.”

“I will,” David murmured back. “If I want you to.”

Murdo tossed the bottle of oil onto the mattress—it landed a foot away from David’s hip, within easy reaching distance—and dropped down to cover David’s body with his own. He was heavy and warm, and the faint roughness of his chest hair teased David’s skin. His scent, deliciously male, carried the hint of a dozen aromas, the clean tang of his sweat, wine and woodsmoke, a hint of bitter orange from the pomade he’d dressed his hair with.

David breathed in, arching his back and pulling Murdo closer.

“Do we have all night?” Murdo breathed in his ear. “Will you stay till morning?”

“Yes.”

They’d have the whole night, and maybe part of the morning too. The hours ahead spooled out like ribbon, endless-seeming.

“Good,” Murdo said. “Then I can take my time.”

He began by exploring the hollows of David’s throat with his mouth, moving slowly down, over sternum, nipples and flanks. He traced the deep crescents of David’s lower ribs and dipped his tongue into the shallow indentation of his navel.

His exploration was tender and slow, and it brought David more than mere pleasure. The touch of Murdo’s mouth made him feel alive, his neglected body given meaning by the attentive desire of his lover. Each kiss saying, you are here, in this world, with me.

Murdo moved farther down, his soft kiss following the line of David’s hipbone to the deep furrow between thigh and groin. Shifting position, he gently pushed David’s thighs apart, settling himself into the space he made, his big body moving with unexpected grace.

It occurred to David, distantly, that he should be embarrassed to be opened up like this, Murdo’s broad palms firm against his thighs, holding him ruthlessly open. But he felt no shame as Murdo looked him over, then finally, achingly slowly, dipped his head again.

David gasped at the sensation of Murdo’s mouth on the tender skin of his inner thigh, growing restless as Murdo continued his languid journey, his attention oblique and maddening. Murdo’s agile tongue skirted David’s hard cock, the prickly sac of his scrotum, his aching hole, concentrating on the less direct but still sensitive areas around them, and David shifted under his attentions, moaning, his hips bucking up in frustration.

“God, Murdo—” he exclaimed, his voice husky with need. “Fuck me, please!”

Murdo laughed softly, raising himself to his knees between David’s spread thighs to look down at him, his ready smile bright with mischief and pleasure. David’s breath caught in his throat as their gazes met, and for a moment, Murdo’s expression turned oddly serious, the merry glint in his dark eyes briefly softening into something infinitely more tender and affectionate. Then desire took over again, and he reached for David’s nipples, thumbing the tiny peaks before running his hands down David’s flanks with a low moan.

By now, the sharp nerves David had battled at the start of this had dimmed to little more than a background murmur. Now his body yearned for the attention it had feared, remembering the pleasure Murdo’s fingers had given him once before.

Murdo took hold of David’s hips, pulling him closer and simultaneously pushing his legs back. David’s pelvis tilted till his knees were almost touching his chest.

“Hold your legs up for me,” Murdo murmured, and David complied, grasping the backs of his thighs.

Shame seemed to have deserted him, and he could only watch, breathless, as Murdo reached for the bottle that lolled next to David’s hip, unstoppering the cork with his teeth.

Murdo poured a thin stream of the glistening oil over David’s groin. The viscous liquid slid over him, warm and slow, like honey. It trickled down his scrotum, past the soft patch of skin below his sac and farther still, right down into the tender groove that led to the entrance to his body. The oil slid slowly all the way to his hole, where Murdo caught it with his waiting fingers, gathering it up and spreading it over the tight muscle.

His fingertips were blunt, the slippery oil allowing them to tease the edges of David’s hole and dip fleetingly inside, making David twist and moan with the brief pain and deeper pleasure that exploration brought.

Murdo must’ve tossed the bottle aside, because now his other hand, also slick with the oil, worked David’s shaft in counterpoint to those exploring fingers, while David held back his trembling legs. After only a minute or so, David was crying out desperately, half in protest at the prospect of climaxing so soon.

“I’m going to come!” he gasped.

“No, you’re not,” Murdo replied, easing his hand from David’s cock. “You’re not going to come till I’m inside you.”

That promise alone was nearly enough to finish him off, till Murdo distracted him with a new sensation, his finger entering David’s body, then withdrawing and reentering. The slight pain of the first thrust removed the threat of immediate release, but it wasn’t long before David was growing used to the sensation, then craving it, his hips moving in time to the thrust of Murdo’s hand.

Then there was more, more heft. David wasn’t sure how many fingers Murdo was using on him but it was more than one, and it felt good. His body was stretching, accommodating Murdo’s demands with an ease that astounded the tiny part of his mind that was still able to think.

The pleasure Murdo was giving him now was coming from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere unreachable, yet vital, that he was sure he’d never known about before Murdo. He wanted to tell Murdo that, but when he tried to speak, all that he could get out was, “Murdo—God—”

Murdo’s fierce, glittering gaze did not waver as he watched David writhe.

“I think I’m going to—please, you have to fuck me—” he begged.

Murdo said nothing, but he withdrew his fingers from David’s body and reached for the bottle of oil again, this time letting the greeny-gold stream trickle over his own cock before stoppering the bottle and tossing it aside. He worked the hard, tumescent flesh of his shaft for a few moments, biting his lower lip against the easy pleasure. Then he moved forward, shifting on his knees till his prick was pointed at David’s hole.

“Keep your knees pulled back and bear down when I press into you,” he said. Then he pushed.

“Christ!” David gasped.

The bulbous head of a prick felt very different to a finger—or even a few fingers. Fingers were nimble, flexible. This was brutal and blunt, a battering ram made flesh, and the first sudden stretch was a painful, shocking intrusion.

“Sorry,” Murdo hissed. “Just wait—breathe for a while.”

David swallowed and did as he was bid, breathing slowly in and out, while Murdo stayed very still, the head of his cock lodged inside David’s passage.

After a minute, the pain began to ease, though David still felt alarmingly full.

“All right,” he whispered, though his erection had wilted. “You can move now.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Murdo gritted out. “I’ll stop.”

“No. Do it. I’ll tell you if I can’t go on.”

Murdo began to slowly move again, pushing his hips forward in small increments, until at last he was fully seated inside David.

“God, you feel good,” Murdo murmured, dropping his forehead to rest against David’s. “I never thought—” He broke off, leaving the sentence incomplete, reaching instead for David’s wilted shaft to coax him back to hardness. As he worked David’s cock with his hand, he pulled back his hips, just a very little, before carefully easing back into David’s passage, making the tiny rocking movement a little bigger each time.

Slowly, relentlessly, pleasure began to build again. Slowly, David grew more used to the sensation of Murdo’s prick inside his body. And then, after a dozen or so of those careful, searching jabs of his hips, Murdo thrust again, and this time there was a jolt of pure, searing pleasure, as though Murdo had pierced that vital, secret place David had felt earlier deep inside his body. The sensation was so intense it made him gasp and clutch at Murdo’s arms.

“Jesus!”

Murdo’s smile unfurled, secret and delighted. Rare and beautiful.

“There it is,” he said.

And then he was drawing out farther and pushing back in, piercing that spot again and again with meticulously accurate thrusts. David twisted and squirmed, unable to control the guttural, begging sounds coming from his aching throat. And then, too soon, too soon his body was surrendering to the inevitability of orgasm. He called out Murdo’s name as his climax roared through him, purging him, his seed spattering his belly in helpless pulses.

Seconds later, Murdo was following him. His powerful hands clutched hard at David’s hips as his rhythmic movements grew suddenly jerky and graceless, an unholy cry on his lips as he emptied himself inside David’s body, then slumped forward to rest his forehead on David’s chest.

They lay there, silent, for a long time, damp flesh cooling in the night air. At last, one of the candles guttered out, sending out a thin stream of smoke like a prying finger, and Murdo rose, crossing the room to the armoire where he poured water into a ewer and washed himself briskly.

That taken care of, he dampened a cloth and brought it back to the bed, ignoring the hand David held out for the cloth and sitting down on the mattress to tend to David himself.

With tender swipes, he cleared away the remaining traces of oil and semen, then rescued the bedcovers from the floor and draped them over David’s prone body. Finally, he snuffed out the last two candles and joined David in bed again, pushing and prodding till David took the hint and turned onto his side, allowing Murdo to curl his big body around David’s back.

David wanted to say something, to acknowledge what had just passed between them, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He thought that Murdo must feel the same. The silence between them felt oddly sacred.

Sleep. He would sleep. Time enough in the morning to talk.

Murdo’s soft kiss on the nape of his neck was the last thing he remembered before his dreams took him.