“Do you want me to ring for a bath?” Murdo asked as he peeled away David’s trousers, easing the fabric carefully down his legs so as not to jar him.
“I doubt I could climb in right now,” David admitted.
“A rubdown with some liniment, then?”
David couldn’t suppress the groan that emerged from his chest at that suggestion. “Please.”
“Lie back, then. I’ll strip down too.”
David did as instructed, passively watching as Murdo removed his elegant clothing, then crossed the room, naked, to fetch the jar of liniment from the armoire, his tall, powerful body beautiful in the late afternoon light that seeped into the room round the edges of the drapes.
Murdo knelt beside David on the bed and regarded his leg. “Let’s see what you’ve done to yourself.”
Weary to the bone, David let his eyes close. Moments later, the drifting scents of rosemary and camphor heralded the opening of the liniment. It was a scent with which David was very familiar—his mother had been making the stuff for years, ever since his father had taken a tumble off the roof of the barn at home and injured his shoulder. The smell of it now brought with it the promise of imminent relief.
The brisk noise of Murdo rubbing the stuff between his palms brought the scent forth again, more intensely, as it warmed on Murdo’s skin. And when Murdo laid his hands on David, every remaining thought in David’s head vanished. Murdo’s hands were strong and warm, their firm course eased by waxy lanolin and camphor oil as they broke into the knotted agony in David’s leg and straightened him out again.
David could barely keep his eyes open by the time Murdo was finished. He felt languorous and done in, like he could sleep the rest of the day and night away. Somehow, though, he managed to crack open his eyelids and smile at Murdo, who was kneeling at his side, watching him.
“Thank you,” David said softly.
“Better?” Murdo’s smile was tender.
“Much.”
“You look tired.”
“Not too tired,” David replied.
Murdo grinned and crawled over to lie beside David. He bent his head, capturing David’s lips in a soft kiss that slowly deepened, while his hand drifted in light, teasing caresses, pausing for an instant to pinch at the tight bud of David’s left nipple, making him moan his pleasure into the kiss.
“Careful,” he murmured as David turned onto his side, worming his way closer
“I’ll be fine so long as I keep the weight off this leg,” David replied, swooping in for another kiss. He drove his tongue deep into Murdo’s mouth and let his own hands wander, loving the way Murdo’s body shuddered and rolled under his fingers, loving the hitches of breath and low moans that came from Murdo’s lips.
Much as he wanted this to last, his blood was up, and it seemed Murdo’s was too. They began the familiar drag and thrust, the grinding circle of hips and dizzying friction of skin on skin. After a minute, Murdo broke their kiss and dropped his mouth to David’s neck, sucking at the tender flesh there, grazing David with his sharp teeth. David’s head went back in surrender, and he groaned loudly.
“Yes. God, that’s good,” he hissed.
It could only have been seconds later when he felt the surge of his climax. It churned in his balls, then splattered in thick, hot pulses between them, coating their bellies, and an instant later, Murdo toppled too, his semen mingling with David’s own.
They lay there kissing for long minutes after, warm and contented, stickily soiled. Despite the pain of his hard-won recuperation, these last months had been the best of David’s life, and at times like these, lying in Murdo’s arms, he still felt a dizzying sort of disbelief, both at his own happiness and at Murdo’s.
After a while, Murdo slipped out of bed to clean himself up. He poured water into the ewer, yelping at the coldness of the washcloth on his warm belly, making David chuckle, then laugh harder when the other man advanced on him with the cold, damp cloth in his hand and a wicked grin on his face. David tried to squirm away, and they tussled briefly, laughing and kissing, till they were both clean and Murdo finally tossed the cloth aside and drew the blankets snugly around them.
“So,” he said. “Did McNally accept the offer?”
David chuckled; he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to tell Murdo about his triumph.
“He made a show of reluctance, but I could tell from the moment I mentioned settling things that he wanted to see the back of the case.” David sent Murdo a challenging look. “I’m fairly sure he’d have come around without paying any costs to him.”
“You still don’t think I should have offered him any money,” Murdo observed, seeming amused.
David considered that. “No,” he said at last, relenting. “You were right. I think he’d have taken the offer without the money, but this way you showed yourself to be a fair and generous man—everything that Sir Hamish wasn’t—and I suppose twenty-five pounds isn’t so very much to pay for restoring relations with your nearest neighbour. Not for you anyway.”
Murdo grinned. “You admit I was right, then?”
David rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far. Let’s just say I can understand your reasoning.”
Murdo laughed softly and brushed a kiss over David’s lips. He gave a sigh of contentment, a happy sound that made David’s heart feel full and tender.
“Dr. Logan’s coming up from Perth on Friday,” Murdo murmured. “Make sure you tell him about what happened today.”
David sighed. “It’s not necessary to keep bringing him here every month. Not anymore. I’m nearly fully recovered. In fact—”
“You’re far from fully recovered,” Murdo interrupted. “As you’ve proved very well today.”
“In fact,” David repeated, his light tone belying the heavy dread in his gut, “I’m probably well enough to go home.” After a pause, he added, “To Edinburgh,” as though Murdo might not understand precisely where he meant.
It was a topic that had been brewing for a while now—the last few weeks at least.
Murdo’s lips thinned into a grim line. “Let’s not talk about that now.”
“When, then?”
There was a long silence, then Murdo said, his tone grudging, “After the physician’s been.”
Friday.
David sighed. Perhaps to Murdo it sounded like impatience. In truth, it was pure relief. Relief that this had been put off for another few days.
“All right,” he agreed, resting his head on Murdo’s broad shoulder. “Friday.”
Chapter Two
By Thursday, David’s leg still didn’t feel much better, and it worried him. Had he damaged himself irreparably? Dr. Logan had been pleased with David’s progress on his last visit, and, for the first time, David had allowed himself to hope that he might actually make a full recovery from his accident. The thought that he might have thrown that away, and through his own stupidity, ate at him.
To take his mind off it, he turned to work. Work had always been a refuge for him, and at Laverock House, there was plenty to be done. Over the last few months, bit by bit, Murdo had divulged to David his various and many business interests. He owned a coal mine in South Lanarkshire and a half share of a cotton mill in Sheffield. He had investments in canals and factories. He underwrote insurance arrangements and financed merchant ships. And there were always new opportunities being offered to him. It was well known that his support for a venture would draw more investors. His name was associated with success and security, and it lured others.
David was fascinated by it all—intrigued by the legal arrangements, appalled by the risks, amazed by the rewards. His involvement had begun with no more than mere dinner conversation, when he asked Murdo what kept him holed up in his study for so long. Soon, though, curiosity piqued, he was asking to look over the contracts and proposals Murdo was working on, and then, as he questioned Murdo about the workings of the schemes he was involved in, he found himself making notations, suggesting revisals and i
nnovations. At first, his suggestions were tentative, but when Murdo showed interest in what he was saying and even grew excited by his ideas, David’s confidence grew.
It wasn’t long before Murdo raised the topic of money. When David balked at the idea of a salary, Murdo decided that a commission would be a better form of remuneration in any event. Four percent of returns, he’d decided, unilaterally. That way David could rest assured that his rewards would be commensurate with the success of the venture.
Once that had been sorted, Murdo really began to draw David in, giving David access to all his business correspondence and setting up a second desk in the study of Laverock House. Their working arrangements, which till now had been somewhat loose and sporadic, settled into a steady pattern of several hours most days, though the work was done at all different times of day, depending on what other commitments Murdo had.
Today, Murdo had business to attend to in Perth, so they agreed to spend an hour or two going through Murdo’s bulging correspondence tray first thing, before taking a late, hearty breakfast, which would sustain Murdo till his return.
They started early, at seven, a pot of coffee on the desk between them as they pored over documents and letters in companionable silence.
“What does this say?” Murdo asked David after a while, showing him a scratched notation David had made in the margin of a fairly advanced proposal.
David took the paper he held out and peered at his own handwriting for a moment before the light dawned. “Oh, it says ‘consider trust’. I was thinking that if the proceeds of sale were placed directly in trust, the trustees could be left to deal with ascertaining the dividends and paying them out to the investors. I thought that may alleviate your concerns about the funds being tied up if the Healey brothers start arguing amongst themselves again. The trustees will be able to release your share, and the Healeys can waste their shares on lawyers if they wish.”
Murdo grinned, his left cheek dimpling and his eyes dancing with humour. “A neat solution,” he agreed. “I shouldn’t like to miss out on what promises to be a profitable venture, merely because the two principals argue like cat and dog.”
David couldn’t help but grin back, caught fast by that rare smile. It touched him, oddly, to see Murdo like this. So engaged and interested in what he was doing. When David first met Murdo, he hadn’t seen this side of him. He’d seen only a supercilious aristocrat with a perpetual expression of cool amusement on his face, as though everyone he looked at was slightly below his notice. It had taken a while for the mask to crack, and even now, these moments of unreserved excitement were rare enough that they made David’s heart beat a little quicker.
Murdo got like this about the estate too. His plans for the home farm at Laverock covered a three-year period, with every detail costed to the shilling. And he’d been systematically reviewing his tenants’ properties since last winter, making notes of changes and improvements to be brought about. All this and wooing the neighbours too. Business was the man’s element. He had a gift for it, a nose for profit and a mind like a trap.
On an impulse, David asked, “What does your father think about all this? The moneymaking, I mean.”
Murdo’s grin faded. He never spoke about his father and generally avoided any discussion of his family. What little David had managed to draw out of him suggested there were few good feelings, certainly on Murdo’s side.
“My father despises all trade,” he said. “But he needs it too. As a politician, he’s more interested in power than wealth, but he needs to keep his personal coffers healthy to maintain his reputation as man of a means. He likes that I excel at something, but he would prefer me to turn my energies to politics rather than wasting it on making money.” Murdo shrugged. “And he doesn’t relish the taint of trade. Investments are all very well, but to actually engage in business is rather too much for him.”
David couldn’t help it—he laughed. Murdo’s expression immediately lightened, his smile returning even as he frowned in puzzlement.
“What?” he said.
“It’s so absurd,” David replied. “This idea that work—business—is somehow shameful. As though the highest state to which a man may aspire is to be entirely idle.”
“True. Though I cannot accuse my father of idleness, at least,” Murdo said. “He has lived and breathed politics all his life. And he has spent the last twenty years trying to drag me along in his footsteps.”
“Do you think you’ll ever grant his wish?”
For a long moment, Murdo was silent.
“I don’t plan to,” he said at last. “But my father has a way of bending people to his will. He finds your weak spot, and he exploits it.”
“Do you have weak spots to exploit, then?”
It was an impertinent question—none of David’s business. But he wanted to know the answer.
“Everyone has weak spots,” Murdo replied, giving David a careless smile. “The trick is not letting on what they are.”
“That’s not really an answer,” David observed. He smiled, though he felt strangely disappointed in Murdo’s careful response.
“Even my father has a weak spot,” Murdo said.
“What is it?”
Murdo shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I mean to find out, one of these days.”
AN HOUR LATER, THEY were taking breakfast together when one of the maidservants popped her head round the door to say that Dr. Logan had just called by.
Murdo bade her show the physician in, and when the man entered, he looked weary and apologetic.
“I’m sorry to call so early, my lord,” he said, “but I was attending the birthing of your neighbour’s child till an hour ago and thought I’d take the chance of calling in on my way home in the hope that Mr. Lauriston may be willing to rearrange our appointment to save me coming back tomorrow.” He turned to David. “Would that inconvenience you, Mr. Lauriston?”
“Of course not,” David replied. “It suits me very well, in fact.” He’d had to suppress a grimace at the stabbing pain that shuddered down his leg when he and Murdo rose to greet the doctor, but now he managed a smile as he shook the man’s hand.
“Come and sit down, Doctor,” Murdo invited the physician. “Could you manage some breakfast before you examine Mr. Lauriston? We’ve plenty here.”
Logan readily agreed and was soon tucking into a plate of smoked haddock and eggs.
“I envy you your cook, my lord,” he confided between mouthfuls. “She’s a hundred times better than the fellow Sir Hamish had.”
“Mrs. Inglis has been with me for many years.”
The doctor showed his appreciation by scoffing a second helping of eggs, two bannocks and half a pot of coffee before he finally put down his napkin and sat back in his chair, a contented expression on his face.
“Well now, Mr. Lauriston,” he said, “if you’ve finished your own breakfast, shall we repair to your bedchamber and see how this leg of yours is doing?”
“It’s probably best if you examine Mr. Lauriston down here,” Murdo interrupted before David could so much as open his mouth to speak. David pressed his lips together, irritated at Murdo’s high-handedness but unwilling to argue in front of Dr. Logan with a man the good doctor believed was David’s employer.
Logan turned to Murdo with a questioning look on his face.
“Mr. Lauriston overexerted himself on Monday,” Murdo explained without so much as a glance in David’s direction. “He is still feeling the ill effects of his enthusiasm today—it may be better if you examine him in the sitting room next door to save him a painful walk upstairs.”
“There’s really no need—” David began.
“No, no. His Lordship is quite right, Mr. Lauriston,” Logan said, turning to fix David with a stern look. “There’s no use putting your leg under more stress for the sake of pride. His Lordship’s sitting room will do perfectly well as an examination room. Lead the way, my lord.”
Given leave to take charge, Murdo had no
hesitation in taking the physician up on his invitation. David and Logan followed him out of the dining room and into the neighbouring sitting room, neither of them commenting when he made no move to leave them alone, but instead closed the door, then crossed the room to draw the drapes.
For an instant, David considered asking Murdo to leave. He hadn’t stayed for any of David’s other examinations, and David couldn’t help but think it was unorthodox. But Murdo had a mulish expression on his face that David didn’t like the look of, and Dr. Logan seemed to find the situation entirely unexceptionable.
“If you could strip down to your shirt and drawers, Mr. Lauriston,” he said as he removed his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
David did as he asked. He sent Murdo a warning look when the other man started to step forward to assist David with his right boot—always the most troublesome part of dressing and undressing for him—and then had to struggle with removing it for a good few painful seconds before he finally shook his foot free. Other than that, though, he got himself down to his underclothes with relative ease and lowered himself onto the chaise longue.
Logan drew up a footstool and perched on it. His forehead was lined in concentration, his attention all on David’s leg. He asked David to lift the leg, move it outwards, flex it, straighten it. He examined every inch of it, from David’s hip down to his foot. He checked the knee that had been giving David so much trouble despite the fact that neither one of his actual fractures had been anywhere near it. He ran his hands down the length of David’s limb, his head cocked to one side in a way that made it look as though he was listening or thinking maybe, perhaps imagining the layers of bone and muscle and tissue inside. He had David stand and walk, then attempt a squat, noting aloud the last was still beyond him. He questioned David about his activities over the last month, most particularly about Monday’s walk, over which he clucked and frowned in disapproval, making David feel like a naughty schoolboy.
When it was all over and David was pulling his trousers back on, Logan gave his verdict.
Enlightened Page 2
