by Bonnie Dee
It wasn’t only David’s physical well-being that Murdo looked after. He’d had boxes of books brought to Laverock House from his Edinburgh townhouse to keep David amused; he’d even read to David himself in those early days when, listless and melancholy with his lot, David hadn’t been inclined to do so. And it was Murdo who’d brought him Sir Hamish’s papers to look through when, as his leg began to improve, he’d complained about needing something to test his wits on.
Now, that project had seized David’s attention to such an extent that he was becoming known locally as Lord Murdo Balfour’s very efficient new man of business, the learned lawyer who was helping Lord Murdo make peace with all his new neighbours and bury all the old disputes Sir Hamish had started.
And why not let them think that? It was true, after all—and it was no one else’s concern that, besides that, he and Murdo were lovers. That was their affair and theirs alone. The servants at Laverock House certainly appeared to be oblivious. The manor was a good size, but it was compact enough that the proximity of their bedchambers, with only Murdo’s untidy study between them, merited no comment.
By day, they were circumspect. By night—well, the nights were their own. It hadn’t been easy to make love with David’s injured leg—for months he’d been all but immobilised by the leg harness—but with a bit of inventiveness, they’d managed, and now that David was up and about again, it was getting easier every day.
Right now, though, as David took the last turn-off that led to Laverock House and the manor house finally hoved into view, he couldn’t think of doing anything but lying down. He was limping badly now, all attempts to conceal his disability long given up. The idea of sinking into his soft featherbed and warming his chilled feet under the blankets had become his Holy Grail. There was simply nothing else.
He’d barely taken a dozen steps down the long front drive when the door opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man emerged.
Murdo.
Even now, after living here for months, the unexpected sight of his lover lit something inside David. He felt a stab of pure happiness, an accompanying flare of anticipation, even as he winced with each step he took.
“Where have you been?” Murdo said, walking toward him, his dark eyes concerned as he took in David’s pronounced limp. “Mrs. Inglis said you went out hours ago.”
David attempted a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I decided to walk over to McNally’s,” he admitted, sending Murdo a rueful look. “It wasn’t one of my best ideas.”
“That’s over two miles!” Murdo exclaimed. He turned so that they were walking in the same direction, toward the open front door, matching his pace to David’s. “What were you thinking? And where’s your cane?”
“I didn’t think I needed it,” David mumbled, answering the second question and evading the first.
“You’re limping,” Murdo observed unnecessarily.
“I overdid it, but I’ll be all right,” David replied. “I just need to rest my leg for a bit.”
Murdo let out a noisy sigh. “You’re as stubborn as a mule. I only hope you haven’t set yourself back with this.”
There were three steps up to the front door of the house, and David took them slowly, gritting his teeth against the pain that knifed through his knee with each step. He didn’t look at Murdo, but he felt the other man’s eyes on him, watching his slow progress and scrutinising his profile for evidence of how bad the pain was.
They stepped into the hallway together, Murdo closing the front door behind them. Since the hall was empty of servants, David allowed Murdo to help him off with his greatcoat. Then he glanced up the long flight of steps that led to his bedchamber on the first floor and suppressed a moan. Girding himself, he placed his foot on the first step.
“Don’t even think about it,” Murdo said behind him.
Before David could protest, Murdo was sliding one arm round David’s back and the other under his knees, sweeping his feet out from under him. David hissed a curse as Murdo lifted him, but Murdo just shifted David’s weight to balance himself and began to quickly mount the stairs.
“Christ, Murdo,” David said testily. “Let me down, will you?” It had been a few weeks since he’d had to submit to this particular indignity. He hated being carried like this—it unmanned him.
Murdo ignored him, and after the first few stairs, despite his mortification, David didn’t bother protesting any further. The truth was, he couldn’t get up these stairs without Murdo’s help.
By the time they reached the top, Murdo’s breath was coming hard, but he still didn’t let David down. He carried him another dozen steps to David’s bedchamber door before setting his feet back on the ground. Even then he wasn’t done. Steering David into his room, he guided him firmly to the featherbed David had been dreaming of for the last half hour, then went back to close the bedchamber door, turning the key in the lock. Returning to the bed, mouth set in a firm, determined line, he bent to remove David’s boots. This time David didn’t even bother protesting. It would do no good, and anyway, he was bloody exhausted. So he let Murdo ease the tight leather from his calves, then slowly strip away the rest of his clothing, piece by piece.
“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.
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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The Bohemian and the Banker
Copyright © 2015 by Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon
ISBN: 978-1-61922-676-0
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Erin Dameron-Hill
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2015
www.samhainpublishing.com
