Page 22 of Beguiled

“Nor I you,” he murmured before he could censor himself.

Murdo grew still. Watchful. “Really?”

The heat of an infuriating blush was on David’s cheeks. “Yes, really.”

“Why?”

Discomfited, David turned his head to look back up at the perfect plasterwork on the ceiling. “I don’t know. I just—never knew it could be like that, between two men.”

“Neither did I.”

There was a long silence during which David tried hard not to swallow against the curious obstruction in his throat.

Then Murdo flung the covers aside and got out of bed. “Time for a bath,” he announced briskly, reaching for the bell pull.

They ate breakfast at the small table in Murdo’s private sitting room. Smoked haddock, eggs and potato cakes, a basket of warm, toasted muffins and a dish of fruit conserves. Everything served on fine, white porcelain dishes, with silver cutlery and white damask napkins. There was tea served in a silver teapot with milk and sugar presented in a matching silver jug and bowl. There were even tiny little silver tongs to pick up the sugar lumps.

David found he was unusually hungry. The food was excellent, the fish sweet and flaky, the eggs just done, with runny yolks that were heavenly spread on the potato cakes. He ate everything on his plate, then helped himself to a toasted muffin, spreading it thickly with cold butter that tasted almost as good as the stuff his mother made. He added a spoonful of crimson jam that gleamed like a pile of rubies and bit into the muffin with relish, catching Murdo’s eye as he did so and noting his amused smile.

“What is it?” he said, after he’d swallowed the mouthful down. “Do I have something on my face?” He explored the side of his mouth with his fingertips.

“No, it’s just that you’re eating so…heartily.”

David frowned. “So?”

Murdo shrugged, still smiling. “You never struck me as a man who enjoyed his food. In fact, I distinctly remember you telling me that sometimes you forget to eat.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my food when I do eat,” David retorted, but even as he spoke the words, it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a meal as well as this one.

“Well, you must still forget too often. You’re a bit on the thin side.”

David’s jaw tightened at the implied criticism. “You seemed to like the look of me well enough earlier.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Murdo laughed. “You must know how much you appeal to me by now! You’re as handsome as anyone could wish. There, will that do?”

David scowled, resenting the implication he’d been fishing for compliments and embarrassed by the one he’d been given. Uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation, he tried to steer it back to where it had begun. “I eat well enough,” he muttered.

“You’re a healthy enough specimen,” Balfour agreed, leaning back in his chair and looking David over with an appreciative gaze. “But eating to live is one thing; eating for pleasure is quite another. You enjoyed that muffin. And I enjoyed watching you when you tasted it.” He acted it out for David, biting into an imaginary muffin, his eyes closing with pleasure, lips curving upwards.

Reluctantly charmed by Murdo’s playacting, David huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t look like that.”

Murdo opened his eyes again, quirking one dark brow. “Oh, you did. And it’s how you were last night too. You surrendered to the pleasure. Was that the first time you’ve done that, David? It wasn’t how you were the first time we were together.”

That statement rocked David back on his heels. Over the past two years, whenever he had recalled his night with Murdo, his memory had been one of shocking, uncontrollable passion. Was it possible Murdo remembered it differently? Had he thought of David as inhibited? Reluctant?

“I think I showed how much I enjoyed myself that night—in the usual way,” David replied, hating the defensive tone in his voice.

“You mean when you came for me?”

David squirmed, and Murdo smiled at his obvious embarrassment.

“I knew that you enjoyed it in the end,” Murdo continued. “My point is that you didn’t want to. You resisted it.”

“I don’t know why we’re talking about this now,” David said. He saw no point in this conversation, going over old ground that should be left well alone.

Murdo ignored that comment. “The last time you were in this house, part of you didn’t want to be here at all. Part of you resisted everything we did together. I had to make you face up to what you wanted. Last night was different.Youwere different.”

David met Murdo’s dark gaze. Murdo was smiling in that bland, pleasant way he did sometimes that made him impossible to read. David wanted to tear that mask away and expose what was underneath, just as Murdo was exposing him.