Page 55 of Provoked

David heard the door creaking open behind him, felt the tension in Euan’s arm drawing him back and the steely press of the pistol against the side of his head. His heart thudded as he watched Balfour and Hugh, praying neither of them would do anything rash or alarming.

As Euan pulled him through the doorway, Balfour’s fists clenched by his side. “Where are you taking him?” he demanded.

“Davy’s coming with me for a little. He’ll be back soon enough, provided you two don’t move. And I’ll hear you if you do. The floorboards creak something terrible.”

Balfour gave another jerky nod, and the next moment, they were out and the door was swinging closed behind them, the torn-out, useless lock clattering against the frame.

Euan grabbed David’s arm and turned him round, shoving him forward so roughly he stumbled. While David was righting his footing, the other man got behind him, pushing the barrel of his pistol in David’s back.

“Come on,” he grated. “Move!”

He hustled David down the corridor and the first two rickety flights of stairs. At the next landing, he grabbed David by the shoulder.

“This is where we part,” he said. He looked at David for a long moment before adding fiercely, “I don’t think you realise how close I came to killing you tonight.”

“I do,” David said. “But I had faith in you too.”

Euan gave a harsh laugh. “You always see the best in people, Davy. I’m not sure if it’s a weakness or a strength.”

“I’m not as naïve as you think.” David fished in his coat and pulled out a purse of coins—it was all the money he had. He pressed it into Euan’s hands. “Here. Get out of the city. Don’t look back. Forget Lees.”

Euan gave him a long look, pocketing the purse. “I can’t promise to do that. But I promise this. I’ll pay you back one day.” Then he was gone, his boot heels ringing out as he raced down the last flight of stairs.

David stayed where he was, gazing down the stairwell at the lad’s diminishing figure. He waited till he heard the front door of the hotel being wrenched open, the decisive clang as it closed.

Then he counted to a hundred, slowly, to let Euan get well and truly away.

As he stood there, counting, the single candle that lit the stairwell landing guttered out. The flame died first; then, after a moment, a thin thread of smoke rose from its waxy grave and began to drift upwards.

David turned and followed it up to the third floor.

Chapter Sixteen

Balfour handed David a generous glass of whisky. They were in the drawing room of his townhouse, David perched stiffly on a brocade sofa. Hugh had been sent off to a bedchamber with a footman as his guide as soon as they arrived. Balfour had spoken not a word to his cousin in the carriage on the way here, his gaze averted as though he couldn’t bring himself to look at the other man. He’d been quiet with David too, but not in the same way. His manner with David had been kind and concerned. Watchful.

“I should be getting home,” David said, though he accepted the whisky and took a deep swallow, relishing the burn of the liquor.

Balfour regarded him silently, his expression faintly troubled.

“What is it?” David asked.

Balfour seemed reluctant to speak but eventually, when David kept looking at him questioningly, he muttered, “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Balfour huffed in an exasperated way and strode over to the fireplace. The fire was burning merrily in the grate, but Balfour grabbed the poker and went at the logs as though it needed stirring. When he finally straightened, he turned and said, “What if Euan MacLennan turns up at your rooms tonight?”

David was stunned into momentary silence. He thought of that big, warm hand on his shoulder. And Balfour calling out“David!”when he ran in front of Euan’s pistol, even though Balfour always called him Lauriston. An odd, unfamiliar warmth grew in his belly.

“He won’t,” David said at last, adopting a deliberately light tone. “But your cousin had better keep an eye out, I’d say.”

Balfour ignored that. “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Not with me—my staff will make you up a chamber.”

“There’s no need—”

“Humour me,” Balfour interrupted. “You seem to have a habit of running into trouble. Last time you were here, you managed to get attacked on the way home.”

David felt himself flush, thinking of that night. Abruptly, he decided to give way. He was exhausted after all. “All right,” he said, shrugging. “If you wish.”