Page 57 of Provoked

Yes, that fitted.

“So,” David said. “Do you agree to leave Euan alone?”

Balfour’s smile died. David thought he was going to refuse. But when Balfour finally spoke, he surprised him. “All right. I’ll leave MacLennan alone, and I’ll find some way to put Hugh out of his reach. Does that satisfy you?”

“Yes, it does. Thank you.” The words were heartfelt. He wondered if Balfour realised how much.

They fell into silence, the sound of the ticking clock on the mantel the only noise in the room. It might have been uncomfortable with someone else. Not with Balfour, though.

“Can I askyousomething now?” Balfour said, breaking the silence.

“Of course.”

“Why do you call me Balfour instead of Lord Murdo?”

David flushed. “I know it’s not proper, but it’s how I think of you,” he admitted. When Balfour arched a brow, he continued, half reluctantly. “When we first met—that night in Stirling—you didn’t disclose your title. You told me your name was Mr. Balfour, so from then on, that’s how I thought of you. As Balfour. Even though I later learned you were the son of a marquess.”

Balfour fixed his dark eyes on David. “You never thought of me as Murdo? You know that is my Christian name.” His eyes were almost black, the colour of coffee. In this light, you couldn’t see where the deep brown of the iris met the pure black of the pupil.

David flushed, thrown by the odd intimacy of the question. “I can’t say I have.”

Balfour glanced away. “Odd, aren’t they,” he said after a pause. “Names, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

Balfour gave a funny little half-hitched smile. “The only person in the whole world who’s ever called me Murdoch—my proper given name—is my mother. Neither my father nor any of my siblings call me anything but Murdo.”

David couldn’t help but smile. “You have a mother?” he teased lightly. “I thought you were made of marble.”

Balfour offered a tight smile. “Had,” he said. “She passed away.”

David’s smile faded. “I’m sorry—”

Balfour waved the apology away. “It was a long time ago.”

“How many siblings do you have?” David asked. “I only have one, a brother, Drew.”

“There are six of us,” Balfour replied. “My oldest brother, Harris, then Iain, then me. And the three girls.”

“It must be nice, to have such a large family.”

“Sometimes. What does your mother call you?”

“Davy.”

Balfour raised an eyebrow. “That’s what MacLennan called you.”

David shrugged. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“In ways you can’t understand.”

“Explain it to me.”

“Oh, I’d need much more whisky for that.” David’s tone was light, teasing. But Balfour rose from his chair and fetched the decanter anyway, refilling David’s glass with a slosh of amber fluid.

David sighed, resigned. He took a long swallow and leaned back in his chair. “Where I come from, most people use my given name.”