Balfour regarded him calmly for a long moment. “You didn’t know.” It was a statement rather than a question, and his still, quiet face gave nothing away of what he made of the conclusion he’d reached.
“No. I haven’t seen him for a long time. Not since the night we spoke of earlier.”
On hearing that confirmation, something in Balfour seemed to relax, a faint tension in his shoulders easing. He leaned back in his chair again. “Have you any idea why he might be here? Has he written to you?”
David didn’t reply straightaway. A vague sense of unease settled over him. At last he said, carefully, “As I said, I’ve not seen him—not for two years. Nor have I heard from him in that time.”
He watched Balfour’s reaction more carefully this time, but the man never gave much away, and he didn’t now.
“That’s good to hear.” Balfour seemed to consider for a moment before adding, “You don’t want to be associated with him.”
David frowned. “Why would you say that?”
Balfour looked up at the ceiling, regarding its murky gloom for several seconds before he looked back at David. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but amongst the visitors to Edinburgh, there are a number of men—some of them Peel’s official men, some less official—who’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on certain unsavoury characters.”
Peel. Balfour meant Sir Robert Peel, David realised. The Home Secretary.
“Unsavoury characters? Euan’s an ‘unsavoury character’?”
“In Peel’s eyes, yes. He’s on a list I’ve seen.”
“A list,” David said slowly. “What kind of list?”
“A list of men Peel wants to keep his beady eye on during the King’s visit. MacLennan’s a known radical. I don’t know what he’s been doing precisely these last two years, but I gather there’s a file on him in Peel’s office. There are others on the list too, all kinds of potential troublemakers—anyone who might be a threat to the King and who’s known to have travelled north.”
“Why were you shown this list?” David asked, suspicion pricking at him.
Balfour shrugged. “My father’s a minister of government. I am his representative on this visit. As such, I’ve been made privy to certain information.”
“And why,” David continued, watching Balfour carefully, “are you telling me about it?”
Balfour didn’t answer straightaway. He picked up his cup and drank from it. Set it down again and sighed. Looked out the window.
Then, with his gaze still averted, he said quietly, “If you’re seen with MacLennan, it might affect you. Guilt by association. A suspicious rumour about your political leanings, and you may find your career suffers. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you. I wanted to…warn you.”
There was something melancholy about Balfour as he spoke, something sad about the slightly distant look he wore as he stared out the window. Then he turned back and gave a quick quirk of a smile. Bright and unconvincing. “And now I’ve been indiscreet enough. Please don’t mention what I’ve told you to anyone else, will you?”
David shook his head slowly. “No. No, I won’t. Though frankly, I doubt Euan will seek me out, given how we parted.”
Euan had been furious at David for depriving him of his chance of revenge.
There was a brief silence when they looked at each other, really looked. For the first time, David saw, not the amused and elegant exquisite that was Lord Murdo Balfour, but another man. A man with secret desires and perhaps secret griefs too.
Balfour was the first to look away. “I’ll let you go, then,” he said lightly. “Let you get back to your work. I know how important it is to you, and you must have a great deal to do if you’re contemplating spending the evening on it.”
If there was a trace of sarcasm in there, David chose to ignore it. He stood, and Balfour rose from his chair too, readying himself to bid David farewell.
God, but this was civilised. At their last meeting, two long years ago, they’d exchanged a barrage of harsh words. A kiss that left blood in David’s mouth.
I came to regret the way we parted…
A slow smile tugged at Balfour’s lips as they stood there, facing one another. The smile was so unexpected, it tripped David up for a moment.
“It was good to see you,” Balfour said softly, the tone of his deep voice uncharacteristically sincere, no trace of his usual mockery.
David nodded. Swallowed. “And you,” he said at last. He offered his hand, and, after a moment, Balfour took it. The man’s grip was warm and steady, and it grounded something in David.
“I would…like to see you again,” Balfour said then, his voice low.
