“Of course not,” Nicol replied earnestly. “The New Town will only house a proportion of the city’s residents. The rest will stay here, but they will benefit from the departure of their neighbours as there is presently a great deal of overcrowding in all of the tenements. Once a few people move away, the overcrowding will ease, allowing those in poorer accommodations to move into better apartments. And with the demand for those apartments reduced, the rents should likewise go down.”
“But it will be the wealthiest who leave, will it not?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And with the wealthiest townspeople gone, the shopkeepers and tradesmen who serve them will likely follow?”
“Perhaps,” Nicol agreed. “In time.”
“So, what happens then? Surely the existing buildings and roads will begin to deteriorate? For who will be left to pay for such common works once the wealthier residents are gone?”
Nicol’s gaze glinted with what looked like appreciation at that question, and Lindsay felt an odd stab of satisfaction at having provoked his interest despite his previous unwillingness to converse.
“It will be a gradual process, no doubt,” Nicol said, his growing animation indicating that this was a subject close to his heart. “But I believe that if people are given a better place to live and real hope for the future, theywillwork to improve themselves and to make a better life for their families. The first step is to eliminate the worst of the overcrowding, but it isonlythe first step. The next—”
He broke off when the door opened.
Lindsay turned, frowning, to see Cruikshank’s insolent manservant standing in the doorway, scowling at them.
“Mr. Somerville,” the man said flatly, “Mr. Cruikshank will see ye now.”
God damn it.
Lindsay did not want his conversation with Nicol to end. He wanted to hear what Nicol had been about to say, to see more of that unexpected fervour. Irritably, Lindsay nodded an acknowledgement in the servant’s direction before turning back to Nicol. “Perhaps we could continue our conversation another time?”
“Perhaps,” Nicol said, non-committal.
Lindsay stood his ground. “I could call by your offices,” he said, then raising a brow, added, “I believe I may have a fancy for one of your New Town houses myself.”
Nicol met his gaze. His expression was difficult to read, his scent even more so. The silence was becoming awkward when he finally said, “I fear there would be little point, Mr. Somerville. We presently have a waiting list of about two years and you said earlier you only expect to be in town a few months at most.”
Lindsay’s frustration at that evasive response was equalled only by his disappointment that Drew Nicol seemed not to want to see him again. Which was absurd, when the last thing he ought to be doing was getting distracted by a handsome man. Nevertheless, he found himself smiling flirtatiously as he said, “True, but I do plan to return to Edinburgh one day, and besides, property is an excellent investment.”
Nicol did not answer, but his scent sharpened again. It was a scent that made Lindsay’s wolf rise in him, his beast lifting its head, curious and demanding.
And Christ but it made his prick rise too.
“Mr. Somerville,” the manservant prompted from the doorway, with heavy emphasis. “Mr. Cruikshank is waiting.”
Lindsay ignored him. To Nicol—who had not replied—he said, “I will ask Mr. Cruikshank for your direction, Mr. Nicol.”
Nicol said nothing, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement of Lindsay’s words, his blue-grey gaze wary.
