“Of course.”
“What is your business with Cruikshank?”
Lindsay considered how to answer that. At length he decided the truth—or part of it—could be safely shared.
“He has a set of papers in his possession that I want. They were written by a man called Thomas Naismith two hundred years ago at the height of the witch trials.”
Nicol looked almost comically surprised. “You are interested in history?”
Lindsay’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Does that surprise you?”
Nicol flushed. “I don’t mean to offend you, but yes, it does rather.”
Lindsay laughed. “At least you’re honest,” he said. “And in truth, the papers are not for me. They’re for a very dear friend of mine.”
“I see,” Nicol said. “Your friend is the historian then? Is he a learned fellow?”
Lindsay laughed again. “She is,” he said. “A dedicated scholar, you might say, and well-respected among her peers.”
“A lady?” Nicol said, eyes wide.
“Yes, is it so surprising?”
“It is, rather,” Nicol replied, he though looked more thoughtful than anything. He met Lindsay’s gaze again and asked carefully, “Is she your sweetheart?”
Lindsay laughed at the very idea. “No,” he said. “We do not... appeal to each other in that way.”
Understanding gleamed in Nicol’s blue-grey gaze. He lifted his cup to his lips, draining it again, then quirked his brow at Lindsay in inquiry. “Another?”
By way of answer, Lindsay drained his own cup and set it down on the table in front of Nicol, watching as he splashed two more measures out. Again, Nicol threw the whole measure back in one gulp. He closed his eyes, resting the cup against his lip for a moment before he set it down again, very carefully and precisely.
“So,” he said quietly, without taking his eyes from the empty cup. “When are you going to tell me why you really came here tonight?” A muscle worked in his cheek and his sandy lashes veiled his eyes.
Lindsay’s chest ached at this slightest of invitations, this door cracked warily open. It was plain to see that Nicol was torn over this.
Lindsay thought about the promise he had made Nicol over dinner.
“I will not speak of it again, if you do not wish me to...”
But now Nicol was inviting him to speak, and the man had to know what was in Lindsay’s mind.
Lindsay gazed unhappily at Nicol and wished he could read his heart, but he could not. In the end, he decided that all he could do was answer the question Nicol had asked him truthfully.
“I came because I couldn’t stay away.”
That made Nicol look up. The expression in his blue-grey gaze was wary and pained.
“What sort of thing is that to say to a man?” he whispered.
Lindsay shrugged. “Merely the truth. Why? Does it worry you?”
Nicol stared at him. “Yes.”
“Because...?”
“Because—well, because I don’tknowyou. Not really.”
“Are you afraid I’ll betray you? Gossip about you or behave like an idiot so people guess what has happened between us?”
