“Quite so,” Francis agreed promptly. “And in fact, now that I come to think of it”—he yawned theatrically—“I am rather tired. Would you both excuse me?” He made a shallow bow in Drew’s direction and smiled sweetly at him. “Mr. Nicol. I do hope we meet again.”
Drew nodded politely but did not return the smile. His own expression was wary and, as ever, rather grave.
When the door finally closed behind Francis, Lindsay turned to Drew. “Would you like some more wine?”
Drew shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“Do you mind if I help myself to some?”
“Of course not, please go ahead.”
“Thank you. Take a seat, won’t you? I’ll just be a moment.”
He sensed Drew’s resistance to that suggestion, his desire to remain standing, but evidently Drew did not in the end consider it a point worth arguing, sinking into the same armchair he’d occupied that first night, while Lindsay poured himself some of the port wine.
As Lindsay sat down opposite him, Drew said, “I shouldn’t have called without invitation. My apologies—it didn’t even occur to me you might have a guest.”
“It’s fine,” Lindsay said, waving his hand and smiling reassurance. “Francis is a dear friend, but he arrived without forewarning so we had no settled plans.”
“Even so,” Drew said tightly, “I feel as though I’ve spoiled your evening. You were planning to go out.”
“There is nothing to spoil,” Lindsay assured him. “Our plan was for nothing more than a stroll to the nearest tavern. And in all honesty, I’d rather not. Besides, Francis has been travelling at quite a pace for the last week—he’s quite right that he needs to retire to bed.”
Drew sipped at his wine, saying nothing.
“So,” Lindsay said at last. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?”
Drew’s mouth tightened and he looked unhappy. “I wanted to—” He broke off, falling silent and scowling into his wine.
“Yes?” Lindsay prompted, watching him carefully.
Drew glanced up, his expression troubled. “I felt—uncomfortable about how things were left between us last night.”
“Why?”
“The way you ran off.”
In truth Lindsay barely remembered those last moments. His wolf had been so close to the skin. Carefully he said. “I hardlyranoff.”
“I wanted to see you back to your rooms,” Drew said, his voice tight. “But you wouldn’t wait.”
“Well,” Lindsay said with a rueful smile, “As to that, I’m not actually as helpless as you think. The truth is, I allowed you to believe otherwise on that first evening because—well, because I wanted your company.”
Drew stared at him, his handsome face unreadable. His scent—subtly delicious, sharp with interest and with a dark, dangerous edge to it—told Lindsay nothing of his state of mind, or why in God’s name he’d come here tonight. Did he want more of what had passed between them? Right now, he seemed too angry—too frustrated with Lindsay—for that. But why else would he come?
When Drew stayed silent, Lindsay admitted, “I’m still not sure why you called on me.”
Drew scowled and opened his mouth to speak, but still no words came. He hadsomethingto say though—he was practically vibrating with the pressure of the unsaid words.
At length, Lindsay said gently, “Are you going to tell me anything?”
Abruptly Drew stood. He stalked to the fireplace and set his glass on the mantel. When he turned around to face Lindsay, he gestured at the closed door.
“Is Neville—are you and he—?” He broke off on a frustrated huff.
“Lovers?”
Drew’s face flushed scarlet but he said nothing. His hands were in fists at his sides though, the knuckles showing white.
