Free Provoked by Joanna Chambers

filth and clutter of the Old Town? No wonder Chalmers had asked David to come to his house to work on the case rather than travelling in to the Lawnmarket, where he’d have to push his way through hordes of hawkers and beggars and prostitutes before he even reached the faculty library.
    Chalmers gave a yawn, peeling off his spectacles and scrubbing his hands over his face as David packed up his papers.
    “Well, we’ve done a good day’s work,” he said, rising from his seat at the desk they’d shared all day. “And I, for one, don’t intend to give it another thought before tomorrow’s hearing. Let’s have a drink.”
    David smiled at how unfazed Chalmers was at the prospect of tomorrow’s hearing. If David were doing the speaking, he’d have spent the whole evening going over his submissions again. But his role tomorrow would be limited to listening and note-taking.
    Chalmers crossed the room, walking past a full wall lined with books. Legal treatises, historical monographs, philosophical works. The man, David had discovered, was a bibliophile. But for now, Chalmers was happy to ignore his books, stopping in front of a cabinet in the corner of the room which, once opened, revealed several decanters. He withdrew one, half full of amber liquor.
    “Water of Life,” Chalmers said, smiling. “Would you like a dram, lad?”
    He was pulling out the glasses already. David’s acquiescence was a formality, but he gave it anyway.
    “All right, then.”
    The measure Chalmers poured was generous and the quality of the whisky was excellent, the taste smoky on David’s tongue.
    “It’s from Islay,” Chalmers said. “Do you like it?”
    David nodded. “That’s a rare malt.” He swallowed the last bit and put the glass down on the polished wood.
    “Have another.”
    David gave in to temptation. “Just one more, then, thank you.”
    After the second, there were two more. Chalmers poured them without asking, and David drank them while they chattered about faculty matters.
    “You might be wee,” Chalmers said, after a while, “but you can certainly put the whisky away. If I’d just walked in here, I’d never guess a drop had passed your lips.”
    “I’m not wee,” David said with a smile he had to force. “I’m five feet and seven inches.” It was a good height, though it was true that he was slender and often assumed to be shorter as a result.
    “Are you? You look like a gust of wind could blow you over.”
    David hid his irritation at that comment. “I’m stronger than I look.”
    Chalmers smiled affably. “I don’t doubt it, lad. Come on, let’s go down. It’ll be dinnertime soon.”
    “I really should go,” David demurred. “Mrs. Chalmers will be inconvenienced by an extra guest.”
    Chalmers shook his head. “Put that thought out of your mind, lad. You’re staying.”
    When they went down to the drawing room it was to find Mrs. Chalmers, Elizabeth and her sisters gathered there in apparent domestic harmony. The girls all sat with their hands folded primly in their laps, while Mrs. Chalmers embroidered. They all looked up when the two men entered the room, disappointment registering on all but one of their faces to see their father and David. Only Elizabeth smiled, her eyes wide with surprise.
    “Good evening, Mr. Lauriston,” she said. “How nice to see you again.” Her mother gave her a sharp look.
    “I’ve invited Mr. Lauriston to join us for dinner,” Chalmers announced to the room. Mrs. Chalmers’s jaw tightened speakingly, but she merely nodded and rose from her chair.
    “Excuse me,” she said. “I must speak with Cook and the servants. The table will have to be entirely rearranged.”
    “Oh, please don’t—” David began, but Chalmers cut him off.
    “Thank you, my dear,” he said to his departing spouse and ushered David farther into the room. “Come and meet my girls, Lauriston.”
    David bowed to the three daughters he hadn’t yet met, Maria, Catherine and Jane,