The Gentleman and the Rogue (9 page)

A flicker of some emotion crossed the other man's face. “I believe if you stay a pace or two behind, bearing my umbrella and topcoat, it will suffice.”

Jem mentally shook his head at the silly devices a gent had to take to protect his reputation and place in society. A cove had more freedom in his world, where no one was too high-and-mighty to pass the time of day with anyone he chose.

Within the hour they were seated in the closed carriage that had brought Jem to his new life. What a strange week this had been, full of unexpected twists and turns, and now here he was, clean, well fed, dressed nearly as nice as a swell himself, and still finding reason to complain. Men were fools, never content even when good fortune fell right into their laps. So what if Sir Bumbuggerer never buggered his bum again. It was up to the gentleman to decide what course their relationship would take. Jem needed to stop fretting, have a good tug at himself if he was getting too tight in the seam, and let nature unfold as it would.

They took the larger traveling coach, with Badgeman on the box, instead of the sportier phaeton. Jem would have liked to be out in the open, perched on the high seat. Fresh air blew into the carriage through the small window. It smelled good and clean, of rain and coal smoke, horse dung and alley refuse. It smelled like London.

Jem relaxed in his seat, enjoying the ride since he was used to walking, listening to the wheels rattle over the cobblestones then grind over pebbles on an unpaved road. The racket of traffic on the street outside was loud—horses whinnying, draymen yelling, vehicles clattering along.

He glanced across at his traveling companion.

Alan was gazing out the window, the light illuminating the harsh planes of his face in an artistic way. He was a very handsome man, brooding and dark in a way that attracted Jem like a cat to a bowl of cream. Jem “accidentally” bumped his knees against the other man's, trying to get his attention. When that didn't work, he tapped his foot lightly against Alan's shoe.

Hooded eyes turned toward him, and Sir Alan stared down his patrician nose at him. “Have you lived in London all your life, Jem?”

“Southwark born and bred. Yes, sir.”

“Do you care for riding at all?”

“Never have had the opportunity. Horses and me, I don't know as we'd get on.”

“I was thinking it might be time to take a trip to check on my country estate soon. Have you ever been to the countryside?”

“Can't say as I have.”

“The land is beautiful in Shropshire. A man can walk or ride for miles and enjoy absolute solitude. I think you would like it there.”

Jem felt Alan was trying to tell him more than what his words were saying. “Sounds lovely, sir.”

“A man can feel more…alive there than he does in the city. More free.”

Ah, Jem understood. Poor Sir Alan Watleigh was bound by convention and moral and religious strictures that would choke the very life from him. He feared his sexual needs, tried to deny them until he couldn't stand it any longer, indulged his vice, then hated himself all the more afterward. Jem had figured all that the first night; guilt was a common malady and luckily one he wasn't prone to himself. But it seemed Alan felt freer to pursue what he wanted while in the country. Very well, then. They should go there, and soon.

“I'd be delighted to accompany you,” Jem said. “Always wanted to see a cow or sheep at home.”

The carriage lurched to a stop, and a moment later, Badgeman opened the door for them to get out at the park.

“You may take yourself off to a tavern, if you like,” Alan told him. “Have a drink or two, then return for us.”

“Yes, sir.” Badger had never looked brighter. Jem guessed he was just as tired as Jem was of lurking about the house. Give the man a tankard of ale and a wench, and he was in his element, no doubt. A Yorkshireman through and through, if Jem didn't mistake his accent.

The sun was warm but the breeze chilly as it lifted Jem's hair and tried to burrow beneath his jacket. He had the master's topcoat tossed over one arm and his umbrella in hand. They walked together yet apart down the gravel path, past a wide pond full of water lilies and geese, and under the arching boughs of a gnarled old tree.

Jem glanced down with a swell of pride at the buckles on his shoes, glinting in the sunlight with every step. He'd never owned footwear so fine. The sight of them pleased him immensely. He sidestepped a dollop of goose shit with a grimace.

“Ever heard the story of Narcissus?” Amusement tinged Alan's voice.

“No, I believe I missed that one.”

“It's about a man so enamored by his own reflection that his vanity angered the gods. Ultimately he was turned into one of those.” He pointed to a cluster of yellow flowers which drooped near the water's edge. “Ever straining to catch a glimpse of his own handsome face in the water.”

Jem scowled at the tease. “You've a right clever tongue in your head when you care to use it. I ain't putting on airs. It's these new shoes. I just like the way they look. They're not of my own making, so it can't be considered prideful, eh? Nothing wrong with admiring them, is there?”

“Nothing wrong at all.” Alan's voice was warm, and the smile continued to curve his lips. It looked good on him.

They skirted the pond, passing several strolling couples along the way, before walking farther back into a wooded area. Here the path was shaded by thick branches, and the way was empty of other people. It felt as solitary and private as if it were a darkened cathedral made just for them. Overhead, birds chirped and rustled in the leaves. Beneath, only the sound of their footsteps on gravel disturbed the quiet.

In the hushed stillness, Jem became intimately aware of his master walking beside him—the stride of his boots, the swish of his jacket sleeve, the scent that wafted from his heated body. Arousal stirred and grew within him, his cock hardening as he cast a glance at Alan's handsome profile.

At the same moment, the man looked toward him. Their gazes met and held, and Jem's erection swelled larger. Sweet Jesus, something had to break soon. He couldn't wait for a trip to the country or for Alan to come around on his own. He simply wasn't that patient.

Their steps slowed then stopped, and they stood side by side on the path, simply staring at each other.

“What's it going to be then, Your Grace?” Jem asked.

By God, the boy was relentless! Alan drew an unsteady breath. The desire he'd been fighting for days pulled against his reins of control like a mettlesome horse. Jem had suggested, prodded, and teased—not always intentionally, but by his mere presence in Alan's house. For days he'd enticed and drawn him toward what he craved. And now this. Did he truly not understand the danger of what he was suggesting, here on a path in a public park?

Alan strode toward him, crossing the ground between them in two steps. He took Jem by the upper arms and shook him. “What the hell are you playing at?” he growled. “Are you insane or just insanely reckless?”

Jem's eyes were as wide and innocent as always. He looked like a schoolboy caught putting jam in the inkwells in the classroom. “There's no one here. No one but you and me.”

Jem's tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Alan was fascinated by the flash of pink. His heart pounded, and his cock felt like it would explode in his trousers in a moment. He wanted to kiss those moist lips so badly, he thought he'd sell his soul for the chance. The reins of his control broke, and lust thundered through him.

Alan shook the youth once more before bending his head and seizing Jem's lips with his own. Their mouths clashed together with the power of a flood against a tide wall as passion flowed through him. His teeth cut the inside of his lip with the force of the kiss, and the warmth and softness of the other man's lips were everything he'd yearned for. When Jem's tongue slipped into his mouth, Alan gasped with surprise at the wet, sinuous intrusion.

He let go of Jem's arms to cup his face in both hands, feeling the hardness of his jaw, the faint scrape of stubble, and the softness of his skin beneath his palms. The umbrella hit the ground with a thud as Jem wrapped his arms around Alan's back and held him.

Christ, they were hugging and kissing, right there on the path in the middle of God's green earth where anyone could see them. The thought horrified, aroused, and thrilled him all at the same time. His senses left him as blood rushed down to his cock. His pulse pounded in his ears so he could hardly hear, and his body felt like it would shudder apart from the powerful emotions surging through it.

Jem shuffled closer, groin pressing against Alan's, the bulge of his erection apparent. Alan's cock responded, straining as if it would drill its way through his trousers to get to where it wanted to be. He ground his hips, rubbing in an effort to relieve his desperate need. All the while he never stopped kissing Jem. What a marvel it was to share a kiss with someone. The intimate exploration of mouth to mouth was even more personal than two bodies coupling.

“Mm,” Jem groaned and pulled away to draw a breath.

Alan released the man's face from between his hands. Opening his eyes, he looked at Jem's closed ones, long lashes brushing against his cheeks. His chest ached with sudden emotion, and the strength of the unnamed feeling frightened him.

Alan stepped back.

“This can't happen,” he said gruffly. “Not here. We must keep walking.”

Easier said than done when his dick was throbbing so badly, it was painful to stalk away. He strode fast enough that Jem had to practically run to catch up after retrieving Alan's umbrella and coat from the ground.

“It's perfectly safe. There's no one around,” he repeated, sounding breathless. “P'raps just behind that tree over there. Won't take long. I can do you proper.”

“I said no!” Alan bit out the words through clenched teeth because the rest of his body was clamoring for him to say yes. And despite his show of anger, he was already imagining the things they could do later in his bedroom, or maybe even in the carriage.

Jem fell silent then, and they continued to walk at a brisk pace through the thick of the wood and around a loop back to more civilized paths.

Alan pondered his perverted desires, the things he wanted that a man should be ashamed to think of. He wondered, as he had all his life, why he felt that way. Over the years, he'd tried to deny his nature. He'd slept with a few women, but the experience had been weak and tepid compared to the desire a man could arouse in him. Remaining abstinent only worked for so long before he had to find relief for his tension. Now with Jem, for the first time he'd experienced more than a simple physical release. He liked the lad, felt an odd connection with him, which was even more frightening than his twisted sexual desires.

“Sir.” Jem panted as he trotted alongside him. “Remember Old Sally I told you about? Well, she weren't the only one in her family to come across magic folk. Her brother Donald has his own tale of meeting the fae. Would you like to hear about it?”

Alan glanced at him and slowed down a little.

“Donnie was a drinker, as was his friend Pat. The pair also loved to fish. Went out every day on their favorite pond, although neither brought any catch home to his wife at night. Spent the entire day drinking, they did.

“So one day Donnie felt something big pulling on his hook. He drew it up and found a wee man struggling on the line. He recognized a leprechaun when he saw one, but did he demand the little fellow's gold? No. Did he ask for a fine mess of fish to take home to his wife and hungry brood? Oh no, Donnie had a better idea for his one wish. It was only midday, and the drink was getting low, so he asked the wee man to turn the entire lake into the very best ale.

“'Fool,' his friend Pat raged as he gazed at the pond brimming with delicious brown ale. 'Now we have to piss in the boat!'”

Jem cocked a glance at him, waiting for a response, and Alan couldn't help but smile. The joke wasn't all that funny, but Jem's natural way of telling a story was a pleasure to listen to.

“The world's full of fools, I say,” Jem continued. “People always longing after something different 'stead of enjoying what they have right in front of 'em.”

“You know a lot of interesting people,” Alan remarked, ignoring the little homily.

“Yah, my nob's chock-f o' tales like that. Could keep you entertained for years.” He winked, eyes sparkling, and Alan noticed the blue of his waistcoat almost exactly matched them. Jem looked very fine in his new attire and knew it.

“I don't know about years, but you amuse me for now.” Alan paused. There no longer seemed any point in denying the physical element floating in the air between them, which had erupted just now. “As for the other… If something is to happen, we must be extremely circumspect.”

He looked sharply at the younger man. “No public incidents like this again. Ever.”

Jem bobbed his head. “Yes, sir. Understood. Too dangerous.” He walked several more paces, his high-heeled shoes crunching the gravel. “But p'raps in the carriage on the way home…?”

Hopeless! The youth's hunger seemed to be irrepressible, and since he ignited a fire that burned away Alan's common sense, it was quite likely they'd follow his suggestion. Alan began to walk faster again, anticipating the ride.

Chapter Seven

By the time they'd finished their stroll in the park, including stopping while Jem cleaned his shoe after he'd stepped in goose shit after all, the carriage awaited them. Badgeman stood beside it rather than sitting on the box, and Alan knew the instant he saw him that something was the matter. After all their years together, he could read the man's anxious posture like a book. He was shifting his weight impatiently from foot to foot, hands jammed in his pockets and shoulders hunched.

Alan strode quickly toward him. “What is it?”

“T'aint nowt, sor.”

He was lying, of course, and the shift in his accent confirmed he was truly upset.

Alan turned to Jem. “I think I must have dropped my snuffbox. Please retrace our steps and see if you can find it.”

For once Jem said nothing. His eyes shifted to Badgeman and back to Alan. He gave a brief nod and strode toward the trees without even pretending to hunt the ground for a snuffbox.