The Gentleman and the Rogue (11 page)

Before Alan could reveal his presence and point out he'd agreed to no such thing, another voice interrupted her tirade. “Here now, Mrs. C. You got the wrong end of the stick. Weren't Dicky. Not at all. I took a fancy to the thing, see. Just wanted to take a closer look, and
wham
,
smash
, it slid right out o' my butter fingers. Terrible mistake. I shoulda confessed my sin right away, of course.”

Dicky visibly started. “But,” he began. He opened his mouth once or twice, then jerked again when Jem's elbow jammed into his side.

“My excuse is like this.” Jem might have been chatting with the housekeeper over a cozy cup of tea. “I got busy polishing Sir Alan's boots and fobs and whatnot. Clean forgot my crime when Mr. B. told me about a recipe for boot polish. I'm supposed to use champagne, if you can believe it. On boots. Such a terrible waste drove all other thoughts outta me nob.”

Alan tried to hold back a laugh that emerged as a cough. Mrs. Crimpett started, just as Dicky had, except with considerably more grace. She whirled to face him. “Sir. I beg your pardon. You're just in time.”

“So I understand.”

“I would consult Mr. Badgeman, however, he is preoccupied, packing to visit his sick aunt,” Mrs. Crimpett said.

“That's the story, is it?” muttered Jem.

She ignored him and went on. “And I'm not sure I believe Jem's version of events.”

“Why not?” asked Alan, determined not to meet Jem's eyes. “Have you had any indication that he is a liar?”

“He's attempting to protect Dicky from dismissal, sir. And as we decided when last we spoke on the matter—”

Alan had had enough. He raised his voice. “I made no sort of agreement. And while I'm sure we're all sad to see that objet d'art go, I'm sure we won't dismiss any servants over its destruction.”

“But sir, we can't allow clumsiness to go unchecked in a household so filled with treasures. It's as bad as hiring a thief.”

Alan definitely didn't want to meet Jem's eyes now. “I hardly think one ugly smashed statue is worth such a hue and cry,” he said.

“But sir…” She tried again.

Alan wished he could shake this off and allow her to have the last word. Mrs. Crimpett was afraid of Badgeman, but he would be absent for God knew how long.

She had always called him Master Alan, and he'd been the younger son. Then he'd limped home from battle, in constant pain and uninterested in the household. It was past time to establish himself as the highest authority on the premises.

“Mrs. Crimpett.” He drew himself up to his full height and glared down at her like the captain he'd been. Twice in one day he'd drawn on his abandoned role. “No more. We will not discuss this matter any longer, do you understand? You will all return to your duties. At once.”

Without a murmur, the servants filed from the room. Even Mrs. Crimpett didn't look back.

“Jem,” Alan called out.

He sauntered back into the room, grinning. “Sorry I broke that dreadful bit of ugliness, sir.”

“You didn't.” Alan tried to keep from smiling. He waited until the last of the footsteps died away. “You don't have to lie to keep Dicky safe. I shan't dismiss him.” A sharp pain shot through his leg, so he slumped onto the sofa.

Jem came over and, without permission, sat next to him, too close. Alan could feel the heat of his leg almost touching him. He was far too aware of the man. Surely it was his imagination that the air shifted slightly as Jem breathed.

Jem moved, and the pressure of his thigh against Alan's vanished—not in time to slow his sudden quick heartbeat or stop the rush of blood to his cock.

“Good for you, sir,” Jem spoke easily, as if he hadn't been affected by their bodies' contact. “Near an addle-pated cully, our Dicky. He'd never set the Thames on fire, but he's no thatch-gallows.”

“Meaning he's not a bad person?”

“Just that, indeed.”

“Why did you protect him?”

Jem shrugged. “He'd have a hard time out and about in the cruel world.”

Another thought surfaced in Alan's lust-blurred brain. “And you counted on me to keep you safe from dismissal.”

Jem's eyes lit with amusement. “Perhaps,” he drawled

“You're a rogue, Jem,” Alan said softly.

“Perhaps.”

“Most definitely.”

He'd learned something important about Jem that afternoon. Despite his sharp tongue and constant barrage of quips, the youth was tenderhearted and had an unexpected decency. His inborn protectiveness toward one he perceived as weak showed an honorable nature at odds with his thieving and whoring. What manner of man might Jem have become if the circumstances of his life had been different? Perhaps a fine and decent one. Perhaps a leader.

Alan had never spared much thought for the lower classes. He'd been raised, as all his peers were, to think of them as practically a separate species, without the sensitive spirit, higher thought, or nobility of their superiors. In the service, although his men had respected him, there had naturally been the distance of rank as well as class between them. With Jem, for the first time, Alan considered that perhaps all men were the same, and only the hand life dealt them created differences.

By late afternoon, when Mr. Gardner responded to Alan's note with one of his own saying he would meet with him on the morrow, Badgeman could restrain himself no longer. The normally unflappable man seemed bent on heading off immediately to rectify the situation with Cutler's family.

“I'm sorry, sir. When I think of what the likes o' that evil man might be doing to the wee lass, I can't abide it. I must leave today. As it is, 'twill take many days to reach Lisbon, where Ned spotted Schivvers and his ward. Poor little Major, always so brave and soldierly—a heroic young lass growing into a fine woman like her mum. Whether your solicitor can find a way to take the girl from the doctor legally or no, I've got to rescue her.”

He strode toward the mews. Alan watched him go and then remembered he had forgotten the funds.

Rather than race after the man, Alan shouted, “Hup!” and made the signal for him to join him. The sergeant marched back double time. Alan pulled out the purse of money. “Take it.”

”Thank 'ee sir,” Badgeman said. He turned and walked away quickly, almost at a trot.

“What was that you did to your head?” Jem stood behind him.

Alan looked at him, still lost in thought. “Hmm?” Badgeman was usually so imperturbable. Schivvers must have done something to have shaken the man back in Spain. He wondered if Badgeman knew something he hadn't told Alan.

“You shouted after him and did something with your hand on your head,” Jem persisted. “What is it?”

“I told him to come to me.”

“It's some kinda military signal?”

Alan rubbed the top of his aching leg and nodded.

“Are there more you can show me later, maybe?” Jem suggested. “If we get caught behind enemy lines, we can chatter, eh?” He was probably trying to distract Alan, who stared in the direction in which Badgeman had torn off, riding hell-for-leather.

Some planning on exactly how Badgeman might remove the girl and take her into his own custody would have been advisable. But there was nothing to be done once Badgeman made up his mind about something. He was like a rock that seemed immovable until it started rolling downhill; then nothing could stop it.

Alan put the matter out of his mind as best he could. It wasn't impossible with Jem there to divert him. After dinner they retired to Alan's study, where Jem laughed and imitated the various military signals he begged Alan to show him.

“It's like a dance,” Jem said as he circled his hand at hip height, the motion for
go back
. “The only one that makes sense is the
stop and listen
.” Jem made a comical display of stopping in midstride and cupping his hand to his ear. “Did all your men know these?”

“Their lives might depend on silent communication, so of course they did.” And his words brought back the dreary truth—knowing a few signals hadn't saved most of those lives. “Enough of this. We'll play cards instead.”

They played a few hands of piquet, which held neither man's attention.

After awhile, Jem gave up all pretense of concentrating and tossed his hand down on the table.

“Your leg's been troubling you this evening,” he stated baldly. “You limped on the way up the stairs, and you've been grimacing as you sit there. Let me ease it for you.”

Before Alan could ask what he meant by that, Jem was on the floor by his chair, moving the small card table aside and reaching for Alan's boot. He grabbed the heel and wrestled it off his foot. Alan had worn the boot thinking it would support his leg during their walk, but hadn't thought about the fact his foot might swell, making it hard to take off the footwear.

Jem clicked his tongue as he removed the stocking from Alan's swollen, scarred leg. “Look a' this. You've messed yourself up good.”

Carefully placing his foot on the floor, Jem removed the other boot before returning his attention to the injured leg. As tenderly as a mother cat grooming her kits, he lifted Alan's foot and placed it on his lap, then gently massaged his sore calf. His hands were warm and careful as they rubbed from knee to ankle and back up again.

Alan studied the young man sitting at his feet, ministering to him in a sweetly subservient manner. He was both touched and strongly aroused by the service. He groaned softly as Jem took his bare foot between his hands and kneaded the instep, heel, and each toe. The tousle-haired youth looked up at him and smiled, a knowing smile that made Alan's breath catch. His heart pounded, aware this was headed to his bedroom, which would change everything.

This was not like that first night, when he'd hired Jem for a last chance at pleasure before ending himself. Once he'd invited the man into his bed this time, he would not be able to resist having him there again and again. They would have something akin to a relationship, an unpardonable crime in the eyes of both God and man.

Blithely unaware of Alan's inner turmoil, Jem moved his attention to the uninjured leg and foot, spreading more joy with his hands. Alan pushed his doubts and fears aside, relaxed back into his chair, and watched the assurance with which Jem manipulated his limbs.

“You've had some experience at this?”

“Aye, me old granny—well, she wasn't really my granny, but I called her that—had sore joints and used to pay me a penny to ease her pain.” He winked. “Not nearly as attractive a proposition as rubbing your joints, sir.”

He returned his attention to Alan's war wound, tracing a finger up the length of the scar. “Looks like you nearly lost your leg with this one.”

“Mm. It was the injury that sent me home.”

“Happened at Badajoz?” Jem pressed. “Old Badger told me a bit about that mess. He said you was a trusty trout to him, pulling him to safety. What happened after that?”

Screams, blood, horror, his men out of control and committing atrocities the likes of which he'd never seen in all his years of active service. It was as if they were possessed, and he could do nothing to rein them in. Then, a sharp pain in his leg, and he went down. A glancing blow to his head, and he was out of it until he woke with Mr. Schivvers bending over him.

“I got shot,” he answered simply.

“Is that when you got this one too?” Jem knelt between his knees and reached to touch Alan's side. Beneath his shirt was the cratered scar where another musket ball had once caught him.

“No. That was from years before.”

“You've been hard used, sir.” Jem began unfastening the shirt, and Alan didn't stop him. “You've earned a rest from battle and a little pleasure after all your heroics.”

“I'm no hero. I simply did my job,” he muttered, thinking of all those he hadn't been able to save in the ruined city. “And not always well.”

“I'm sure you did the very best you could, sir.” Warm hands slipped beneath his shirt and undershirt to glide across his stomach. “And old Badgeman, at least, is eternally grateful to you.”

The pressure of Jem's body between his spread knees, his hands roaming across his skin, had Alan's cock throbbing with every heartbeat. God, how he wanted those clever hands to finish disrobing him and wrap around his shaft. How he wanted that pursed mouth to encircle his cock and draw him into warmth and wetness. He'd not forgotten the feeling of Jem sucking him when he woke that other morning. In fact, he'd relived the experience every morning, and evening, and at odd hours of the day, ever since then. The only memory to supersede it had been the even more intense one of having his cock buried in the other man's rear, Jem's sweaty, heaving body trapped beneath him.

“Not here.” Alan shoved Jem's hands away from his rib cage. “In my room.”

“Yes, sir.” Jem grinned and rose to stand above him for a moment, looking down. He offered his hand to pull Alan to his feet. Their hands remain clasped as they stood facing each other. “You won't regret it. Not if you don't insist on feeling regret. Let go of your guilt, I say, and allow yourself to have what you want.”

Looking into the young thief's earnest eyes, Alan found he believed him. He
could
let go of his guilt. He
wanted
to simply relax and give in to temptation, to have what he wanted…but not right here where the servants might interrupt them.

He grabbed Jem into a hard embrace and pressed a swift kiss on his mouth before pulling away.

“Upstairs,” he reiterated, and led the way from the room.

With the bedroom door safely closed and locked behind them, clothing was torn off and fluttered to the floor like discarded rags. Soon both men were naked and locked in an embrace.

To clasp Jem's lean, hard body in his arms and feel skin sliding over skin, muscular arms welded around his back, hairy thighs and groin pressed against his own, a hot mouth latched on to his, was the fulfillment of all Alan had longed for.

Or nearly all. There were other things, and he proceeded to make those fantasies come true. He slid his hands down Jem's back and grasped his rear, the taut globes filling his hands with satisfactory heft. He drew his mouth away from Jem's with a deep inhalation and began to kiss his jaw, his neck, and his chest. The salty taste of the other man's skin was a delectable treat and made Alan want more. His cock ached nearly as much as his bad leg, which was beginning to tremble with the need for him to remove his weight from it.