The Gentleman and the Rogue (13 page)

He took a step toward the door. “Good to see you lads. I'd ask you in, but this is my place of employment. I can't entertain.”

“'Cept we're already in, ain't we?” Jerry grinned. “Aw, come on, Jemmy. Don't be niffy-naffy. You ain't too high-and-mighty for your best mates, are you? At least offer us a tipple. Your gent wouldn't begrudge you that, would he? Is he a kind one?”

Jem glanced at the crystal goblet he still carried and wished he'd set it aside before coming to the door. The drink made it look like he was a man of leisure rather than a well-dressed servant. “Yes. He's a very decent employer.”

He knew he wasn't fooling them with his story of becoming a valet. They'd worked the streets along with him. They knew what service he was supplying.

“That's good, lad. You deserve a cushy life.”

Jem was torn between shoving his mates right back out the door and giving them a quick tour. Surely it couldn't hurt to offer them one drink. Mrs. Crimpett would be gone for hours and so would Alan. The maids all loved him. They'd keep their traps shut.

As if sensing him teetering, Noah prodded. “Come on. One drink, man, and we'll be on our way. Don't be such a marplot.” He touched his finger to his nose. “No one the wiser, eh?”

Jem's inner voice, the one that had saved him from trouble so many times, was clamoring to be heard, but he quashed it. He was bored and bottle-headed, slightly drunk from the brandy, and he wanted to show off his good fortune.

“All right. Come on, then.” He led the way to the parlor and seated his guests on the green-and-gold-striped divan. Going to the sideboard, he poured two glasses of amber liquid and handed them to Jerry and Noah, then sat across from them in the master's chair. He crossed one leg over the other and swung his foot a little so they couldn't miss the glint of his shoe buckle.

“What's the latest in the stews?” he asked as he took a sip of the brandy.

The pair launched into one tale after another of friends and acquaintances who'd been up to all sorts of mischief and mayhem in the time he'd been gone.

“…then Peg throws a bottle at his head, it shatters on the wall behind him, glass raining down and cutting people at the table below. Seconds later, everyone was at each other's throats. Hangman's was wrecked and both Peg and Bill Wheaton banned from it for life. But just try to keep them two out of a pub, eh?” Jerry's face was red, and tears streamed down his plump cheeks.

Jem laughed. He was feeling fine, warm in his belly and fizzy in his mind. It was good to see his old mates and to sit there in his fancy clothes, holding court.

Noah got up and started circling the room, examining the statues and paintings. “Christ, Jem, 'tisn't a bouncer. You've done well for yourself.”

The fizzy bubbles popped, unclouding his mind, and Jem watched his friend with sharp eyes. Noah was notoriously light-fingered, better at thieving than he and Jerry put together. The tall blond could make things disappear as if by magic.

Jem rose to his feet and wandered over to stand beside Noah and stare into the ornate-framed looking glass hanging on the wall. He studied his reflection and Noah's. Jem looked like he belonged here. With his neatly cut hair and fine clothes, he could pass for the young master of the house. Noah, on the other hand, looked like the street riffraff he was. Purple shadows were smudged beneath his eyes, and his skin was sallow.

Noah met Jem's gaze in the mirror. “Can you give us a little something to see us on our way, Jem? Old times' sake, eh? You owe us.”

He thought of all they'd been through together over the past years—the freezing nights huddled together in a dank basement; the hours in the pub or on the street, hustling customers or picking pockets; the times they'd nearly been caught; and the way they'd always had each other's backs.

“Sorry, Noah. I can give you a few coins, blunt from me pocket, but the rest o' this ain't mine, and I'll be fucked before I let you take so much as a piece of lint.”

Noah's eyes narrowed as he hefted the silver figurine of a running horse in his hand. “So that's how it is? You scrape us off and move on?”

Jerry, ever the peacemaker, hurried up behind them. “Now lads, keep it civil. No need to come to blows.”

“What is this?” A voice thundered from across the room.

Jem's stomach felt like it'd been punched. Brandy burned in his throat and in his veins as he turned to face Alan's towering rage.

The man stood in the parlor doorway, his broad shoulders filling it. Wearing dark clothes and with his raven black hair, he looked like death itself come to fetch Jem away. His scowl was fierce, and his voice rumbled like God on high.

“Who are these men? What are they doing here?”

“Friends of mine come to call,” Jem answered weakly.

“Out!” Alan strode across the room in three strides and snatched the running horse from Noah's hand. “Get out of my house.”

Jerry's freckles blotched across his suddenly bone white face. He hurried toward the door. But Noah stared coolly at Alan. “Sorry, guv'nor. Didn't mean to make trouble for our Jem. We just wanted to see his new home and the handsome man he's taken up with. Wouldn't want to cause trouble for him…nor for you.” His emphasis on the last words was clearly a threat.

Alan growled. An actual growling rumble issued from his throat as he seized Noah by his collar and propelled him bodily toward the door. “Out!”

Jem meant to follow, to see them out of the house, but his trembling legs would barely support him. He backed up against the wall and waited for Alan's return, his stomach a boiling mess that threatened to spill out onto the floor. He heard the front door slam and the hard tap of Alan's boot heels as he returned to the parlor.

“I'm sorry…” were all the words he had time to utter before Alan grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. The back of his head cracked against the looking glass.

“What were you thinking, inviting your friends here? They could blackmail me. They could cost me a fortune and my reputation. You little fool!”

The back of Jem's head ached, and his teeth chattered as Alan shook him.

“Or did you intend something else? Some thievery perhaps?”

“No, sir. I swear. Nothing like that. I'd hardly invite them here in broad daylight if we intended to rob you.” He'd said too much. Made it sound like the thought had crossed his mind, which in truth it had at one point early on. But not recently—not anymore.

Alan shook him again and bile rose in Jem's throat. He feared vomiting on his master's pristine white shirt.

“Why did you tell them where you lived, and why did you let them in? What possessed you?”

“I didn't think—”

“No, you didn't think. That's clear,” Alan interrupted. “And now you're going to have to leave. I can't trust you. I can't keep you around.”

Jem literally felt the blood rushing from his head. He thought he might pass out if he didn't throw up first. This was much worse than he'd expected. Not that he'd expected any of this. How had everything spiraled so quickly out of his control? By one foolish action, he'd destroyed everything—his entire future and all the good things he'd had.

Alan dropped him onto his feet, and Jem stood, swaying slightly.

“Go. Get your things and get out, and if you dare try to cause any kind of trouble, you can be sure my vengeance will be much harsher than you could ever imagine.”

He didn't even sound like Alan, but every inch the military leader whose commands made soldiers quake.

“Yes, sir.” Jem started to move, then stopped.

“What is it?” The voice was like a whip lashing across his soul.

Jem blinked away the sudden tears that prickled his eyes. “Badgeman burned my clothes. I can't get my things. I don't have…anything.”

A wave of loss swept over him, and he bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“You may have the clothes I purchased for you. I've no need of them.”

“Thank you,” he barely whispered and started the long walk to the door.

It wasn't like him not to explain, wheedle, or beg, but he couldn't do it. Not this time. Alan's accusations and mistrust had cut him too deeply. He thought the man knew him better, but he'd taken one look at Jem's friends and assumed the worst. Why wouldn't he? What had Jem done to convince him otherwise?

Alan followed him to the hallway. Before Jem could head toward the back of the house and the servants' entrance, Dicky erupted into the parlor, hands waving and eyes wide.

“Wait, sir! 'Twas all my fault. I let those men in. Jem didn't do it. Please, sir. Don't dismiss him. Sorry for eavesdroppin', but I overheard you a-yelling, and it ain't right for Jem to pay for what I done. Not again.” His chest rose and fell rapidly, and breath wheezed between his lips. His gray-streaked hair was awry, as were his clothes, but that was hardly unusual for Dicky.

Jem laid a hand on his shoulder. “It's all right, Dicky. You done nothing wrong. I shoulda sent 'em away, but I didn't. My mistake, not yours, so calm yerself.” He clapped him once on the shoulder, then continued on his way. “I woulda let 'em in too, I reckon.”

“Wait.” Alan's command stopped him in his tracks.

He waited, breath held, heart pounding.

Alan came up beside him. Jem wouldn't turn to look at him, but felt his presence and those dark, solemn eyes studying him. “Why didn't you send them away when you knew you should have?”

Jem risked a sideways glance at him. “Pride, sir. Vanity. They were old mates of mine from way back. I guess I wanted 'em to see how I done good for myself, to show off everything I got now.” He paused, then added, “Only now I ain't got nothing, do I? I buggered myself proper.”

“Ah, Jem.” The words were a barely audible sigh, and Jem knew in that moment that Alan's bloody rage had evaporated like a sudden squall at sea that blows up and disappears in seconds. “You are a fool.”

He gave a short laugh. “Hardly news, sir.” Since he had nothing to lose, he said, “But see, they was my mates once upon a time.” The truth hit him that he'd be back among them. His stomach twisted with sour, unfamiliar fear. He didn't want to go. “Maybe I can run after 'em and catch up.”

“No. Wait.”

Jem clenched his jaw tight, an unexpected flare of anger abruptly replacing his despair over the unraveling of his dreams. Why did his existence here depend on Alan's whim? Did he deserve to be treated like a villain or an object?

“I forgot my place, sir,” he replied stiffly. “Showing off like a swell. As if this were my home. I'm only a servant, after all. I should get sacked.”

He turned then, ready to face Alan, whose dark brows were drawn into that fearful scowl. Their gazes held for almost a full minute, and Jem frowned right back at him. Let the man think what he wished… But no. God above, the truth was that Jem cared too much about that lean, hard face.

Jem swallowed, but the lump in his throat didn't dissolve. “I apologize, sir. And that's all I can do.”

He wanted to keep his dignity, what little he had, but he found his eyes smarted with the threat of tears, and he looked away again, angry with them both now.

Alan took a step forward. His voice dropped even quieter so Dicky wouldn't hear. “You haven't the least notion of how a servant ought to behave.”

Jem clutched his fists at his sides to stop himself from shoving the great fool. Instead he whispered fiercely, “Didn't I say as much already? Didn't your badger? Didn't Mrs. C.? I was neither born nor bred to be in service, and it's no surprise to any of us. Don't know why you should be shocked.”

Alan remained silent, and Jem had more than enough of this torture. “You're right,” Alan said quietly.

Jem nodded, glad that at least the cold anger was gone from Alan. “
You're right
” spoken in a mild tone would be fine to have as his last memory of the man.

“No, Jem. Wait,” Alan repeated.

“Sir, I don't think we owe each other another word—”

“I do. Please. I want you to stay.”

Jem cut another glance toward Alan from the corner of his eye.

“I'm sorry.” Were they actually words, or a mere thought that floated from Alan's mind to his? He'd spoken so softly, Jem wasn't sure.

His chest ached from the wrestling emotions tumbling around in it. Fear, guilt, anger, joy, and other feelings he had no name for played tug-of-war with his guts. But he'd leave 'em to sort themselves out and go with the simplest emotion, something he could wrap his mind around—relief.

He folded his arms across his chest and grinned at Alan. “Well, that's all right, then. Since I've no place better to go, guess I'll stay.”

Alan smiled back, the slow curve of his wide mouth turning his saturnine face stunningly handsome. With predictable reliability, Jem's cock hardened.

“I'm sorry for letting my friends know where I am,” he offered. “I sent word round to the pub where I used to spend my time to let folks know I was alive. All's I said was I'd taken a position as a valet.” He lowered his voice, although Dicky, standing nearby, would likely not understand his meaning. “Nothing anyone could take any other way, but my friends know me well.”

Alan nodded, then addressed the footman. “You may go now, Dicky. Jem will not lose his place. But I wish you would keep this incident to yourself. No need to mention anything to Mrs. Crimpett or any of the maids, right?”

“Yes, sir.” Dicky retreated backward a few paces before turning and scurrying off belowstairs, clearly relieved to have the crisis behind him.

Jem figured the maids had their ears pinned to the doors and had heard much of the row, including the fact he'd had uninvited guests. They'd gossip among themselves, but he felt confident they too would keep the matter from Crimpett. And he'd flirt with 'em a little to make sure. A few compliments and smiles had gone a long way toward ensuring him a place in each of their hearts.

With Dicky gone, Alan returned his attention to Jem. “I lost my temper. I apologize for that, but you do see the danger any hint of scandal puts me in should your friends threaten blackmail. And I was wrong not to trust you, but you did try to steal from me.”

Jem nodded. “Fair enough. But now things've changed, haven't they? And I promise you I'll not take from you nor allow any of me old mates to rob you. You can trust me now, sir.” He looked into Alan's eyes with the long-practiced innocent gaze he'd used when fleecing people. Difference was, this time he meant his promise with all his heart.