The Gentleman and the Rogue (15 page)

Alan didn't answer.

“I expect you clap eyes on huge tracts of land without a house in view near every day of your life.”

Alan nodded.

“Will you teach me to drive the animals?”

“Eventually.”

“Look here,” Jem said, prodding just a little more. “When I'm pleased with God and creation, good luck keeping me quiet. But I'll give you a choice. I can sing if you'd rather. Or let my tongue run on wheels. Or if you can't abide either, I might whistle. I could practice a few pig calls since we're heading through the country. Could be a useful skill.”

Alan glanced at him. “What if I ordered you to be silent?”

Jem shrugged. “When I feel this happy? I might last a half hour, then burst into song at the top of my lungs.”

“What have you to be happy about? It's a long, arduous journey on bad roads.”

Jem made a rude noise with his mouth. “What have you got to be sad about? It's a lovely day, you got fine company, though I do say so myself. You're hying off to right a wrong and save an innocent. Cook promised she'd pack some of those mince pasties. Wonder if she lied to me.” He twisted on the seat and peered down at the wickerwork basket. “Would break my heart.”

“You're rather like a child,” Alan said but he didn't sound scornful, and his tight mouth had relaxed.

“I skipped that part o' life. So I decided to try again when I can.”

“Poor Jem.” He spoke softly.

“No such thing, sir. At this moment, I'd rather be Jem Brown than the Prince Regent himself.”

“Why's that?”

He wanted to say
because I'm here with you
, but answered, “Cook's pasties, of course.”

At last. Alan's thin face broke into a smile. And Jem couldn't help himself. “Seeing you smile, too. That's worth a king's ransom.”

And of course, the smile vanished at once. He even shifted away from Jem, although the need to reposition his body might have been discomfort in his leg.

No, it was another sort of discomfort. Of that Jem grew certain as Alan stared out over the horses' backs, as if they were back driving through the busy streets of London instead the nearly empty road heading north.

Jem figured he'd push the man a little more and clear the air. After all, Sir Alan wouldn't order him down from the carriage and demand he walk back. “About Jerry and Noah,” he said.

Alan's brows furrowed. Then his face cleared, remembering. “Your visitors.”

“Yah. Them. They're not such cod's heads to dare peach on…um…about what we are.”

Sure enough, the broad shoulders went back, and the hard face turned granite. But the baronet didn't deny or protest the phrase “what we are.”

That had to be a step in a good direction, perhaps. “Why wouldn't they?” he asked after a long silence.

“Three fine reasons. I know plenty o' secrets about those coves. Because we've known each other donkeys' ages, and loyalty matters. And because they know I'd kill 'em.”

“You have a reputation as a bloodthirsty ruffian, do you?”

“Where I come from, a man protects what's vital to him.” Jem shut his mouth tight. What an idiot thing to slip. He was a chuckleheaded dolt to say something that might provoke the other's terror of intimacy.

But Sir Alan didn't understand what he'd just accidentally confessed, for he only nodded. “You said as much. You're not likely to get a better job.”

For the first time since they set out, Jem's mood grew heavy. “No, sir, that's true enough,” he agreed and looked out over the fields. Too much damned green.

Alan must have been crazy to drag his “valet” along on this trip. To sit on that bench with Jem next to him, so close he could feel the warmth from the other's thigh against his—that was a short ride to insanity.

He forgot the lunacy of the idea as they left London, and Jem's eyes widened at the countryside opening up before them. Jem's delight lightened Alan's dark mood slightly. Watching him discover the new world outside London was almost as exciting as the times they'd touched. Almost.

Then the man had shut down, grown quiet. Alan had thought his chatter was annoying; the silence was much worse. He suspected he was being punished for reminding Jem his job was contingent on good behavior.

“Stop sulking,” he ordered.

“Sulking?” Jem sounded astonished. “Me, sir? No such thing. Just thinking, is all.”

“A thought entered your head that you didn't share?”

Jem smiled, not the usual broad, sunny smile, but close enough. “Near unbelievable, but can happen, sir.” He fell silent again.

“Share 'em,” Alan said gruffly. “What you're thinking, I mean.” He didn't have a high opinion of men who couldn't hold back their own pain or joy. Emotional displays were the sign of an ill-bred mind. But he'd already decided there were worse things than ill breeding.

Jem sighed. “Naw, but I'll tell you another tale if you wish.”

“God, no. There is no need for you to act the jester, Jem.”

“Comes natural. 'Sides, I like anything that makes you laugh.”

Not again. Alan wanted to protest, but he'd asked for the man's confidences, and now he didn't want to scorn them. He had trouble breathing as he tried to think of a way to talk about something that shouldn't exist, which he must deny—the attraction. Lightly, as if he were Jem, he asked, “Didn't your mother ever teach you not to wear your heart on your sleeve?”

The crack of laughter from Jem was loud and entirely without amusement. “She practically taught me naught else, me mum. Ah, Mum. I ever tell you she was a Covent Garden nun—a doxy?”

Alan didn't speak, almost afraid of what he'd hear. He glanced over at Jem and gave a tiny nod to show he was listening.

Jem looked away. “My mum weren't a bad whore. Honest at her work, I mean. No side jobs with smash and grabbers waiting for her to lure customers into dark alleys. Proficient too. She could do two men at once and leave 'em both smiling.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What for? You ever take her? No, no sorry, sir.”

He fell silent, and Alan understood that Jem worried his brief, bitter outburst had offended his master. As calmly as possible, Alan said, “Go on. Please.”

Jem pushed a hand through his curling hair and shrugged as if the rest of the story were obvious. “In her world, she could do men, but I couldn't. She discovered my nature, and that meant farewell, Jem. Last time we met up, she spat on me. You'd think one in her line of work would be less prone to casting stones, but I expect everyone wants to feel higher than someone.”

“Jem.” He tried to think of what he could say. There was nothing.

But the other was shaking his head. “Naw, she weren't bad when I was a babe. Fed me, didn't beat me. I seen far worse than me mum.” He laughed, and this time there was a bit of humor. “A stirring declaration of love.”

He rubbed his hands on his trousers. “Now your mum, sir? She looked a sweet lady. You miss her, I know.”

After Jem had shared his story, it seemed churlish not to reciprocate, so Alan felt he had to answer. “I was lucky to have had her as a mother. To have had such a family. They were good people, my mother and father. They…” But he couldn't speak. For the first time since they'd been wiped out by disease, lost to him, he'd been able to think of his family and remember without searing, bitter pain at losing them. Then, just like that, the ache of their loss filled him again. Unlike the other times in the past, he didn't shut it down at once.

“They died within days of one another. A putrid fever took them, and I didn't know. I was in Spain, and I'd received my injury, and then grew ill as well.” To his horror, tears formed in his eyes. He'd been worried about Jem's display of emotion, and now look at this.

He squeezed his hands on the reins hard to pull back control.

He started when Jem put a hand on his thigh. “No,” he growled, refusing the comfort or even the acknowledgement of his pain.

Jem tightened his powerful fingers on his leg. “No one can say no to nature when she's calling. I know you don't want to be slowed at all. Do I stand up and let loose into the air, or jump off and run to catch up?”

How many times did Alan have to feel like a bloody fool with this man? He pulled on the reins. “We've been working the horses too hard to stop at once. We must slow for a time.” He let the horses walk for a couple of minutes, then drew to a stop.

“Good idea to stop, sir. I'd be liable to fall off while waving me pego in the air. You'd have to lash me corpse to the back.”

Alan couldn't help chuckling. He handed the reins to Jem, whose eyes widened. “Just hold them for a minute.” He jumped down. “We'll rest for five minutes.” Alan grabbed the lead's bridle and led the team off the road and onto a dirt path toward the shade of a few trees.

He considered ordering Jem to work, but instead he pulled the bucket off the back of the phaeton, where he'd ordered Markham to attach it and the man had grumbled that it ruined the lines of the sleek carriage. He filled the bucket with water from a nearby pond and held it up to the horses one by one so they could drink. Alan held up the last bucketful and leaned against the side of the horse. He already knew he missed riding; now he realized he'd missed working with animals and soaking in their stolid, undemanding presence.

Jem must have been lying about his need, for instead of relieving himself, he flopped down on his back on the soft new grass. And almost at once sat up again. “Damp,” he announced. “Shoulda spread something first.” He went to the cart and pulled out a thick coverlet. “Mrs. C. probably counts the linens every day,” he said as he flapped it out before carefully placing it on the grass under a tree. “She'll be waiting for me return with a kitchen knife in her hand. Dull so it'd hurt more as she skinned me.”

He lay down again and patted the ground next to him. “Five minutes. In the shade. Rest.”

Alan pulled out his watch and flicked it open. “No more than that. We've gone thirty miles. We have more than one hundred to go, and I want to get there in a matter of days, not weeks. We're in luck because the moon is full, but if it's overcast, we won't be able to travel at night. The next inn where I know I can arrange for a fresh, decent team is a good two hours away.”

“Two hours and five minutes,” Jem said.

“Have I made it plain that I'm in a hurry?” Alan asked, even as he tucked away his watch and sat down on the edge of the blanket. “I'm not here to dally.”

“Mm.” Jem slid closer. “No long kisses and sighs. Fast and furious.”

“No.” Alan sprang to his feet—or tried to. His leg started to give out, and he lurched slightly—toward Jem, who laid a strong hand on his hip to steady him.

Jem's eyes widened. “I'm offended, sir. You think I can't manage in five minutes?”

“Manage what?” Then looking into the bottomless sky blue eyes, Alan knew exactly what Jem meant.

“How about a wager, sir? Five minutes or less, and you let me drive when we start out again.”

“And if it's longer than five minutes?” Oh blast. His question, meant as a weak jest, was an invitation which Jem wouldn't ignore. The man had already risen to his knees. He was unbuttoning Alan's fly.

Alan needed to break away, move back from the busy hands, but he was frozen with desire, staring down at the top of Jem's sun-warmed head as he pulled out Alan's stiffening cock and rubbed his lips gently over the head. His tongue washed over the top, then along the sensitive underside.

“You decide, sir. Whatever it is, I agree to your terms.”

Alan couldn't answer because at that second, Jem turned greedy. A sudden, fierce attack, with so little warning.

He seized Alan's hip, then wrapped an arm around his waist. Without so much as a kiss or a lick, he opened his mouth and set to work on Alan's cock. No gentle caresses or playful licks, he gobbled and sucked, pulling hard.

Alan groaned and pushed forward. The warm mouth surrounded him, and the rush of instantaneous desire flooded him, overriding every other thought and sensation. His whole existence depended on Jem's mouth. Nothing else mattered—not the ache in his leg or the need to be on his way.

A bird indignantly squawked nearby. A breeze touched Alan's face. His thrusts grew more insistent. He treated Jem's mouth roughly, but Jem gave a low sound of approval, and the vibration of his voice added to the driving hunger in Alan's body. So close already.

Alan pushed deeper, and Jem's throat stuttered around him. Too deep, but Alan couldn't help himself—and didn't even try. It felt so good. He looked down and saw why Jem no longer held him. His fingers were wrapped around his own cock, moving hard and fast. Such a sight—a fully dressed man with his cock out, frantically pulling—should have shocked him. Such self-pollution, dirty…and gorgeous. Jem touched himself because he craved Alan.

The sight and realization were too much to bear. Alan almost blacked out as the sudden explosion of a climax hit him. The spasms shook his body, drawn by the unrelenting pull of Jem's mouth.

When Alan could open his eyes, he looked down at Jem, who now licked Alan's cock gently, almost lovingly. The air washed over him, cooling the saliva-dampened skin. Alan couldn't move or he'd fall over. He heard the soft sighing of Jem, who'd also spent, although Alan had no notion when.

Still on his knees, Jem wrapped both arms around Alan, pressing his warm face against his softening cock and trembling legs. Alan touched his hair, the first time he'd reached for him with more than his cock during this interlude.

Jem had moved so quickly, with no kisses or embraces, this episode might have been one of those fumbling, anonymous gropings Alan had indulged in before. Except not quite. None of those releases had held such power. And none of those men had held him close like this afterward.

Jem pressed his face to the sensitive skin of Alan's inner thighs. He gave a gusty sigh against him, kissed him, and muttered something. He climbed to his feet, tucking in his shirt and buttoning his flies.

Alan put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed his silent thanks. Then with unsteady fingers, he reached for his own trousers, which had slid down to his knees. Absurd sight, he thought—for once without caring much.