The Gentleman and the Rogue (16 page)

The horses must have been scandalized.

Come now, when did he suddenly feel so lighthearted about such activity? “What did you say?” he asked Jem, reaching over to take a pale green leaf from his hair.

“I was four minutes, no more. Go on, look.”

He pulled out his watch. “More like eight, Jem. You lose. But…” He cleared his throat, which had grown tight. “But I yield to your desire to learn to drive. Come on.”

* * *

“They look annoyed when you pull 'em up from eating,” Jem said nervously.

His mobile mouth had drawn into a tight line, and his hands were tucked into his pockets. Alan understood at last. “You're frightened of horses.”

“I near been run over by them bunch of times. And saw a couple go wild. Rearing up and screaming.”

“Haven't you ever touched horses?”

Jem shot him a scornful look. “Would you let a dirty street lad pat your cattle, sir? 'Course not—you're sane. Rag-and-bone man had an old nag I patted a few times. Most boys threw stones at it, so no wonder it flinched when I touched its neck.”

“A light touch makes a horse flinch. It's how they keep off the flies. How odd you can be surrounded by the animals and not know them well.”

“Back where I come from, I was surrounded by banks. Doesn't mean I know money well.”

“Lay your hand on his neck.”

Jem did. He closed his eyes. “So warm.” He stroked and stroked again. “Damper 'n I expected.”

“We moved at a good clip long enough earlier, so they broke into a sweat. Come on, then. We'll get you started on the lessons.” He thought of how his father had taught him, letting him sit on his lap. Arms around him so they might both hold the reins together. That would not work with Jem.

“Why're you grinning, sir? I haven't even begun to make mistakes.”

“You're not the only thing I smile at, Jem.” And then he realized that wasn't true. Since they'd met, nearly every smile and laugh had been about Jem. A startling and disturbing thought.

“True enough,” Jem said, vaulting up and settling himself on the bench. “The badger is a rollicking jolly lad. And your legions of chums who visit day and—”

“Enough,” Alan said. He climbed up more slowly. His leg ached, and he was tired from searing emotion. The sweet peace created by the climax hadn't given way to disgust, and he would not push into dark corners to wake the demons. “The horses are not fresh, so they aren't so mettlesome. But you need to pay attention, Jem. Especially with four in hand.”

“Sir, yes sir,” he said and did a fair imitation of a salute.

Alan sighed. “I count myself lucky you never followed the drum. I would have had to use the cat o' nines on you every morning and every night if you'd been in my company. Come on. Put out your hands. You don't need to grip 'em like death, but don't let the ribbons slide out of your control.”

“Did you beat your men regular-like?”

Alan shook his head. “There were a couple of minor troublemakers—one can't find a large group of men without any such—but no real dangerous influences or criminals.”

“No thieves.”

Alan didn't bother to answer.

Jem took hold of the lines as directed. Although he looked a little anxious, he still didn't stop prattling.

“This lot is not as pretty as your cattle we left behind.”

“I should hope not. The inns don't buy the best horses.”

“And you do?”

“I like horses.”

The reins were too loose in Jem's hands, and the animals started to slow, more than happy to take another break. Alan reached over and showed him how to gather the lines and apply the right amount of tension. He loved the way Jem's thin, long-fingered hands felt beneath his. He couldn't look at them without thinking of how they felt gliding over his body and the clever things Jem's fingers could do.

“You have to let them know you're in charge,” he instructed.

Jem nodded, taking a firmer grip. He slapped the reins against the horses' backs, and they stepped smartly forward.

“You see, there's nothing to it. The important thing is to keep the tension in your arms steady so they know you're guiding them.” Alan glanced at the younger man's face, the furrow of concentration balanced by a slight smile. “So, do you like driving?”

“Aye! Horses are much more pleasant when you're not on the business end of their hooves. I can quite enjoy 'em from up here on the box.” He glanced at Alan with a grin, and Alan's heart nearly stopped.

I'm in trouble
. He realized it all in a second. Jem's beautiful smile was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Alan could no longer deny his growing emotional attachment to the youth, the feelings that were more than sexual arousal.

He liked Jem. He quite simply liked him very much and could imagine being bathed in that sunny smile every day for the rest of his days. That was a dangerous course on which to let his mind wander.

Alan looked away across the countryside. Tall meadow grass and flowers swayed in the breeze, rippling like ocean waves. Skylarks darted and dived over the wild fields, snapping up insects. The sun bore down on Alan's head, and sweat trickled down his face. He removed his broad-brimmed hat and fanned his face. He'd nearly sunk into a light doze, lulled by the rhythm of the carriage and the hot sun, when Jem's clear tenor voice singing startled him awake.

“'
If you'd get over a maid, tickle and amuse her. Anything she asks, mind you ne'er refuse her. Walk her out each day, o'er the fields romantic. Roll her in the hay, with many a lustful antic
.'”

Jem belted out the “tol de rols” and “fiddle ie dees” like a warbling lark. He glanced at Alan. “You surely know this one. Join in on the next go around.

“'
First her bubbies feel, to raise her hot desire. Next just feel her thigh, then a little higher! If she won't wince at that, put Bob in her grasp then. And depend when it she feels, she'll take a precious rasping
!'” He nodded at Alan to join in the chorus, but he remained mute, shaking his head.

“'
If she simpers 'oh!' embrace her, then caress her. Disrobe her form below, entwine round her and press her. Soon you'll find her yield, for her lust gets stronger. One more close embrace, and she's a maid no longer
!'

“You're not going to make me go it alone this time. Come along, sir.” Jem elbowed him, and Alan reluctantly and nearly silently mouthed the “tol de rols.”

Jem gave him a stern look, but carried on. “'
But if a widow you'd kiss, you must be much bolder. For as they've sipt the bliss, they don't feel much the colder! If you'd seduce a maid, you must swear, and sigh, and flatter. But if you'd win a widow, you must down with your breeches and at her
!'”

This time Jem roared out the chorus, and Alan tried to join in with a little more heart. They repeated the chorus one last time, ending in loud and ragged dissonance that sent crows cawing up from the field they were passing.

“P'raps it'd be better after a pint or two,” Jem said. He glanced at Alan with a sly smirk. “Or if one of us had a few singing lessons.”

“I sing adequately,” Alan declared. “I don't happen to know that ditty.”

“Sing me something then. Fill the hours.” Jem slapped the lines again, and the slowing horses resumed their speed.

Alan's first impulse was to deny the request, but Jem was always entertaining him. He should return the favor. Other than the church hymns he'd been raised on, his musical knowledge was limited. In his younger days, he'd been quite an aficionado of opera but couldn't sing anything from memory, which was probably just as well. However, he was a prodigious reader and had memorized some poetry.

“Are you familiar with Lord Byron?” He half closed his eyes as he recalled some of the stanzas of the newly published “Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.”

“'
Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth, Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Oh, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee; Few earthly things found favour in his sight Save concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree
.'”

“Sounds like my kind of lad, a real bounder. Go on,” Jem prompted.

Alan carried on with as many verses as he could remember until he reached, “'
And now I'm in the world alone, Upon the wide, wide sea; But why should I for others groan, When none shall sigh for me? Perchance my dog shall whine in vain Till fed by stranger hands; But long ere I come back again He'd tear me where he stands
.'”

“Gawd, no wonder you were like to throttle yourself the night I met you, if that's the tone of what you been reading in them great books of yours.” Jem shook his head. “'Tis a good rhyme, though. Is there more?”

Alan obliged. So caught up was he in the story, which he continued to paraphrase long after he'd run through all the parts he'd memorized, that he was surprised to find it was time to stop for tea.

They watered the horses from a running stream and ate Cook's pasties by the side of the water. Gnats and black flies danced around their heads, detracting from the picturesque setting. They quickly finished their meal and resumed the journey.

After they changed horses, Jem took a turn entertaining by telling one lewd joke after another.

Alan couldn't remember when he'd laughed so hard, less from the hilarity of the stories as from the pure joy of the company he kept.

At last he caught sight of the spires and rooftops of Leicester ahead and pointed them out to Jem. “There's where we'll stop for the night.”

“Glad to hear it. Me bum's had enough of rattlin' around in this old cart. Not that the seat ain't plush and all,” he quickly amended.

“No, you're right. We've kept up a hectic pace, and the phaeton isn't meant for long journeys. I'll admit my leg's aching. We'll find the best lodging at the Harrier Inn, or so I've been told. I haven't found cause to travel to Leicester before now.”

Being in sight wasn't the same as being close, and it took almost another hour for them to reach the town. Alan located the hostelry which had been recommended to him and made arrangement for fresh horses for the morrow, after which he and Jem went inside to procure rooms for the night.

Jem carried Alan's bag upstairs. He hung his clothes, then turned to him. “What now, sir? A bite of supper? I don't know about you, but me spine's clattering against me rib cage, I'm that hungry.”

“We shall be obliged to part ways,” Alan told him. “You'll take your dinner belowstairs and I in the main dining area. There are separate quarters for servants traveling with their masters. I'll summon you in the morning, but make certain you rise early and are ready.”

“Yes, sir. I'll not be a slugabed.” Jem gave him a jaunty salute and left the room. It was as if someone had blown out the lamp, leaving Alan to fumble around in the dark.

He ate alone in the public room, not eager to seek out a peer to share the meal even though he spied Sir Henry Blackstone across the room. Alan didn't care to make small talk or answer the inevitable questions about why he was traveling. But solitude left him with plenty of time to think, both about how he would deal with Schivvers and, naturally, about Jem.

The scamp had grown important to him. Life would have been simpler if he'd tossed him out as he'd threatened to after catching him entertaining guests in the parlor. But Alan simply couldn't do it. Besides, the lad hadn't deserved to be tossed back into the gutter for his foolishness. Alan knew how desolate his life there had been, despite Jem's cheerful attitude about it. He couldn't bear the thought of such a bright, clever, joyful young man being ground down by life's harshness, or worse, meeting an untimely death.

So Alan would keep his new valet with him regardless of the danger of his growing attachment to a thief, who may or may not have been plotting with his friends to rob the house. He didn't completely trust him yet, but instinct told him Jem was, at heart, a good man. Likely he'd remain loyal as long as Alan continued to feed and clothe him.

With his plate empty and the last drop of port swallowed, Alan took himself up to his room, limping from the stiffness in his leg. As he slid under the covers, he wished Jem was there to rub his leg and ease his pain. Rub some other parts, too.

He lay, longing for the other man's warm body to be curled up beside his and dreaming about kisses and caresses, until at last he drifted off into an actual dream. The languid, erotic tone of the encounter turned to a nightmare as Jem was snatched away by Mr. Schivvers and Alan searched for him in vain.

Bits of real memory were swirled into the mix—blood, death, violence, and a pervading sense of helplessness. There was nothing he could do to stop what was happening or change the outcome. He was a failure. If he found Jem at all, it would be with his throat cut and perhaps with a leg or arm amputated. He couldn't protect or save him from the evil force that had taken him.

Alan woke, gasping, tangled in sweat-drenched sheets. He sat bolt upright and stared at the gray square of window that signaled the coming dawn. He'd thought the worst of his nightmares were behind him—hadn't had one since Jem had come to stay—but the bone-melting terror was back.

He lay awake, trying not to recall the terror of that dream and how the fear all hinged on the loss of Jem. As soon as he possibly could, he rose, hoping he could leave the uncomfortable thoughts behind in the uncomfortable bed.

Chapter Ten

To save time, they traveled through the next day and long into the moonlit night. They slept outside, each man wrapped in his own blanket, much to Jem's regret, though he'd fallen asleep quickly.

They changed horses at the inns, and Alan kept up the breakneck pace though the roads grew less smooth.

The third day into the journey, and Jem couldn't bear the thought of suffering another bone-jarring foot of road. He wished they'd never left London and planned to never set foot outside the city again if they ever got home safely. He wished Badgeman hadn't heard about the girl in peril or that he'd waited one more day to learn the crucial information that his quest was in England. Then sweet, charming old badger would be the one whose bum felt like it had been beaten by the thickest truncheon ever.