The Gentleman and the Rogue by Bonnie Dee, Summer Devon Page A

he asked in low voice without turning from the window. Damn the man, he must have eyes in the back of his head.
    Alan folded his arms over his chest. “I'm only noticing you've gained some weight in the time you've been in my employment.”
    “I have at that. You have as well. But truly, is that all you notice?” Jem looked away from the window, and Alan saw he wore the smile of a ravenous predator.
    Alan's breath quickened, and his cock stirred. “Yes, that is all. We will not behave like animals in the coach.” He commanded his unruly body to relax. Very well, if his desire refused to abate, he would have to fall back on sheer resolve. Not in the park and not here, Alan told himself, and then realized the implications. He hadn't added not in my house.
    It would happen, of course. The ever-present, nagging hunger weakened his resolution. He held his breath, waiting. If Jem so much as touched him now, the last of his qualms would vanish as they had in the park. As they rode through the busy streets, he'd seize Jem and taste his mouth and his skin again.
    Alan sat in the quiet coach, dreading and hoping that Jem might lean against him or brush fingers over his thigh. But the man kept his hands to himself, and they didn't speak again until Badgeman flung open the door in front of the town house.
    “Thank you, Badgeman,” Alan said. He rubbed his leg hard, pretending it hurt, as he waited for his erection to subside. “I'll compose a note to my solicitor immediately.”
    He soon climbed out of the carriage, and without looking back to see if Jem followed, mounted the steps to the house.
    On his way to the study, he was startled by a crash from a room down the hall, accompanied by a distressed oath. “God's blood.” Dicky's favorite.
    Alan paused, wondering if he should go to the room and confront Dicky. What would he say other than “clean up that mess,” which the footman was bound to do anyway.
    The efficient Mrs. Crimpett had recently come to Alan, complaining about Dicky. “ You must see he's not good anymore. You might hire two handsome lads, the same height, sir ,” she pleaded.
    Alan had refused—and not just because he had no interest in filling his house with attractive young men. Bad enough some men lusted after their female servants. Although, God, he'd done just that with Jem, hadn't he?
    He'd told Mrs. Crimpett that as long as Badgeman had no complaints, neither did he. Since the housekeeper was terrified of Badgeman—who had a soft spot for the almost-addled footman and did most of his duties for him—Dicky was there to stay.
    “ One more lie from him, sir ,” Mrs. Crimpett had warned Alan, “ and you must show him the door .”
    Alan hadn't bothered to answer. The old dragon had been with his family forever, and letting her have the last word was the best way to keep her from breathing fire.
    And now Dicky had apparently broken something in the sitting room. No doubt he'd be able to hide the evidence, and no one would notice for days, if he was lucky.
    Alan continued on to the study, reflecting he was a poor steward of his family's possessions. He couldn't care less about many of the things he'd inherited, especially the decorative nonsense. As far as he was concerned, most objects turned into meaningless junk after the people who'd bought and cared about them died. Others, like his father's desk, held too much meaning.
    The crash from the sitting room didn't dismay him in the least. Perhaps that was why he hadn't lost any sleep over hiring a thief. He'd lost a great deal more sleep thinking about the thief's welcoming body lying so close to his own bedchamber.
    Enough useless, painful lust. He sat to write his note summoning Mr. Gardner for Badgeman and promptly forgot about whatever Dicky had broken.
    An hour later, as he awaited the response from the solicitor, he heard another cry of distress coming from the sitting room. Soon after, a babble of excited voices started up. He sighed, put down