Read Online The Gentleman and the Rogue by Bonnie Dee, Summer Devon - Free Book Online Page B

chatting about the painting as if they held a conversation.
    “Yes, I'd say so. Though not as tall, he's the older brother. Oh, and your mum is pretty and your dad a solemn old cove. Quite distinguished, but not such an old stick as some. Are you lot as happy as you look there?”
    Alan didn't want to answer. “I'm the only one left,” he said flatly. “I'd prefer not to discuss the matter.” His voice was steady and cool, thank goodness.
    “Oh.” Jem looked at him at last. Thank God he didn't offer any driveling words of sympathy.
    “Come on,” Alan said, and they left the room in silence.
    As they entered the dining room, Jem spoke again. “Is your loss a recent one, sir?”
    “I said I do not wish to speak about the matter.”
    “Yah, you did. But I wasn't sure if you meant it.”
    “Christ, man,” he snapped. “I speak plain English.”
    “What you speak of and what you long for are a fair distance apart, pardon my saying so.”
    Alan's breath hissed out on a curse. He suspected Jem taunted him for his cowardice in not facing up to his sick tastes. “And if I don't pardon your impudence?” He'd moved closer to Jem, anger pulsing through him.
    The corners of Jem's eyes crinkled, the hint of a smile. “You'll get your bloody big badger to scoop out me insides, or do it yourself. Not that I'd blame you a bit—a nosy beggar like me, prying into your business. Thing is, you interest me, Lord Alan.”
    Alan steadied himself. He didn't want to speak of his family, and he didn't want to throw Jem out—although God knew why.
    He could hear Jem's soft, fast breath, and Alan's anger began to turn into something worse. Arousal beat in his veins and stiffened his cock with every heartbeat. He stepped back from the temptation.
    “I'm not Lord anyone.” He headed for the window to put some space between them. The bright spring morning beckoned. The doctor had pronounced his leg still too weak to ride. He wondered if Jem rode horses.
    “No title, then?” Jem asked.
    “I'm a baronet, which makes me Sir Alan.” Turning from the window, he met Jem's eyes. Why the hell not tell his name? He didn't fear blackmail from this source, not really.
    “Sir Alan Watleigh,” he finished.
    Jem's eyes widened, and his arched brows rose higher. He touched his forelock in a proper salute. “An honor, Sir Alan Watleigh.” There wasn't a trace of playfulness in his manner. “Jem Brown, at your service.” He bowed.
    Alan felt a surge of warmth which wasn't lust this time. He was oddly touched by the small sign of respect from a man who appeared to regard everything in life with glib irony and a dismissive casualness.
    “I suppose I might show you the garden,” he said, changing the subject.
    As he led his guest outside, Alan realized he was doing everything in his power to prolong Jem's stay. What would he show him next, the attic? The kitchen and the servants' quarters?
    The thought was born in sarcasm but blossomed into an idea—a way he could keep Jem around longer than one night. The concept was preposterous, yet even as he examined it from every ludicrous angle, Alan knew he was going to make the offer.
    “Mm, smells good.” Jem turned in a circle on the stone path that led through the shrubbery and inhaled the bit of nature. “Ain't seen this much green in a long time. Not a lot of gardens in the circles I frequent.”
    When Alan didn't respond, the young man looked sharply at him. “What's troubling your nob now? You're the hardest-thinking man I ever clapped eyes on. Should give your brain a rest before you break it.”
    Alan cleared his throat. His heart pounded and his cheeks were burning. How ridiculous to be blushing, to be making this suggestion, to be afraid Jem would laugh when he heard it and refuse. Alan's misgivings clamored to be heard, but he spoke over them.
    “I was wondering if you might consider a position on my household staff.”
    Jem stared at him and waited.
    “Perhaps permanent employment