Unedited Excerpt:

He stole a glance to his left. Jack was leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. The poor chap must be exhausted, though he never showed it. No matter where they went or what he had to contend with, Jack was always alert, always on hand with the answer a half-second before Scoville uttered the question, always ready with a neatly phrased quip to turn attention away from his deeper feelings.

Until this evening. "He was not mistaken about my nature. Nor my feelings for you."

Dear God. Scoville closed his own eyes. How long had it been--ten years? No, closer to twelve. It wasn't that long after he'd assumed command in India. Had Jack been carrying a torch all this time?  

That would answer one of Scoville's perennial questions, though, wouldn't it—why the man had been willing to settle for a position so far below his potential. Love could do that. If the former sergeant had been a woman, his motive would have been clear as daylight. Of course, if he had been a woman the question would be moot. 

Scoville knew men who could deal perfectly well with marriage. Most of the men he'd shared favors with had been married, in fact, and some even spoke affectionately of their wives. He'd envied them that ability to have a lifemate who was a friend as well as a sexual partner, though he suspected the wives would be horrified to know their husbands were stepping out on them, let alone with a man. 

Or perhaps not. One of his own aunts made no secret of having ordered her husband to get himself a mistress, after the birth of their sixth child. Scoville didn't pretend to understand women; they were simply outside his frame of reference. Bedding one? He didn't think he'd be able to accomplish the act.  

So… marriage with a woman was impossible, marriage with a man was illegal. He had adjusted his personal expectations accordingly, and avoided forming deep attachments with any of his lovers. It had been surprisingly easy; he already had a steadfast companion. 

Who loved him. 

Robert Scoville had not expected that anyone would ever love him, except perhaps in the physical sense. It was a rational policy for a man of his sort, and the men he consorted with had similar expectations. Except for Aurelio, that summer in Rome. Aurelio had told him he was a fool, that he could trip over treasure and never see it for what it was. Aurelio had kissed him farewell and said, "I pity you English. So clever in your heads, so blind in your hearts." 

Right you are, Aurelio. Blind as a bloody bat. 

He had not been paying attention to the two Germans on the other side of sauna; their quiet conversation was a kind of background murmur, and he noticed only when it stopped. They were standing now, wrapping their robes more closely around themselves and preparing to leave. 

He was pleased to see them go. It meant he could look at his companion without arousing their curiosity. Jack looked terribly young asleep in that big robe, his hair ruffled, his lashes two black crescents on his cheeks, his mouth open just a little. So different from the alert, competent aide-de-camp or the impeccable gentleman's gentleman. So different, too, looking at him with the full knowledge that those parted lips were no longer forbidden fruit. That in time, maybe soon, they might become lovers. 

Scoville lost track of time, just watching him sleep. 

But they did have that rendezvous upstairs, and it wouldn't do to be late. The sooner those papers were in their possession and the messenger sent on his way, the sooner they could finish the job and have their lives back. 

Scoville rose, tightened his belt, and glanced through the plate-glass window. Yes, the attendant was just outside, damn him. It wouldn't do to steal a kiss, much as he might want to. Instead, he put out one tentative hand and brushed the side of Jack's face with the back of his fingers. 

Jack's eyes flew open. Wordlessly, he reached up and covered Scoville's hand with his own, leaning into the touch. Their fingers wove together as though they'd done this a thousand times. It was nothing that could be seen outside the room, but Scoville thought the attendant must surely hear his racing heart. He cleared his throat. "Duty calls, Sergeant." 

Jack's smile flashed in the muted light. "Doesn't it always?" 

It was a strange response, that of a lover, not a servant. Scoville rather liked it. "Yes, but not forever. We'll finish the job quickly enough." 

"Mm." Jack sighed and released his hand. "Yes, my lord." 

Things were changing between them. He didn't know what was going to happen. That was unsettling, but he didn't mind. He could not imagine going to bed with Jack, or anyone else, in a master-and-man arrangement. He didn't want to have a lover constantly reminding him of the unequal power in their relationship. The roles would have to be reconsidered, somehow.  

They had already shifted; he suddenly found himself unable to think of the man beside him by the formality of his last name.  He wondered what they would call each other when they were alone. 

But they were not alone yet, so they went through the rest of the bath ritual, declining a massage but submitting to being sluiced down by the shower-room attendant. At least they had the choice of warm water or cold, and Lord Robert saw no point in subjecting himself to a case of goosebumps.  

He permitted himself a quick peek at Darling's well-constructed backside while they were dressing. He'd seen it before—the Army left no secrets—but this was different, too. It wasn't just another soldier having a bath. He wanted very badly to touch, and had to turn his mind firmly back to their mission. His mind was sadly resistant to such discipline, and his body wasn't doing much better. He pulled his trousers up with only seconds to spare. 

Retracing their steps, they stopped at the desk for the room key and the briefcase. Scoville had his suspicions about the silver box that it contained, and he felt certain Darling shared them. He hoped to hell he was wrong. He didn't want to have to bother with any other business tonight. He wanted to sit down with Jack—better, lie down with him—and explore the future that was opening up ahead of them. He really, most sincerely, wanted to be wrong. 

Neither of them said anything on the way back to their rooms. Jack put the key in the lock, pushed the door open, and turned up the gaslight. He froze, and turned to Scoville wordlessly, his jaw set and his eyes angry.