A Gentleman's Secret ~ The third novelette from "Different Desire", a Gay Victorian Romance and Erotic novelette collection

was one of the most beautiful me n I had ever laid my eyes on during my entire three-and-twenty years on this e arth was not the point. And that he was only half-dressed did not make the situation better. He was, for lack of better words, absolutely stunning. The light from the lantern on the floor revealed a muscular body, which looked like it had been carved out of a block of pale stone. But it is probably just the result of proper food served regularly and physical exercise like riding or fox hunting , I thought. Still, the broad shoulders and strong arms almost made my mouth water. A thin layer of dark hair covered his chest and trailed down his flat belly. I licked my lips without thinking of it.
    He had all the trademark s of a perfect gentleman, born to be a noble. If I had looked like that when they found me on the doorstep of the poorhouse when I was a baby, they would immediately have advertised in the morning post to enquire after the gentlewoman who by mistake had mislaid her baby. Classic beauty like that was not a result of mere chance; it was the outcome of generations of breeding blue blood. I would eat my leaking boots if he did not have a duke’s title or something similar waiting for him to inherit. High cheekbones, a high forehead, and a gently arched nose. Of course. Dark wavy hair, neatly cut and perfectly trimmed short sideburns. Well, naturally.
    I hated him on the spot.
    There were only two features that spoiled his appearance from being almost a caricature of nobility. First of all , h is perfectly brown eyes, which were the colour of amber, w e re too large and innocent. They also lacked the general sour attribute of “ look what the cat dragged in ”, which was the very core of snobbery and aristocracy. And second of all, h is lips. They should have been thin and arrogant, perhaps in a slightly disgusted half-a-scorn impression , but instead they were soft, full, and sensitive, almost like a woman’s. I found myself vaguely pondering what it would feel like to kiss them, when my thoughts were interrupted.
    “Who are you?” the gentleman fop demanded to know , every inch superior upper class and speaking with an annoyingly posh accent.
    “I am Jack,” I lied smoothly. “ Who the hell are you?”
    The man held the spear too comfortably for me to try anything rash, which probably was the result of years of training in fencing at some silly boarding school.
    “My name is Mr Percival-Davis , and I happen to live here,” he said and paused before he continued. “Oh, and I do believe your name is Simon, unless I mis heard your fellow friend in crime. Yes?”
    I grinded my teeth. To call the half-dressed gentleman in front of me annoying would be an understatement of grand proportions, to say the least.
     
    *
     
    I must admit I felt rather imposing, armed with my Kenyan spear and everything. One of the thieves had managed to run away, but I still had one of them, this Simon, at my mercy. However , now that he was under my control, I did not know what to do with him. I mean, I could not really march him down to the nearest police station dressed in a pair of trousers and slippers, could I? And I did not dare let my concentration slip for a moment. It felt like I had cornered one of my uncle’s wild beasts and that he was waiting for only an instant of hesitation or a small mistake to happen.
    It was something in his entirely grey eyes, which lacked even a hint of blue or green shades, as he studied me closely. The way he watched me made small goose bumps form along my arms, which had nothing to do with the cold draught from the open window. For one bizarre moment, I suddenly felt oddly embarrassed under his intense gaze. I have no idea why. I mean, yes, my upper body was undressed, but we were both men, for h eaven’s sake , and it was not like there were any ladies present to shock.
    I decided to question him. Perhaps if I knew who he was and where he lived , I could give that information to the police officers later when I reported the crime. I had easily exposed his first lie, which made him look rather vexed. In fact, it was actually quite a satisfaction to see him glare at me and the way his mouth had transformed into one slim line of irritation. He really did look like a rogue, unshaved and with his straw-blond hair in a pony tail , which looked like it was in desperate need of washing . A thin, pale scar crossed one of his eyebrow s just half an inch from his right eye and