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set the silver tray on the table. It was laden with cold meats, cheeses, toast, and a pile of dried fruit.
    Jem took his seat, perched on the edge, as eager as a dog ready to perform tricks for a bone. He swallowed and laced his fingers together on his lap to keep from reaching out and grabbing food in both hands.
    Badgeman poured a cup of tea for each of them. Jem's nostrils flared at the intoxicating scent.
    “Anything else, sir?” the stone-faced giant asked.
    “No, thank you, Badgeman.”
    Dismissed, the servant flicked one glance at Jem, which may or may not have contained a warning, before walking from the room.
    “Help yourself,” Alan urged.
    Jem didn't wait for a second invitation. He dived into the meal, slapping together a sandwich of bread, meat, and cheese and taking a huge bite before his host even had a chance to nibble at one of the plums he'd selected. His stomach rumbled in greeting, welcoming the new addition to its domain. He wanted to display at least a modicum of good manners, but found it impossible. One half-chewed bite after another slipped down his gullet and landed with a satisfying thud in his empty stomach.
    When he'd devoured the sandwich, he drank a deep draught of tea, then bit into a piece of dried fruit, the sweetly tart summer flavor of peach flowing into his mouth. He'd never had such a treat in his life. For a few moments, he forgot where he was, forgot about his client—forgot everything except his immediate needs. Only when he emerged sated from the fog of raging hunger did he remember his host. Jem wiped his mouth on the cuff of his sleeve and glanced sheepishly at Alan, who sat watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.
    “Sorry, but it's been so long since I've had a bite, my navel was on speaking terms with my backbone.”
    A small smile curved the other man's lips. “I've been there myself while on campaign when rations were scarce.”
    “You look like you're halfway starved now,” Jem said. “Could do with a bit of fattening up. Why don't you have more than fruit?” He assembled another sandwich with the crisp, buttered toast and cold cuts, and thrust it at Alan. “Here you go, sir. Eat. You must be nearly as hungry as I am from all the exercise.”
    He winked and jerked his head toward the bed. Alan might wish to pretend they hadn't had sex now that it was over, but Jem believed it wasn't healthy to deny who you were. He couldn't relieve the man's war memories, but accepting that he liked cock might go some way toward helping Lord Melancholy climb out of his black mood.
    Alan accepted the sandwich in one long-fingered hand and began to eat, slowly at first, then nearly as ravening as Jem. He polished off the food and dabbed butter from his lips with a napkin.
    Sitting back and sipping a second cup of tea, Jem watched him. “Nothing like a full stomach to perk up your mood, eh? That, a good fuck, and a good night's sleep. Downright restorative.”
    His comment earned another small smile but no reply. That made Jem more determined than ever to make the other man laugh.
    “Do you believe in goblins, sir? I've an interesting tale to tell about a woman who met one. Miss Sally Purdy from Pritchett Street told me about her personal experience. Would you like to hear the story?”
    Alan looked at him through the rising steam from his cup of tea and raised a brow. “Intriguing. Go on.”
    “Well, here's what happened, or so Miss Sally says. One morning she walked out her door and saw a little man in her garden. She snatched him up, saying, 'You're a goblin. I've caught you, and you owe me three wishes!'
    “'Very well,' the wee man replied. 'What do you wish for?'
    “Sally thought hard and replied, 'A big house to live in, a wardrobe full of fine clothes, and a table that will provide delicious food for the rest of me life.'
    “'Aye, I'll grant your request, but to make your wishes come true, you have to spend the night having sex with me.'
    “Old Spinster