Whose lips kissed her. The notion that she hadn't known, however, all but seared him with white hot jealousy-an ugly emotion he rarely experienced, yet its intensity left no doubt as to what it was. The only woman who'd ever inspired the feeling in him was… her. Certainly Society was filled with men who were wealthier, more handsome, luckier at the faro tables, had more lovers than he-all of which could inspire jealousy. Yet the only man he had ever truly been jealous of was Edward. And only then because of Carolyn.
Surely she'd known it was he behind the highwayman's mask. Hadn't she? The thought of her kissing another man the way she'd kissed him… bloody hell, it made his blood boil beneath his skin to even consider it.
Well, if she didn't know, he intended to see to it that she did. As soon as the hour was more appropriate and this damnable headache abated, he would call on her. And tell her. And allay the concerns that had caused her to flee last night. Whether she cared to admit it or not, she was clearly ripe for an affair, and he had no intention of allowing another man to claim what he wanted.
He lowered his coffee cup and rested his aching head in his hands. Another mistake, as the image that had bedeviled him ever since she left him on that terrace slammed into his mind once again… the conclusion of their heated interlude. Her skirts inched up, her legs wrapped around his waist. His erection buried in her tight, wet heat. Slow, hard thrusts that quickened, deepened, propelling them both over the edge-
A guttural sound rattled in his throat and he shifted in his seat to relieve the growing discomfort in his breeches. Damn it, just what he didn't need-another throbbing ache.
''Ere ye go, milord.' The familiar male voice from directly beside him startled Daniel from his erotic brown study. Samuel, impeccably turned out in his footman's livery, set a tall glass on the mahogany table in front of him. 'Nothin' worse than the mornin' after a night spent swillin' blue ruin.'
Daniel cast a suspicious eye toward the mud-colored concoction in the glass. 'It was brandy, not gin.'
'Whichever hogwash ye drank, this'll set ye back to rights.'
Daniel frowned at the strapping young man. 'Hardly hogwash. This particular brandy was over one hundred years old.'
'Still made yer head hurt,' Samuel said in his matter-of-fact way that surely should have irked Daniel. He pointed a white-gloved hand at the glass. 'Drink,' he ordered, as if he were the lord of the house and Daniel the footman. 'The sooner ye do so, the sooner ye'll feel better and pinken up. 'Tis a bit pasty yer lookin', milord.' At Daniel's scowl, Samuel quickly added, 'Beggin' yer pardon for sayin' so.'
Bloody hell, he absolutely needed to do something about Samuel's penchant for speaking out of turn. 'You should beg my pardon,' Daniel grumbled. 'You're far too cheeky for your own good.'
'Ain't cheeky to tell the truth,' Samuel said, his countenance and tone perfectly serious. 'I promised I'd never lie to ye, and I won't. Always the brutal truth is what ye'll git from me, milord.'
'Thank you, although I think we need to work on making it a bit less brutal.' He shot the glass a doubtful look. 'What is that?'
'Recipe I learned from the barkeep at a pub in Leeds called the Slaughtered Pig. Weevil were his name. Used to call him Evil Weevil.'
'How delightful. However, I made it a rule long ago to not drink things inspired by people named Evil.'
'Oh, Evil knew wot he was about, milord,' Samuel said in that same serious tone. 'You drink that and in twenty minutes you'll be glad ye did. Folks at the Slaughtered Pig swore by it.'
'Well, with a recommendation like that, how can I refuse?' Daniel murmured. He picked up the glass then shrugged. Why not? He'd be hard pressed to feel much worse. He took a swallow. And barely refrained from spewing the mouthful across the table.
'Good God,' he managed to croak as a shudder ran through him. The look he treated Samuel to should have skewered the lad to the floor. 'I've never tasted anything so vile.'
'Never said it tasted good,' Samuel said, annoyingly impervious to the skewering look. 'Suck it right down, milord, all at once.'
Not convinced that the cure wasn't going to kill him, Daniel drank the entire contents, then set down the glass with enough force to shatter the crystal. '
'Ye'll be sayin' 'thank ye' in less than twenty minutes.'
'Excellent. However, I intend to say '
Samuel shot him an unrepentant grin. 'A fresh cup of coffee for ye, milord?'
'Please. Anything that might help chase the
Daniel watched the young man move toward the sideboard, and the area around his heart squeezed with pride. Samuel was certainly not the same destitute, desperate, and physically ill footpad he'd met a year ago on a cold, rainy night in Bristol when the lad tried to rob him. He had easily foiled the attempt, so easily he'd at first thought his assailant, who could barely stand, was intoxicated. But when the young man collapsed at his feet, Daniel realized that in addition to being filthy and dressed in rags, his assailant was burning up with fever. And looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal in months.
Sympathy and whispers from the past he'd refused to acknowledge shoved aside his annoyance at being targeted, and instead of turning the ill young man over to the authorities, Daniel carried him back to the inn where he was staying and summoned a doctor.
The lad hovered between life and death for three days, murmuring in his delirium of abuses he'd apparently suffered, things Daniel prayed hadn't actually occurred. On the fourth day his fever finally broke and Daniel found himself being studied through the narrowed eyes of a weak but lucid patient who, after a bit of coaxing, identified himself as Samuel Travers, age seventeen. It required a great deal of convincing to assure the lad that he meant him no harm, did not plan to turn him over to the authorities, and harbored no designs on him. The assurances Samuel needed convinced Daniel that, sadly, the nightmarish scenario the lad had alluded to during his feverish rantings had indeed happened.
At first Samuel refused to believe that Daniel had helped him 'just fer the hell of it' with nothing to gain for himself, but over the course of the next several days he slowly came to accept it as the truth. While Samuel rested and ate and regained his strength, they shared stories of their lives, and a tentative trust was forged between them. Samuel told Daniel of his mother's death when he was five, leaving him with no one save a drunkard uncle to look after him. Of never having a true home after his mother died. Of being forced to steal in order to eat. Of moving from town to town to avoid the law. Of finally running away at the age of twelve and doing his best to fend for himself.
Although their childhoods were vastly different, Samuel's stories brought back a barrage of memories Daniel kept carefully and firmly buried. Of his own mother's death when he was eight, and the painful aftermath. Memories he'd never shared with anyone and couldn't bring himself to reveal to Samuel. But the fact that they'd both lost their mothers was a small bit of common ground upon which they built.
As a result of their conversations, Daniel found himself taking a long, contemplative look at his own life. And not liking what he saw, especially when he realized that a mere accident of birth was all that separated him-a wealthy aristocrat who possessed every creature comfort-from Samuel, a young man who'd been reduced to living by his wits, begging and stealing just to survive.
Daniel's introspection culminated in him finally recognizing that the vague feeling of discontent that had plagued him over the past several years was a sense of ennui, of apathy. Nothing seemed a challenge anymore. Nothing truly captured his interest, although how could it when he had everything he could possibly want? Yet what was he doing with his largess?
Nothing, he realized with no small amount of shame. Nothing save frittering away his time and money on transitory pleasures and shallow pursuits. Not that he had any intention of giving those up, but inspired by Samuel, he decided it was time he put some of his money and time to better use. Toward that end, he offered Samuel a job as a footman, with the stipulation that if Samuel ever again tried to rob him-or anyone else-he would toss him out. Samuel accepted the opportunity, and over the course of the past year had proven himself hardworking, reliable, intelligent, and, as Daniel quickly discovered, brutally honest. And painfully outspoken.
Samuel didn't grasp the normal rigid formality that existed between the master of the house and a footman. Daniel occasionally corrected him, but truth be known, he found their verbal exchanges both enlightening and diverting. He especially enjoyed the way Samuel, while always respectful, never kowtowed to him, a truly refreshing change. Thanks to his title and position in Society, he was normally surrounded by sycophants. He certainly couldn't accuse Samuel of ever saying something simply because he believed it was what he wanted to hear.
In moments of unpainted self-honesty, Daniel had to admit that his unusually informal relationship with Samuel
