Free The Gentleman and the Rogue by Bonnie Dee, Summer Devon Page A

to make a saint lose patience, and Alan was no saint.
    He stopped, turned, and favored the delinquent with his most quelling look, the one that had always made soldiers' gazes drop to their boots. His tone was ice. “As you can imagine, I have some serious misgivings about making you this offer. Please don't make me regret my decision. You can be returned from whence you came in a heartbeat.”
    Jem sobered again, although he did manage to meet and hold Alan's stare unlike many a man before him. “Yes, sir.”
    Alan turned on his heel and stalked away. Of course, the lad had a legitimate question. What was he to expect his duties to include in service to a man who'd recently buggered him? Alan couldn't deny he'd thought about sex when making his decision, but that wasn't at all his primary purpose in asking Jem to stay. It was the companionship he craved and the buoyant spirit the irrepressible thief raised in him.
    Keeping him close for a while was a matter of Alan's survival.
     
    Chapter Six
     
    It was a posh new life, but with so many rules, constraints, and manners. Jem felt stifled by the very air of belowstairs where the household staff was headquartered. The hierarchy of the servants wasn't as rigid as one would find in most wealthy houses. Sir Alan kept his staff to a minimum, with Badgeman serving as steward, butler, and even as coachman when needed—unheard of for the butler to do outdoor work. But it was the awful housekeeper, Mrs. Crimpett, who Jem hated like a cat hates rain and who brought out the worst in him. She was a tyrant queen ruling with an iron fist over the parlor maids, the scullery maid, and the lone, feeble-minded old footman, Dicky, who by rights should've been Badgeman's responsibility. Even Cook, who controlled the kitchen, kowtowed to Mrs. Crimpett.
    Jem hated a bully, had had his nose bloodied on more than one occasion, standing against those who would persecute the weak, and Crimpett was every bit as bad as some of the nappers who'd terrorized Southwark. He pitied poor Bridie, Jenny, little Susan, and that girl with the squint who slaved in the kitchen—he'd forgotten her name. Poor slobber-mouthed Dicky, who must be at least fifty, nearly wet his drawers every time Mrs. Crimpett addressed him. Shame on Badgeman for not taking his part.
    As the master's new valet, Jem's duties didn't fall under Mrs. Crimpett's jurisdiction, so he could spend most of his time upstairs mucking about with Alan's clothes or pretending to polish his boots. But the old hag wanted to knock him down a peg; he sensed it in her every baleful glance and sharp word. She was biding her time until she could find a way to get him tossed out on his arse. Meanwhile, he only had to suffer her at meals when he sat with the rest of the staff at table. Of course, he couldn't manage to keep a civil tongue in his head, but had to tease and bait her with snide comments guaranteed to turn her already-florid face an apoplectic scarlet.
    On the brighter side, it turned out old Badgeman wasn't the horror Jem had expected him to be. Oh yes, they'd had several set-tos on Jem's first few days in the house. The mountainous man didn't bother to hide his distrust as he grudgingly demonstrated Jem's new duties. But things got better after the third day, when Jem wheedled the story of his master's injuries from the badger.
    “No. You brush with the nap,” Badgeman barked, taking the brush from Jem and demonstrating the proper way to remove lint from the velvet collar of one of Alan's jackets. “Be sure to check his boots at least once a day. A gentleman can't be seen in public with scuffed shoes.”
    Jem watched him briskly brush the velvet until it lay smooth and lint-free. He could've done it right himself, but he enjoyed irritating Badgeman too much to resist playing dumb. “Check his boots every day. Got it. But the gentleman never goes out, does he? Hardly seems worth keeping a chap like me around.”
    The badger grunted in hearty