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

agreement.
    “He's a bleak sort, but you admire him greatly, don't you?” Jem continued, determined to prod until he'd learned more about Alan.
    “He saved me life.” Badgeman turned from hanging the jacket back in the wardrobe and stared at Jem with steely eyes from under his jutting brow. “And I'd cheerfully kill anyone as would harm him.”
    “Aye, loyalty. I respect that. What were the circumstances of his saving you?”
    “No business of yours.”
    “'Spose not. But I'm asking all the same. If I'm going to work for the man, if I'm going to 'spend time' near him, it might help me to know what brings on his nightmares.” Jem opted for frankness. No point in acting the part of valet with Badgeman, who knew better. Draw a picture for him of sleepless nights and Jem offering a sort of comfort Badge never could. Assert his new place in the master's life. Although, truth be told, Alan hadn't summoned Jem to his bed once since that first night they'd spent together, and he was only guessing about the nightmares.
    He met Badgeman's hard stare with one of his own, frank and guileless. “I may be a thief, a whore, and a liar, but I'm not here to hurt anyone, and if I can, I'll help. So why don't you and I come to an agreement? You tell me a little more about Sir Alan's past, and I'll stop acting like I don't know bootblacking from bacon.”
    Was that almost a smile that curled the man's hard lips?
    “Tell me about Badajoz,” Jem finished. “Please.” Oh, he could be a right winning lad when he tried. Even foul-tempered badgers softened at his innocent eyes.
    “It were a cold day like this one here. We'd been digging trenches for weeks in muck so thick it could drown a man, and all the while the howitzers blasting over our heads, pounding holes in the stone wall around the town. Now it was time to attack. You ever tried to pour summat through a funnel only to get a bit o' shite stuck in the tube and back up the whole works?”
    Jem nodded, but Badgeman's expression was far away as he painted the picture. “Two thousand men dead or injured in less than two hours' time, all clogging up those breaches in the wall. The French had mined 'em and was pouring musket fire and grenades down on us like fucking manna from heaven.” His voice was harsh with irony as he compared bombs to blessings.
    “Did we retreat? Hell, no. Brave, bloody soldiers one and all, we clambered over our dead and dying, infiltrated the town, drove back the Frogs, and won the day. Heroic it were, what followed, but I missed out on that particular party, as my nob got cracked wide open, and I was unconscious. Still don't know how he managed to haul this slab o' flesh, but 'twas Captain Watleigh who dragged me, his batman, someplace safe before plunging back into the wild rumpus.”
    Jem didn't have to ask what rumpus he was referring to. Everyone knew about the disastrous losses at Badajoz followed by the horrifying rape, murder, and pillage the victors had inflicted on civilians for nearly two days, long after the French and Spanish troops had withdrawn from the city.
    “They say Wellington wept when he saw the dead.” Badgeman's laughter sounded more like a snarl. “He should weep in hell for orchestrating that buggering disaster.”
    “Sounds like a right mess,” Jem said. “I shouldn't wonder if all the soldiers who survived would be walking ghosts after such an ordeal, you included, sir.” It was the first time he'd addressed Badgeman with the title of respect.
    The man seemed to come back from his memories. His eyes flickered, and he cast a sharp look at Jem to see if he was once again mocking. When he registered his sober expression, Badgeman nodded. “Aye, that's a proper term, lad. Walking ghosts we are. None more so than the master, I'm afraid. What happened to him while I was out of me senses, he won't say. But it must have been frightful bad, and I don't mean the injury to his leg.”
    “Well, time he came back to the living, I