Confessions at Midnight by Jacquie D'Alessandro Page B

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 was the result of his own reluctance to curb the young man's outspokenness. In a most surprising turn of events, he'd come to look upon him almost as a younger brother. Certainly he felt closer to Samuel than he did to Stuart and George. Neither of his two dissolute younger half brothers had any use for him-unless they needed money or assistance in getting out of some scrape or another.
    No, since Samuel's arrival, Daniel could no longer claim his life was boring or lacked challenge. Indeed, things around the town house-as well as his country estate in Kent-more often than not bordered on disorder, thanks to a habit of Samuel's Daniel hadn't anticipated.
    As if the mere thought of Samuel's habit conjured up a physical reminder, Daniel was yanked from his reverie when a ball of pure black fluff jumped onto his lap. He looked down and found himself the object of a one-eyed feline stare.
    "Ah, good morning, Blinky," he murmured, scratching the cat behind her ears. Blinky immediately narrowed her one topaz-colored eye and leaned into Daniel's touch. A deep purr vibrated in the animal's throat and she kneaded Daniel's linen napkin with her front paws.
    Samuel set Daniel's coffee on the table in front of him, after which he gave Blinky's head a quick pat. Then the footman straightened and cleared this throat.
    Uh-oh
. Daniel pressed his lips together to contain the half groan, half laugh that threatened to escape. He knew what that throat clearing meant. Knew that
Ye'll never guess wot, milord
would be the