Samantha

by Samantha (lit)

  She searched his face intently. "Will we finish what we just began?"

  "Yes." Even as he uttered the vow, Rem knew he intended to keep it. Neither of them could retreat from this madness, return to being the people they were before. It was too late ... for both of them.

  Soberly, Rem reached around to button her gown. "The next time you're in my arms, I promise to bring you every exquisite pleasure you've ever dreamed of, fulfill aches you never even knew you possessed."

  "When?"

  His eyes smoldered. "The instant I get you alone." He framed her face between his hands, kissed her softly. "Will you be all right?"

  "Not nearly as all right as I will be next time."

  His body leaped at the suggestive gleam in her eye. "Samantha—"

  "My lady? Are you well?"

  "Yes, Cynthia, of course I'm well," Sammy snapped loudly enough for her friend to hear. "I'll be out in a minute."

  "I'm going to throttle your new maid," Rem muttered.

  "I'd better go." Sammy eased away reluctantly.

  "Till tomorrow, imp." He pressed his lips to her palm.

  "Remington. . ." Sammy stared at his mouth as it caressed her fingers. "Until we find the time we need to be alone ... until then"—she raised her chin, candidly uttering her solemn proclamation—"I don't want you with other women."

  Rem didn't mock her as she'd feared. He didn't even smile. "Your fate is sealed, my lady," he murmured huskily, his breath warm against her skin. "Since that night at Boydry's, I haven't been with another woman. I haven't even wanted one. Only you."

  "Not even at Annie's?"

  "Not even at Annie's."

  "I'm glad." Sammy's smile was radiant, her belief instant and absolute.

  Humbled by her faith in him, Rem felt that now-familiar emotion unfurl in his chest. "Go, love." He leaned across to open the carriage door. "Before your Cynthia has my head."

  Sammy nodded, dazedly accepting the waiting footman's assistance in alighting, profusely thanking the stupefied servant for his exceptional efforts. In truth, she wanted to hug the man ... and everyone else for the gift she'd just been given.

  Her elation did not extend to Cynthia.

  Waiting only until Rein's footman had abandoned his post, Sammy confronted her friend, mincing no words.

  "What exactly did you think you were doing?"

  "Saving you." Cynthia gestured toward the Worth family crest, emblazoned on the gleaming carriage side. "It's obvious who brought you home. It's not hard to imagine what was going on in there," She scrutinized Sammy's disheveled appearance. "It appears I didn't interrupt a moment too soon."

  More exasperated than embarrassed, Sammy headed toward the house. "Right now, I'm far too ecstatic to be angry," she called over her shoulder. "However, when my feet touch the ground, I have a few things to say to you."

  She disappeared into the entranceway.

  Cynthia inhaled sharply, frustrated and worried over Samantha's naiveté. Naught but pain could result from the preoccupation her young mistress had with the Earl of Gresham. Yet Samantha refused to see the reality of where her adoration was heading. Well then, it was up to her to intervene, Cynthia thought, before it was too late.

  Taking advantage of her unexpected opportunity, Cynthia stalked forward and yanked open the carriage door. "I'd like a word with you, my lord."

  Rem leveled his cool gray stare at her. "That would probably be wise. Perhaps you could explain your rather curious display of morality."

  "I know what you think of me, Lord Gresham. In truth, I couldn't care less. But Samantha is a different situation entirely. I want you to leave her alone."

  "You've known her several days, and are already prepared to assume the role of her protector?"

  "Why not? You've known her but a scant time longer and are already prepared to assume the role of her seducer." Cynthia bristled, too angry to remember her station as a servant. "Go back to Annie's, my lord. At least there you can be honest about your intentions. And no one will get hurt."

  "While we're on the subject of Annie's, why are you no longer there?"

  "I owe you no explanation."

  "Or perhaps I should ask why you began working at Annie's in the first place?"

  "My choices are my own. They concern no one but me."

  "I beg to differ with you. As long as you're employed by Samantha, your choices concern me as well. And Cynthia ... I'm very adept at finding out what I want to know."

  Cynthia began to tremble beneath Rem's implicit threat. "You're all alike, aren't you? Domination and conquest are all you care about. Well, do your worst, my lord—I have nothing more to lose. But Samantha does. And I'll be damned if I'll stand by and let you reduce her to the life of a whore." Gathering up her skirts, Cynthia turned away. "Good night, Lord Gresham . . . I'm sure Katrina will be more than happy to minister any lingering needs you might have."

  Watching Cynthia's retreating back, Rem mulled over the altercation that had just occurred. He couldn't help but admire the woman's blatant and genuine loyalty for Samantha, nor could he ignore her obvious breeding and refinement. A whore? Doubtful. Boyd was right—there was more here than met the eye. Samantha's new maid was fast becoming an engrossing enigma of her own.

  Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed two, reminding Rem he had an appointment to keep.

  "Badewell?" he called to his driver, leaning out the carriage window. "Let's be off to Annie's."

  A moment after Rem's carriage disappeared down Abingdon Street, the Barrett's front door clicked shut.

  11

  "I won't stop seeing him."

  Sammy raised her chin defiantly, confronting Cynthia in the privacy of her own bedchamber.

  "I know you care for him, Samantha. And you believe he cares for you. But—"

  "He does care for me. Probably more than even he knows."

  Cynthia sighed. This was turning out to be more difficult than she'd expected. "We haven't known each other very long, Samantha. There's really no reason why you should trust me—"

  "I trust you implicitly," Sammy interrupted. "This has nothing to do with trust. It has to do with love." She took Cynthia's hands in hers. "I love him, Cynthia. I've loved him from the first moment I saw him."

  "How can you love a man you hardly know?"

  Sammy smiled. "But I do know him. Somehow I've always known him."

  "In your dreams."

  "In my heart." Sammy chewed her lip, trying desperately to make Cynthia understand. "Cynthia, I truly believe that for every woman, fate has created the right man. I know you think I'm a fanciful child . . . that, of course, is your right. But I've watched Alex and Drake, so I've seen what love is. I also remember Drake's life before Alex, so I've seen what loneliness is, as well. Please believe me, I'm not as much a' child as you assume I am. A romantic, perhaps, but not a child. And since that rainy night in Boydry's when I first laid eyes on Remington, I've never doubted that I was destined to belong to him, and he to me."

  "You've been reading too many of your romantic novels." Cynthia gestured at the books scattered about the room.

  "Oh, no, Cynthia. My books bring me hours of pleasure."

  "But apparently they're also putting foolish ideas in your head. Ideas that transform your earl into a hero and you into his damsel in distress. That is a big mistake."

  "You're wrong," Sammy denied fervently. "My books feed my romantic nature, but they aren't responsible for my feelings for Remington. You see, Cynthia, despite a mutual affinity for mysterious adventures and a high regard for happy endings, I have very little in common with my Gothic heroines. They are sensible and serene, prone to tears, and inclined to swoon at the drop of a hat. And while Lord knows I've tried, I cannot seem to be either sensible or serene. I detest crying in public and I absolutely never faint. Instead, I'm impetuous and passionate and far too forthright about what I think and feel to suit the tastes of a true Gothic heroine. And, although Remington is protective and strong, and come
s to my rescue whenever I need him, he's far too much of a rake and a womanizer to resemble a staid Gothic hero. But it matters not. He's my hero nonetheless. As I am his heroine."

  Cynthia slapped her palm on the dressing table, utterly frustrated. "You thwart me at every turn, don't you? How can I open your eyes to the truth?" She hesitated, studying Sammy's unyielding stance. "I don't want to hurt you, Samantha."

  "Hurt me?"

  "Yes, by forcing you to see your earl for the duplicitous rogue that he is."

  "Remington has been nothing but honest with me."

  "Has he? Even about other women?"

  "He hasn't been with another woman since we met."

  Cynthia gave a derisive laugh. "Is that what he told you? And you, of course, believed him." She seized Sammy's shoulders, desperate to make her face reality before it was too late. "Think about it, Samantha. A handsome nobleman like Lord Gresham? Saving himself for you ... no matter how long that might take?"

  "Remington wouldn't lie to me."

  "Really? Then why was he at Annie's the night you and I met?"

  "He had a business meeting."

  "And did he have another meeting tonight?"

  "What?"

  "Where do you think he was going after he failed to ravish you in his carriage? Home? To his lonely bed? He was going to Annie's."

  Sammy's eyes widened. "No."

  "Yes. I myself heard him instruct his driver to take him there." Cynthia wanted to weep at the spasm of pain that crossed Sammy's face. "I'm sorry, Samantha." Her hands gentled on her friend's shoulders. "I wish I were wrong. I wish everything you believe could be so. God, how I wish that." A tremor of emotion made her voice break. "But I won't let him do this to you. I couldn't prevent what happened to me, but perhaps I can save you from suffering the same fate; indeed, a more severe one. At least in my case, I was taken by force, so I was spared the knowledge that I was a willing participant. If Remington Worth should take you to his bed, you'd go eagerly, like a lamb to slaughter. Could you face yourself the next day knowing you were but a pawn in his scheme of seduction?"

  Throughout Cynthia's speech Sammy remained silent, pondering the significance of her maid's words. Now she straightened, met Cynthia's gaze with sympathy and candor. "Remington's not trying to seduce me, Cynthia, any more than you're trying to hurt me. In your own way, you're each trying to shelter me ... in areas that, much as you believe otherwise, I don't need sheltering. Perhaps Rem is going to Annie's tonight. But if so, it's not for a sexual liaison. Why am I so certain? Because he would have told me so directly. I have no claims on his fidelity, only on his feelings. To answer your question, yes, I could live with myself if I went to the bed of the man I love. And I hope with all my heart that some day you'll be able to say the same."

  "I don't believe in love. Nor would I ever knowingly embrace social ruin, the way you seem determined to do."

  "Social ruin? Why would I be ruined?"

  Cynthia shook her head in disbelief. "Even among the working class, for an unwed girl to relinquish her innocence is appalling. In the ton? Need you ask? If you lie with a man out of wedlock, you'll be labeled a common trollop!"

  "Not if I wed the man with whom I share my innocence."

  "Wed the . . ." Cynthia inhaled sharply. "Samantha, do you honestly believe you are going to marry Remington Worth; or rather, that he is going to marry you?"

  "Of course."

  "Has he actually spoken of matrimony?"

  "Not yet."

  "Then what makes you think he will?"

  Sammy lay her hand over her heart. "This."

  "So you're going to lie with the earl because of some romantic misconception that, in the glowing aftermath of your union, he'll feel compelled to propose marriage?"

  "No. I'm going to lie with the earl because I love him. And the earl's going to propose because he loves me." Sammy smiled as she summed up the obvious.

  "I see." Cynthia didn't smile back. "Will you promise me one thing?"

  "If I can."

  "Before you enact your sentimental plan, will you make sure Lord Gresham's intentions concur with your own?"

  A faraway look appeared in Sammy's eyes. "All right. I'll make certain Remington and I understand each other completely."

  "Rem. I'm glad you're here. I was getting concerned." Boyd glanced down at his timepiece, which read nearly half after two.

  "I was unexpectedly detained. I apologize, gentlemen." Rem slid into his chair, addressing Boyd, Templar, and Harris.

  Boyd's eyes narrowed on Rem's face, but he did not pursue the subject. "Another British ship went down."

  "When?" Rem was instantly alert.

  "The Admiralty got word late this evening. They couldn't locate you, so they delivered the message to Boydry's."

  "What details did they provide?"

  "Not many. Their information is still sketchy. Apparently, the vessel was en route to Canada. It was last seen in the far waters of the English Channel. As for its cargo—it was varied in content and belonged to several different merchants."

  "I'll get that data for you," Harris chimed in. "You'll have the names of the merchants and exactly what each one was transporting by morning."

  "The ship was part of Anders's fleet," Boyd continued. "Evidently, it was one of his prize brigs."

  "Judging from his records, he's hurting pretty badly. This loss is going to cripple him," Templar added.

  Boyd cleared his throat. "The missing brig was built by Barrett Shipping."

  A muscle tightened fractionally in Rem's jaw. "I see."

  "Harris and I are going directly to the docks from here, Gresham," Templar informed him. "We've reached a dead end everywhere else. Maybe we can learn something useful from the wharf rats."

  Rem frowned. "You checked out the other companies we discussed?"

  "Yes, all of them. The merchants, too."

  "And?"

  "Nothing was amiss in any of their records."

  "All right." Rem nodded. "Do as you suggested. Poke around at the docks and see what you can find out. In the interim, I'll have a chat with the Viscount Anders and the Duke of Allonshire."

  "Is there anything else or should we get started?"

  "Get started."

  Harris's chair scraped the floor. "We'll be in touch."

  Boyd waited until the Bow Street men had left Annie's before he spoke. "Don't assume the worst, Rem. The fact that Barrett Shipping built the missing brig doesn't implicate them. There's no evidence that the ship's construction had anything to do with its disappearance."

  "I know that. I just wasn't anticipating a discussion with Drake Barrett at this particular time. It's going to be damned uncomfortable, given the circumstances, for me to face him. Hell, I'm not even sure I can look the man in the eye."

  "Your conversation won't pertain to Samantha or your relationship with her."

  "Unless her brother brings it up. Aren't you the one who told me how rampantly gossip travels?"

  Boyd weighed that possibility in his mind. "What will you tell him?"

  "As little as possible."

  "Nothing tangible has actually occurred ... has it?"

  Rem met Boyd's questioning look. "Not yet."

  The inference sank in.

  "Moreover," Rem continued, "with Alexandria about to deliver a child, I'm not even sure Allonshire will see me."

  "Why not begin with Anders, then? He's right here in London, isn't he?"

  "He certainly is. I had an altercation with him not two hours past."

  Boyd looked surprised. "I know you don't particularly like or trust the fellow. But I didn't know you were openly hostile toward each other."

  "We weren't. We are now."

  "Why?"

  "He made some unwanted advances to Samantha."

  "Unwanted? By whom?" Despite the seriousness of tonight's news, Boyd's lips twitched.

  "By Samantha ... and by me."

  "I see. Well, the knight-in-shining-armor role is b
ecoming a habit with you. At least where Samantha Barrett is concerned. One would almost think you were saving her for yourself."

  "One would be right."

  Boyd's smile faded. "Rem—"

  "Not now, Boyd. My feelings about Samantha are too complex for a two-minute discussion. We'll delve into them another time. Right now, we have work to do."

  "What will you tell Samantha about your meeting with Allonshire?"

  "I can't keep it a secret; she's too close to her family. I'll continue with my original story about attempting to settle some financial difficulties. I'll tell her I managed to borrow a respectable sum of money and want to commission the building of a ship."

  "And will you tell the same to Allonshire?"

  "I don't know. That all depends on what he tells me." Rem rubbed his palms together. "The day we rode through Hyde Park, Samantha mentioned Goddfrey's name, as if she thought he might have some information that could solve the mystery of the missing ships. I have yet to figure out what precipitated her comment."

  "But you don't think Goddfrey's involved."

  "No, I don't. But perhaps Allonshire does. Samantha seemed terribly nervous when she inadvertently let the viscount's name slip in my presence. I couldn't help but think she might have been privy to a conversation she was told not to repeat."

  "Which leads us back to Allonshire."

  "Exactly." Rem stood. "When I left Carlton House, Anders was still at the party. I assume he'll be abed until midday . . . unless he's awakened by word of his missing ship. I'll get some sleep and call on him at noon. I'll also send a message to Allonshire, requesting a few minutes of the duke's time. Berkshire is only an hour's drive. If Drake agrees to see me in the late afternoon, I should have some answers by nightfall."

  "Rem, before you go ..." Boyd rose slowly, obviously uncomfortable with his next question. "Did Samantha happen to mention Cynthia at all?"

  "Ah, Cynthia. I'm glad you brought her up." Rem leaned toward his friend. "I had a very interesting chat with Samantha's new maid this evening."

  "A chat? About what?"

  "Evidently, Cynthia has appointed herself Samantha's conscience. She warned me in no uncertain terms to stay away from her mistress and to leave her virtue intact."