Samantha

by Samantha (lit)

  Rem started. "My past?"

  "Yes, the years before I met you."

  "Women, you mean?" Rem kissed the tip of her earnest nose. "I told you, imp, you have no competition. My feelings for you are unique. I have no intention of going to any other woman's bed—"

  "Not the women."

  A cautious light dawned in Rem's eyes. "What is it you want to know, then?"

  "About your years at sea. About your career in the Royal Navy. About whatever pain has caused you to be afraid to care."

  Shutters descended. "That part of my life is over. I'd rather not discuss it."

  "You gave me your word."

  "Why is it so important to you?" Rem held up his hand to ward off her reply. "Never mind. I know the answer. You want to know everything about me. Well, sweetheart, it's just not that simple. There are things you wouldn't— couldn't—understand."

  "Try me."

  "You're too sheltered to understand and too beautiful to be tainted with that kind of ugliness."

  "I'm already being tainted by it. It's keeping me away from you. As far as sheltered . . ." Sammy inhaled slowly. "I'm not nearly as sheltered as you suspect."

  Rem inclined his head. "What does that mean?"

  "This last war with America ... did you spend most of it at sea?"

  "Only a small portion of it." Rem had long since memorized this particular reply. "I wasn't as experienced in American waters as some of our other captains. So I served sporadically, whenever I was needed. The rest of the time I helped train new officers so England's navy would remain strong."

  "You were a hero," Sammy stated emphatically. "I remember reading about you."

  A smile touched Rem's lips. "What does my service during the recent war have to do with your sheltered existence?"

  "Scandal reaches everyone, whether at home or at sea. I merely wondered how much of the Barrett horror story you heard firsthand and how much you learned later."

  "I know bits and pieces," Rem answered vaguely.

  "You needn't protect me. I know every last horrid detail, including some I doubt you know." Sammy lowered her eyes. "My brother Sebastian is an immoral criminal who has spent the past three years in Newgate for murder."

  Rem wrapped his arms about her. "I wasn't certain how much Drake allowed you to learn."

  "Drake would have preferred I be exposed to as little as possible. Unfortunately, it was hardly his decision to make; not with all of England buzzing with the ugly scandal. I was fifteen ... hardly an oblivious infant. It was horrible; worse than that.

  "In any case, you know all those sordid details already. Here's something you don't know; something Drake did manage to keep quiet." Sammy drew a slow inward breath. "Sebastian also tried to kill Drake. He was involved in a plot to sink Drake's ship and annihilate not only Drake, but his entire crew. All to possess the coveted title of the Duke of Allonshire."

  "Damn," Rem swore softly. His reaction wasn't grounded in the shock Samantha assumed it was, for none of what she'd just disclosed was a revelation to him. He'd been privy to Drake's brush with death, just as he'd been privy to every sea-related incident that had taken place in British or American waters during the War of 1812. But never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Samantha knew the extent of Sebastian's cold-blooded depravity.

  "Thank heavens Drake survived ... although his ship did not," Sammy continued, her voice quivering. "But no one knew Drake was alive ... not for weeks. The missive that reached Allonshire proclaimed him and his entire crew to be missing at sea and presumed dead."

  "I remember. The Times carried the story."

  "Perhaps it carried the story, but it couldn't express the torment I experienced. No newspaper could convey my sense of desolation, the sheer terror of realizing I was utterly alone. My mother had died when I was a child, my father was ailing, near death, and my brother—the only brother I ever loved and who loved me—was gone forever. Sebastian didn't give a damn for me, or for anyone else, for that matter. My sense of loss, my pain, were unendurable. How I wished I'd gone down with Drake and his ship." Sammy raised damp eyes to Rem. "Now does that sound to you like a sheltered young girl who has never known anguish?"

  Rem felt a rush of protectiveness so powerful it hurt. "I wish I'd been there."

  "I know." Sammy brushed aside her tears, taking Rein's hand in hers. "But it's all behind me now, and I didn't resurrect it to elicit your sympathy. I had a reason. Two reasons, in fact. First, so you'd see my life has not been merely a gilded fairy tale. And second, so you could gain the same all-important insight I did and apply it to your past as I did to mine."

  "And what is this insight, my magnificent dreamer?"

  "That out of grief comes joy. That you can never lose faith in love or life." Sammy smiled through her tears. "From the vestiges of my suffering came my life's richest blessings. Not only did Drake return to me, but he brought his bride with him. Alex is both mother and sister combined, as well as the most loving and nurturing of friends. And do you know what else? She and Drake had unknowingly conceived Gray during their fateful trip. Seven months later, he was born. They named him in honor of our father, Grayson." A twinkle. "Actually, Drake couldn't dispel his customary arrogance completely. Gray's entire name is Drake Grayson Barrett. But we've always called him Gray. And now we have Bonnie, too. So you see, joy can be born of tragedy. For me ... and for you."

  "You're too beautiful for this world," Rem murmured, a tremor in his voice.

  "Share yourself with me," Sammy whispered. "Please. Give me a chance to heal the pain."

  "Some pain cannot be healed, imp. No matter how much you will it." Taking in Sammy's earnest expression, Rem sighed. "I have no momentous secret to reveal. Reality is just a cold and ugly thing."

  He was relenting. Sammy could feel it. Eagerly, she seized this rare opportunity she was being offered. "You spent most of your youth at sea. Why?"

  "The army was too stationary for my tastes."

  "No, what I meant was, what made you choose any type of military career? Why were you so anxious to leave England?"

  "I had nothing monstrous to escape, if that's what you're asking. My parents died before I reached my teens, and I had more than enough money to indulge myself."

  "Have you sisters or brothers?"

  "No. I'm an only child—one who grew up to be a terribly restless man."

  "You wanted something that was truly yours, a mark you could leave on the world. Being the Earl of Gresham wasn't enough. You needed more than to oversee your estate, gamble at White's, and drink each Season away." Seeing the startled lift of Rem's brows, Sammy grinned. "I've just given you Drake's reasons for taking to the sea, albeit as the captain of a merchant brig. You and my brother are more alike than you realize."

  "Evidently."

  "You're a titled nobleman. You could easily have bought yourself a commission. But you didn't."

  "No. For once I wanted to earn something, not have it handed to me because of who I was. I didn't keep my background a secret; I merely insisted that it not be used to benefit me."

  "When did you become a lieutenant?"

  "The regulations required me to be nineteen before I could take my exams." Rem's dimple flashed. "I was seventeen."

  "How did you manage that?"

  "I had a flair—for navigation and for making situations work to my advantage. The three captains under whom I'd served were impressed with my seamanship. They all submitted certificates of service, which the examining board weighed heavily in their decision. In light of the glowing recommendations, they then decided to glance only briefly at the slightly modified birth certificate I produced. Thus, my appointment."

  "You're a rogue, my lord."

  "Indeed. But a determined one."

  "And you were a captain before you were twenty—the youngest captain in the Royal Navy." Sammy's voice rang with pride.

  "That I owe to Admiral Nelson's brilliant command at the Battle of Copenhagen. My heroism was merely the re
sult of his."

  "You admired Lord Nelson a great deal, didn't you?"

  A muscle worked in Rem's jaw, "I was fortunate enough to serve under him for five years. He taught me the meaning of leadership. His instincts were flawless, his commitment to his ship and country absolute ... even if risks had to be taken. He was a genius."

  Sammy watched the emotion that ravaged Rem's face when he spoke of his mentor. "So you followed your dream. Did you capture it, Rem? Did the navy fulfill that gnawing void inside you?"

  "'Twas a double-edged sword, Samantha. The navy assuaged my restlessness, gave me the opportunity to learn from the finest commander in all of England, and introduced me to the best friend I've ever had." A pause. "It also tore out my soul, obliterated my ideals, and hardened my heart."

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Sammy chose to address one of Rem's positive references. "I'm glad Boyd was there for you. When did the two of you meet?"

  "Boyd came aboard the Ares as a midshipman just after the Battle of Copenhagen."

  "The Ares?" Sammy's eyes lit up. "Was that the name of the ship you captained?"

  "The ship I eventually captained, yes. When I met Boyd, I was a mere lieutenant. We covered many miles together, Boyd and I: the West Indies, Portugal, Gibraltar, the Mediterranean. We also witnessed countless deaths together."

  "In battle?"

  "Not only in battle, Samantha." Rem stared ahead, seeing shadows of memories long buried, never forgotten. "I can't begin to describe to you what it was like, how tenuous life was. We never knew who would survive and who would not. When we traveled to the West Indies, the heat was blistering, the filth rampant. Every day men succumbed to yellow fever. Elsewhere we were plagued by scurvy, spoiled foods, and diseased women. In the winter, typhus struck—fatally. And, of course, there were the bouts with nature,

  "I remember one particularly fierce storm in the Mediterranean. I had just turned eighteen. My captain asked me to shimmy up the mainmast and fix the rigging that had been torn to shreds by the slicing winds. The rain was so cold, my fingers instantly numbed ... but I forced myself to ignore the stinging pain. I had no choice—no one else was skilled enough to repair the badly tattered jibs and topsails. The sole other crewman adept enough to assist me was a youngster named Haber—he couldn't have been more than fourteen. He was a skinny, freckled lad who had a hell of a talent with rigging, and a gentle, amenable nature; always grinning, always helpful. Without a single complaint, he maneuvered his way up and climbed out to work beside me. I remember tying that last bloody section of rigging, hearing Haber's jubilant whistle over the crashing of the waves. I made my way back to the mast just as a blast of wind struck, pitching the ship—and us—violently. I grabbed onto the mainmast, held on with every fiber of my being ... and reached for Haber with my free arm. I can still see the look of terror on his face. He couldn't reach me—nor I him— and he was just too bloody frail to hold on. He fell to his death right before my eyes ... and there wasn't a damned thing I could do to stop it. To this day, I can still hear his scream, see the waves drag him under."

  Rem stared down at his shaking hands. "And, yes, there were the battles. Sick, needless bloodshed that I loathed but could do nothing to prevent. And then at Trafalgar. . ." Having unlocked his carefully sealed chasm of pain, Rem couldn't seem to stop talking. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me to watch him dying? Not a quick, painless death, but a slow, agonizing one?"

  "Admiral Nelson?" Sammy managed. "Was the Ares that close to the Victory? You actually saw him struck?"

  "Our ships were directly beside each other," Rem replied woodenly. "The battle commenced just before noon. The Victory was one of the first two ships to cross over the enemy line ... despite all the warnings Admiral Nelson received that, as the fleet's commanding officer, he should not expose himself to the grave danger evoked by leading the way into battle. Nelson scoffed, entertaining no thought for his own personal safety, concerned only with annihilating the enemy.

  "An hour later the Victory had been crippled; the wheel shattered, the sails demolished, the bow torn by cannon fire. She continued to be under direct siege. The Ares came to her aid. It was just shy of half after one when I saw Admiral Nelson go down on the Victory's quarterdeck. It was bad; I knew it the moment the surgeon examined him and ordered his men to take Nelson below. They complied. That was the last time I saw the admiral alive." Rem swallowed. "Later, I learned that a musket ball had pierced his chest, shattered his lung and lodged in his back. By half after four he was gone."

  "Oh, Rem . . ."

  Rem continued as if Sammy hadn't spoken. "The triumph was his, everything he'd ever hoped to accomplish. But instead of standing proudly at the head of his fleet, celebrating the downfall of Napoleon's navy, he was lying beneath the Victory's gun deck bleeding to death. He'd given so much to England, had so much more yet to give. And to what end? Where is the justice, Samantha? Tell me that— where is the goodness you seem always to find?"

  "There is no justice." Sammy lay a trembling hand on Rem's jaw. "Not in this case. But there is goodness. Admiral Nelson was a hero in the truest sense of the word ... and not only because he gave his life for his country, but because he dedicated his life to it. You said it yourself, he'd accomplished all he intended, and more.

  "Tell me this, Rem: would Lord Nelson be proud of Trafalgar's outcome? Would he applaud the victory he'd ensured and his fleet had achieved?"

  Slowly, Rem nodded. "Yes. That was my sole consolation. We attained precisely what Admiral Nelson sought: the total obliteration of Napoleon's navy. We took nineteen French and Spanish ships as prizes, yet gave up none of our own. Yes, Nelson would have reveled in our triumph."

  "Then he's at peace, Rem. Moreover, he will never truly die, for no one will ever forget him; not his countrymen, and certainly not those who were lucky enough to serve by his side. Is that not goodness?"

  "I suppose it is. It is also the only reality that has granted me some measure of my own peace."

  "But it's not enough comfort for you to allow yourself the risk of caring."

  Rem blinked, seeming to return from some faraway place. "I do care, Samantha. Just not with the same full and untainted heart as you do."

  "Given your feelings, why didn't you resign from the navy immediately after Trafalgar?"

  Was it her imagination, or did Rem stiffen?

  "I considered it. To some extent, I did. As I told you, my consistent, active duty ceased after Trafalgar. With an occasional commission during our latest war with America, I've been landed for nearly a decade now, training our future officers for whatever fate holds in store for them. Sadly, there are certain things I cannot simulate, no matter how vast my experience. Each man must confront those things on his own ... and grapple with them in his own mind and heart."

  "I love you now even more than I did before."

  A tender smile touched Rem's lips and he pressed Sammy's head to his chest. "Do you, imp? I'm glad."

  Laying her palm over his heart, Sammy asked softly, "There's still something more, isn't there?"

  This time it was not her imagination: she felt Rem's muscles contract like a bowstring, shock rippling through them in harsh waves.

  "No."

  "Is it that you don't trust me?"

  "Dammit, Samantha!" Rem jerked away, alarmed by her unexpected show of insight. This was one territory he dared not let her tread, one truth he could not permit her to uncover. "Of course I trust you. I've shared more with you this past hour than I've shared with another soul in over a decade." His jaw set. "But I've stripped away as many layers of myself as I intend to. No matter how close we've become, there's something you must understand. I've lived one and thirty years on my own, unconstrained and independent. I can't—won't—change. So do not, in that stubbornly romantic mind of yours, assume that I will suddenly begin to report my every action and confide my every thought."

  "Not even to me?"

  "No. Not even to you." Samantha'
s pain gripped Rem as fiercely as if it were his own, but he fought it, knowing that in this case he had no choice. In order to protect his cause, and her safety, he had to keep the portion of his life that belonged to the Admiralty and to England carefully concealed. "Samantha, you're going to be my wife, and I'm going to do my damnedest to make you happy. But as I've continually told you, your idea of love and marriage is infinitely more all-encompassing than mine. I'll compromise where I can, but don't expect me to bare my soul as you do; it's an impossibility. Accept it—for both our sakes."

  "I can't."

  "You must." He turned to face her. "I'll indulge you in all ways I can—all but this. I am as I am, imp."

  Sammy's eyes grew suspiciously bright. "Would you please take me home now? You've given me a great deal to ponder."

  "Samantha—"

  "No more, Rem." She shook her head. "You've explained yourself quite thoroughly. Now I need to be alone."

  Gripping her shoulders, Rem's eyes bore deep into hers. He started to say something, then broke off. "Dammit," he swore softly. "Dammit to hell."

  Leaning past Samantha, he yanked apart the curtains, opened the carriage window and ordered his driver to return to Abingdon Street.

  Silence punctuated the final moments of their ride. When the carriage halted at number fifteen, Sammy pushed open the door and climbed down unassisted. "Good night, Remington."

  "I'll be traveling to Allonshire to speak with your brother first thing in the morning," he informed her in a steely tone that forbade defiance.

  Sammy turned, scooping Aunt Gertie's hat off the seat and tilting her head back to gaze up at Rem. "Thank you for confiding that fact in me. For an autonomous man like you, it must have been quite a sacrifice."

  The words were as close to a barb as Samantha could muster, and Rem was aware of their sting. But what really clawed at his gut were the tears glistening on Samantha's long dark lashes.

  Instinctively, he started to go after her, then checked himself. Watching her disappear into the Town house, he slammed his fist against his knee, knowing there wasn't a damned thing he could do to ease her pain.