by Andrea Kane
"What about your family? Surely they're worried sick over your whereabouts?"
"My wife has no knowledge of our dire straits. She would cheerfully hand me over to Knollwood if she did."
"Running will solve nothing."
"Staying will solve less."
Rem inhaled sharply, weighing his options. Instinct told him that Goddfrey's guilt extended only as far as carelessness, greed, and weakness of character. It also told him that the viscount was at the end of his rope. The question was, how could he assist Goddfrey without revealing too much?
"I beg of you, Gresham. Don't tell anyone you saw me. By nightfall I'll be gone. If Knollwood should learn of my previous whereabouts, he'll come after me."
"I'll make a deal with you, Goddfrey," Rem replied. "I'll tell no one of our meeting . . . under one condition."
"Which is?"
"Tell me all you know about this low-life Knollwood."
"Why?" Suspicion flashed in Goddfrey's eyes.
"Because I want to anonymously alert the authorities that he should be investigated. I won't mention your name or my own. But wouldn't it ease your guilt to know you've spared others the agony you're now experiencing?"
A brief silence, then a nod. "I know very little about him. I don't find him—he finds me."
"Where?"
"At the Tower. Always at one a.m. He sends a message to my office."
"How does he know when you need money?"
Goddfrey shrugged. "He just does. He also decides when to demand repayment. And the price he exacts is excruciatingly high."
"What does he look like?"
"Short. Plump. Pale blue eyes. Unkempt gray hair. Of middle years. That's really all I can tell you."
"It's enough. I'll take it from here." Rem slid his chair back.
"Gresham!" Goddfrey bolted to his feet. "Remember, you swore not to tell anyone."
"And I won't." Rem rose, gazing at Goddfrey with a somber, pitying expression, "However, I will need to know your destination." He held up his hand to ward off Goddfrey's immediate protest. "I give you my word I'll share the information with no one."
"Why do you need to know where I'll be?"
"Because if Knollwood is apprehended, I'll be able to advise you."
"I'm not sure it matters anymore ... at least not to me. My life is beyond redemption."
"Well, it matters to me. Have you forgotten that you owe me fifty pounds from our last evening at White's? I intend to make certain you return to London this Season so that I might collect."
Goddfrey smiled faintly. "Thank you, Gresham." Furtively, he looked about the coffee room. "I'm staying with a distant cousin in Edinburgh. I'll write down his address for you."
Rem took the slip of paper and rose. "Good. Now I'm off to meet my friend. Stay well, Goddfrey. And don't lose heart."
Samantha was waiting at the door when Rem arrived.
"Hello, my lord." Rem couldn't help but smile, despite his pensive mood.
"You're supposed to keep me fashionably waiting, imp. You also have servants to answer the door."
"I know. I'm terribly impulsive. But I couldn't wait."
"You look lovely." Rem drank in her elegant white muslin carriage dress, more than a hint of pleasure in his gaze. Her innocent beauty was a wondrous balm after the ugly events of the day.
"And you look dashing." Boldly, she studied his dark trousers, Wellington boots, and striped waistcoat. "A splendid escort."
He chuckled. "Shall we?"
"I suppose we must wait for Millie." Sammy glanced impatiently toward the stairs. "She should be down in a moment."
"I'm ready, my lady." Millie scurried down and curtsied. "Good afternoon, my lord."
"Good afternoon, Millie." Rem turned back to Sammy. "Our chariot awaits."
"Oh, you didn't bring a phaeton!" Sammy sounded ecstatic, for much the reason Boyd had, Rem suspected. In truth, he didn't know why he'd brought the enclosed coach. He'd told himself it was because he would acquire more information from Lady Samantha if there were fewer distractions. Now, feeling the inexorable pull between them, he wondered if he'd been lying to himself.
"It's a lovely evening, Millie. Enjoy the fresh air," Sammy called gaily, gesturing toward the coach's rear outer seat.
"But..." Millie looked flabbergasted. She had no opportunity to elaborate, because Sammy had already climbed into the chariot.
Rem handed Millie up to her designated seat beside the coachmen, before climbing in beside Sammy and ordering his driver to proceed.
He then promptly burst out laughing.
"You are incorrigible; do you know that, imp? Have you any idea how tattered your reputation will be if anyone should realize we are alone in this carriage?" "I don't care." Sammy leaned forward. "I wish to be alone with you."
"And I wish to be alone with you." The words were out before Rem could evaluate them, but he knew immediately that his pleasure had little to do with his mission. Whatever be hoped to learn from Samantha could wait a few minutes. For now he just wanted to immerse himself in her exuberance. "So, did you enjoy your first ball at Almack's?"
"You know I did."
"Any lingering fatigue from your ceaseless night of dancing?"
"None."
"Did any of the gentlemen that comprised your multitude of admirers make an impression on you?" Now why the hell was he asking that?
Sammy shrugged. "A few of them asked to call on me."
"Like Anders?"
Her brows arched in surprise. "Yes, the Viscount Anders did ask if he might call."
"The man is a master at seduction—a noted blackguard with the morals of a snake, and a reputation to equal it."
"Like you, my lord?" Sammy's eyes twinkled.
Rem sucked in his breath. "No... yes. Dammit, Samantha, I just don't want to see you get hurt."
"I won't get hurt, Remington," she replied softly. "I told you—you'll protect me."
Gazing into those trusting eyes, green as a summer meadow, Rem felt his chest constrict. Without thinking, he drew her against him, tunneling his fingers through her thick sable tresses. "What am I going to do with you, imp?"
"I believe you asked me that question, as well. And I answered it."
His eyes gleamed. "So you did. And is the answer still the same?"
"It is."
"Very well. . . kiss me, my beautiful romantic." He caressed the sides of her neck with his thumbs, guided by a need that unfolded with a life of its own. "I can imagine nothing more magnificent than tasting your soft, sweet mouth."
Sammy needed no encouragement. "Last night," she whispered, stroking Rem's jaw, "when you kissed me ... it was heaven. I dreamed about it all night."
"Then let me give you something else to dream about," he murmured, covering her lips with his. "Let me …"
What was it that happened when he held this woman? he wondered dazedly. It was as if nothing existed outside the magic they made when she was in his arms. All he wanted was more: to hold her closer, to taste her more fully, to possess her more completely.
Reason be damned.
Beginning as pure fire, the kiss exploded into streamers of white-hot sensation. Rem pressed Samantha back onto the carriage seat, following her down, his lips already leaving hers to caress her throat, her neck, her shoulders. Sammy arched, breathing his name, and Rem's fingers dug into the sleeves of her gown, dragging them down her arms to give him access to the upper swell of her breasts. He could feel the pounding of her heart, the harsh little sounds of pleasure she made.
"You're so bloody beautiful," he rasped, his hands gliding around to cup her breasts through the fine material of her gown. "So impossibly, irresistibly beautiful."
Sammy whimpered, her breasts swelling at his touch. His thumbs brushed ever so lightly across her nipples, feeling them harden instantly at the fleeting caress. The urge to see, touch, taste her exquisitely responsive flesh, was almost more than he could bear. But he couldn't, not in a carriage with the e
ntire ton frolicking about them.
He settled for a far less satisfying substitute. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her through her gown, tugging lightly at her nipples with his teeth.
Sammy's reaction nearly undid him. She cried out in undisguised pleasure, drawing his head closer, more intimately, against her.
"Christ, Samantha, stop." Rem was barely able to breath, let alone think. "If you don't, I'm going to lose all control."
"And what would happen then?" Sammy asked breathlessly, gazing up at him with wide, questioning eyes.
"I'd do something we'd both regret."
"Would we?"
"You, imp, are playing with fire." Rem pressed his lips to the pulse at her throat.
"I'm not playing at all."
"We're in the middle of Hyde Park, sweetheart." He kissed her again, deeply. "It's not the time."
"When will it be the time?"
Their gazes locked.
"Samantha . . . you're a beautiful, enchanting young woman."
"But I'm not proficient enough for you." Sadly, Sammy drew herself upright, adjusting her bodice and smoothing her hair.
"Proficiency isn't the issue. The fact is, a quick tumble in my carriage is beneath you. You deserve everything a woman dreams of: flowers ... wine .. . firelight... music ... long hours of preparation . . ." His mouth snapped shut as he realized how his own words were affecting him.
"It sounds like heaven," Sammy whispered, her face flushed with the picture Rem had conjured up. "When can it be?"
God, he wanted to take her to bed. "On your wedding night, imp. With a man you have yet to meet—the man who will be your husband." Seeing Sammy's anguished expression, feeling the insistent throbbing in his loins, Rem decided that he was a saint. "Samantha, love ..." He cupped her face. "You deserve it all—commitment, a husband, a family."
"A hero?" She tilted her head back, studying him with those mesmerizing jade-green eyes.
"Yes ... a hero."
"I've found him."
Why the hell did he want to be all that she believed he was?
It didn't matter. He wasn't.
"No, sweetheart. I'm not a hero."
"Are you deterred by my inexperience?"
He sucked in his breath. "To some extent. . . yes."
"Fine." Her small chin set, Sammy folded her hands purposefully in her lap. "That obstacle is easily remedied. I'll make certain to gain some experience at once. The Viscount Anders is calling on me tomorrow; I'll begin with him. In no time at all, I'll be able—"
"Over my dead body!" Rem couldn't believe the vehemence of his reply, or the cold fury that rose in his chest at the thought of her in another man's arms—least of all a charming viper like Anders.
Sammy seemed sincerely startled. "Whyever not? You just said—"
"I said you should save your innocence for your husband. Not hand it over to an unworthy cad who'll toss you aside the moment he's had his way with you."
"But I want to be tossed aside. I have no aspirations to wed Stephen."
"Stephen?"
Again, that surprising surge of jealousy. "If he lays a hand on you, I'll kill him." A dazzling smile illuminated Sammy's face. "Yet another rescue. How can you deny your heroism?"
"Tell me about Barrett Shipping." Hearing himself blurt out the question, Rem was horrified. When had he ever approached a covert subject with so little finesse?
"Barrett Shipping?" Sammy blinked. "I assume you feel the need to change the subject, Remington."
Without meaning to, Samantha had provided him with a logical motive for his sloppy tactics. "I think a change in subject is definitely in order, imp."
"What is it you wish to discuss?"
"Is your brother abandoning his trips to sea until the cause of the disappearances have been determined?" Sammy averted her head, staring out the window. "I don't know."
"You're worried about him."
"Of course I am. If anything ever happened to Drake, I'd die."
Rem took her hand in his. "I didn't mean to upset you, Samantha."
"It's not just Drake. It's the whole situation. So many needless deaths. So few avenues to explore. Perhaps the Viscount Goddfrey could explain—" Abruptly, she stopped.
"What did you say?"
"Only that so many men have died." Sammy twisted her fingers nervously in the fabric of her gown.
"What made you mention Goddfrey?"
"I—I heard that he'd lost a large crew with his last ship."
What the hell wasn't she saying? Rem needed to know. "Samantha ..."
"I'd like to go home now, my lord." She was as transparent as glass.
"All right," Rem replied, wisely electing to bide his time. "May I take you to the opera tomorrow?"
Sammy chewed her lip in distressed indecision. "I promised Stephen ..."
"Get rid of him." Rem lightly stroked her palm with his thumb. "Let him call on you in the afternoon. Then come to Covent Garden Theater with me in the evening."
"All right."
"And Samantha—I meant what I said. If Anders touches you—"
"Like this?" she murmured. Without warning, she slid closer, leaned up and kissed him.
"No," Rem replied huskily. "Like this." He crushed her against him, buried his lips in hers and kissed her until they were both breathless.
Long minutes later Rem tore himself away. "I'd better take you home now, my lovely lady. Else I'll forget every good intention I ever possessed."
"I look forward to that day, my lord." Sammy smiled. "In fact, I can hardly wait."
7
Finding Smitty was infinitely easier than Sammy expected.
He was standing in the front hallway, glowering like an angry lion, when she entered the Town house at twilight.
"Oh, Smitty! I'm glad you're here. I looked for you at noontime, but you weren't—"
"My lady, we need to talk," he interrupted.
Sammy's eyes widened in surprise. It was rare that Smitty spoke to her in so harsh a tone. "Of course. What is it?"
"I think we should adjourn to the library," he replied stiffly.
"Very well." She proceeded him down the hall, wondering what on earth this was about. Once inside the library, she turned. "You seem upset."
"I am."
A sudden chill ran down Sammy's spine. "It isn't Alex ... or the baby . . . ?"
"No, my lady." Smitty shook his head at once. "I received a message from His Grace today. All is well; the doctor and midwife agree that the new babe should be making an appearance by next week's end."
"Thank goodness." Visibly, she relaxed. "Then what is it?"
Smitty cleared his throat with rough unease.
"This is extremely difficult for me, Lady Samantha. I've known you since you came into this world, and care for you as if you were my own."
A fond smile touched Sammy's lips. "I feel the same way about you, Smitty—you're a member of our family."
"Thank you. And I apologize in advance for my impertinence."
"You are never impertinent, Smitty." Sammy grinned.
Her grin was not returned. "When His Grace realized he couldn't be in London this Season, he entrusted you into my care____" Smitty met Sammy's gaze. "I take that responsibility very seriously."
"I know you do."
"Then I must interfere in a way I customarily would not."
"Very well."
"To be blunt, I understand you went riding with the Earl of Gresham this evening."
"My goodness, news travels quickly!" Sammy laughed. "I only just arrived home. But yes, I rode through Hyde Park with Remington."
"I don't think the earl is proper company for you, my lady."
"Why not?"
An uncomfortable pause. "You're very young, Lady Samantha, and very naive about. . . certain things. The earl has a reputation that is—in polite terms—scandalous, making it ill-advised for a well-bred woman such as yourself to keep company with him. I don't expect you to fully understand what I am
saying, however—"
"Oh, I understand," Sammy assured him brightly. "Remington spends a good portion of his time charming women, and the rest of his time bedding those he has charmed. Isn't that right?"
Smitty's mouth dropped open.
"I'm touched by your concern, truly I am." Sammy squeezed Smitty's arm. "But your request that I stop seeing Remington would be quite impossible for me to honor."
"And why is that?" Smitty's voice sounded strangled.
"Because, as I told you, I plan to wed him." She watched in dismay as Smitty sagged against the wall. "Of course, first I'll reform his rakish ways. Please don't worry, Smitty. Remington has exercised"—she frowned, perplexed by the truth of her own revelation—"inordinate self-restraint with me."
Taking pity on Smitty's ashen expression, Sammy curbed her own speculations and attempted to soften the blow. "In the interim, Viscount Anders will be calling tomorrow. So I'm acquainting myself with many eligible gentlemen ... at least until Remington comes to his senses and proposes. All right?"
She didn't wait for a reply. "I was wondering if you recall a gentleman named Goddfrey who does business with Drake?"
"Pardon me?" The abrupt change in subject was too much for Smitty to absorb. He still hadn't recovered from the shock of Samantha's proclamation.
"Goddfrey. Does that name sound familiar?"
"Uh ... yes, my lady." Smitty shook his head to clear it. "The Viscount Goddfrey owns a fairly substantial shipping company in London. He's purchased quite a few ships from your brother over the past years. Why do you ask?"
Sammy tried to look casual. "Oh, because last night at Almack's I overheard some gentlemen discussing the fact that several of the viscount's vessels had been lost.... I was hoping Barrett Shipping hadn't constructed them."
"I don't believe so, my lady."
"The gentlemen also mentioned that Viscount Goddfrey had bolted."
"Idle gossip, I'm certain." Smitty sounded equally as uncomfortable with this subject as he had with the previous one. "If I were you, I shouldn't waste my time on business matters, Lady Samantha. Nor on the Earl of Gresham," he repeated emphatically, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. "Your great aunt will undoubtedly introduce you to many suitable escorts during the Season."
