by Andrea Kane
Drake was still reeling. "Your revelation doesn't ring true. How could you be an agent of the Crown when, during our recent war with America, you spent so much time at sea captaining a flagship?"
"That was a fallacy, fabricated by the Admiralty to protect my true role during the war. I did go to sea, but not as a naval captain. In fact, I wasn't even assigned to one vessel, but traveled from ship to ship gathering information for the Crown. I observed our fleet in battle, assessed the American strategy and provided the Admiralty with my analysis of our strengths and our enemy's weaknesses. It was my job to know everything that occurred in national or foreign waters ... and to use that information to aid our country."
"Even if I choose to believe you, I'd be a fool if I didn't ask for proof."
"Yes, you would," Rem agreed. "Obviously, I carry no documents to link me with the Admiralty." Rem scrutinized Drake's reaction. "Would it suffice if I provided you with details no customary naval captain is privy to? Specifics about the annihilation of your ship La Belle Illusion and the part your brother Sebastian played in it? Would you like me to recite from memory the report on the incident that the Admiralty has on file, including my determination of what should have been the outcome of the battle had it not been for your brother's interference?"
"Stop." Grimly, Drake held up his hand. "That's all the proof I require." Leaning forward, he added, "I've protected Samantha as best I could by not dwelling on the horrid details of our brother's crimes, Remington."
"As have I. And now that you're satisfied with my explanation, we need never speak of it again."
"Agreed. Now get to the current crisis."
Carefully, thoroughly, Rem outlined the situation and the suspects to Drake.
"So that's why you came to Allonshire last week." Drake nodded thoughtfully. "You were delving into what I might know about the missing ships."
"It's also why I initially began pursuing Samantha," Rem added, bent on obliterating all misconceptions. "I hoped, since she was your sister, that she might inadvertently possess revealing information. Or at least that's what I told myself. The truth is, it was easier to believe I was courting Samantha for the sake of my mission than to admit I was falling in love with her. I'm not sure that's something you can understand."
"I can. Better than you think. And I respect your honesty." Drake rubbed a quill between his fingers. "You're convinced that Anders and Summerson are working with someone else?"
"With at least one other person, yes. It's up to me to find a way to expose them... or to encourage them to expose themselves."
"How are you going to do that?"
Rem gripped his knees. "That's where I need your help. I have an excellent description of the privateer. The problem is, I have no idea when he'll show his face. My guess is, he won't risk discovery by appearing during daylight hours. But eventually he'll have to meet with Summerson, to get his next sum of money. And I intend to be there when he does."
"But if you confront him and Summerson then, you'll still lose any chance of apprehending their unknown partner."
"Exactly. So I plan to have a private talk with our pirate friend ... after Summerson takes his leave. As a privateer, he's bound by neither document nor friendship, and his interests are entirely his own. So I needn't worry about him alerting the others. With the proper amount of persuasion, perhaps I can convince him to convene a meeting of all the parties involved."
"That makes sense. But how do you intend to survey the docks each night without being noticed?"
"Barrett Shipping overlooks a large section of the Thames, as well as the entire area surrounding Anders Shipping."
"So it does." A glint of understanding lit Drake's eyes.
"No one would question your watchman for making his nightly rounds, would they?"
"Certainly not." Drake rose, intrigued and decisive. "Consider yourself hired, Gresham. As of tomorrow night you work for Barrett Shipping."
20
"I still can't believe it! By the Season's end, I'm going to be the Countess of Gresham!" Sammy danced around the room, swinging Rascal in the air.
"Why can't you believe it? You've been plotting this for weeks now," Cynthia muttered, her brusque tone belied by the twinkle in her eyes.
"You can't fool me, Cynthia. You're thrilled for my happiness. So stop pretending." Sammy hugged Rascal tightly. "You shall become a Worth, as well," she informed him. "And we'll all live happily ever after."
"An original thought."
Sammy turned to give her friend a knowing look. "Perhaps not original, but also not unique. When are you going to admit to me that you care for Boyd Hayword?"
Cynthia flushed, hastily turning down Sammy's bed.
"You didn't answer me."
"There's nothing to say."
"I know you've been seeing him. And I know he cares for you. He all but told me so."
"Did he?"
"Yes." Sammy stroked Rascal's fur absently. "Boyd won't hurt you."
"Perhaps not intentionally." Cynthia stared down at the bare white sheets. "But what about when he learns who ... what I am."
"He already knows who and what you are. What you were was a victim. Tell him the truth; give him a chance to understand ... and to help you understand yourself. Then put the past where it belongs. Behind you." Sammy reached across the bed to take Cynthia's hand. "You're a wonderful friend; a fine, decent human being. You deserve to be happy."
"But what if I can't make Boyd happy?"
"That's nonsense. Why wouldn't you be able to—" Sammy broke off as a flash of insight occurred. "You mean in bed, don't you? You're worried that you'll disappoint him when you make love."
Cynthia turned away. "I can't discuss this, Samantha."
"You must discuss this." Sammy placed Rascal on the bed and turned to face her friend. "Cynthia, what that blackguard did to you, what happened at Annie's, that bears no resemblance to what it will be like with Boyd."
"How do you know?"
"Because when you and Boyd are finally together, it will be rooted in love, and you'll feel what I feel when I'm in Rem's arms: tenderness, excitement, wonder. It's a closeness beyond comprehension; as if we're one. Believe me."
"Boyd's been an absolute gentleman. I know he's waiting patiently, but I'm just not ready. It's too soon."
"Talk to him, Cynthia. I promise you won't frighten him away. Then let time and nature take over."
Cynthia smiled faintly. "When did you become so wise?"
"When I fell in love."
Silence. "The thought of caring scares me to death," Cynthia whispered at last.
"You're far from alone," Sammy returned cheerfully. "Just look at the two reformed rakes under this roof. My brother, who thought of women as worthless chattel and now cherishes his wife with all his heart, and Remington, who was transformed from a faithless womanizer to the most splendid of heroes. Without Alex and me to open their eyes, both men would have remained paralyzed by their pasts, unable to love. Let Boyd do the same for you."
"All right, Samantha. I'll try."
"And you'll succeed. Now, on to tonight's arrangements." Sammy glanced at the bed, tapping her forefinger thoughtfully to her lips. Her gaze fell on Rascal, who was rolling merrily amid the fluffy pillows, and her whole face lit up. "Perfect!"
"What's perfect? What arrangements?" Cynthia demanded. "I'll never get used to your wild vaulting from one subject to the next."
Sammy was barely listening. "Rascal, if we tuck you into the bed amid three pillows and give you two of your favorite stockings to chew on—Cynthia, you'll have to provide those—it might just keep you still enough for my plan to work. Cynthia, will you spend the night in my bedchamber? Just as a precaution, really. In case Alex should visit. No one else comes to my room after dark. Also, Rascal detests sleeping without company. This way you can be his companion and my sentry all at once!"
"Samantha." Cynthia gripped her shoulders. "What are you talking about? Why are you hiding Rascal in
your bed and why would he be alone if I went to my own chambers? Where will you be?"
Sammy arched her brows in exasperation. "With Remington, of course."
"With ... Remington." Cynthia repeated the words slowly, as if she were unsure she had heard them correctly. "Are you totally mad?" she hissed. "You're going to spend the night with the earl under your brother's roof?"
"Of course. Rem will only be at Allonshire this one night. At daybreak, he'll be returning to London. After that, who knows when we'll have another opportunity to be together."
"I have a novel idea: why not wait for your wedding night?"
A grin. "My, you've become quite a prig. The wedding isn't for two months. I've barely survived two days! No, Cynthia." Sammy began enthusiastically stuffing pillows beneath the bedcovers. "I refuse to lie awake all night knowing the man I love is doing the same right down the hall." She straightened, her cheeks glowing. "Will you help me ... please?"
"I must be totally insane," Cynthia muttered, rolling her eyes to the heavens. "Very well; what would you have me do?"
"Thank you!" Sammy hugged her. "No more than what I just said: furnish Rascal with two stockings, post yourself near my door to ward off guests, and spend the night in my bedchamber. Oh! And one more thing." Sammy dimpled. "Help me don my new peach nightrail."
"Remington Worth had best prepare himself. Nothing in his experience has prepared him for Samantha Barrett."
Another impish grin. "I know. Glorious, isn't it? "
Rem was every bit as restless as Samantha.
Tossing off his second glass of brandy, he stood at the bedchamber window, staring off into the night, planning his procedure for tomorrow. He'd map out a walking route of the docks for himself during his carriage ride back to London. The scrutiny would begin tomorrow night at dusk and continue every night thereafter until the culprits were apprehended. At which point Rem could pursue his future.
Smiling, he recalled the expression on Samantha's face when Drake had called her down, given her his blessing. Joy, love, gratitude, excitement; her beautiful, expressive features had revealed them all. She'd hugged her brother, Alex, Smitty, Humphreys ... and four or five footmen who happened to be in the vicinity. Then she'd gazed up at Rem with such love that even the footmen beamed their approval.
Rem had stared down into those incredible jade-green eyes, his own chest tight with emotion, and lightly kissed her cheek.
What he really wanted was to take her to bed.
Slamming down his brandy glass, Rem shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it to the chair.
Two months, he reminded himself, scowling. Two endless, bloody months.
He'd never last.
He was in the midst of plotting lengthy closed-carriage rides around Hyde Park when his door creaked open.
Instinctively, Rem seized his pistol, aiming it at the widening doorway.
"That's the second time you've pointed a pistol at me, my lord." Sammy shut the door firmly behind her. "I assure you, there are better ways to ensure my cooperation."
"Samantha?" Rem lowered his arm, staring at her incredulously. "What are you doing here?"
"If you need to ask me that, it's been far longer than I realized." With a firm click, Sammy turned the key in the lock. Brushing wisps of hair from her shoulders, she began walking slowly toward Rem. "I wanted to ask your opinion of my new nightrail. Do you like it?" She stopped a mere foot in front of him, tilting her head back to watch his face. Rem could scarcely speak, much less think. The pale silk of her gown was nearly transparent, its layers clinging to Samantha's lush curves, its bodice so low that the entire upper slope of her breasts was exposed.
His breathing harsh, shallow, Rem clenched his fists, strove for a semblance of reason. "Sweetheart, we're at Allonshire. I don't think ..." He had no idea what he was going to say. Whatever it was, the words were never uttered. Samantha pressed her palms to his bare chest, gliding them through the tufts of hair, up over the taut muscles and warm flesh to his massive shoulders. "I've missed you so much," she breathed, pressing her lips to where his heart pounded furiously. "And I want to celebrate ... truly celebrate ... our betrothal." She stepped back, met his burning gaze, and, in one brisk motion, tugged her nightrail over her head and dropped it to the floor. "Can we, Rem?"
"Christ." The word was both capitulation and prayer, as Rem dragged her into his arms, crushed her body to his. "I don't think I can make it to the bed," he growled, his hands possessing her everywhere at once.
Whimpering with pleasure, Sammy reached down to unfasten Rem's breeches, tugging at them with impatient hands.
Rem tore them off himself, kicked them away, lifting Samantha from the floor until her breasts brushed his chest. Their eyes met.
"Here?" Sammy whispered, offering him her soul.
"No," Rem replied, passion suddenly dwarfed by tenderness. "Not here." Wrapping his arms securely around her, he walked to the bed and lowered her to it, following her down. "Here," he murmured reverently, framing her face between his hands. "In bed, where I can touch every inch of you, feel your heart beating against mine, hold you after you've shuddered in my arms. Here, where I can truly show you how much I love you."
"Oh, Rem." She tugged his mouth down to hers, kissing him with all the skill he'd taught her and all the love that filled her heart. "Am I really going to be your wife?"
"Really. Irrevocably. Eternally." He punctuated each promise with a bone-melting kiss.
"I want a houseful of children with silver-gray eyes and devastating dimples." She stroked her hands down his back.
"And pure, trusting hearts and romantic dreams," he agreed, trailing his lips down the hollow between her breasts.
Sammy's breath caught in her throat when Rem turned his head, nuzzled the warm curve of her breast, and simultaneously caressed her thighs with slow, tingling strokes of his hand. He shifted again, drew her achingly taut nipple into his mouth, and Sammy had to bite her lip to stifle her cry of pleasure.
"So sweet," he breathed. "So extraordinarily beautiful." He moved to her other breast, his own breathing ragged, tugging lightly at the crest until he felt Sammy shift restlessly beneath him. "Yes, darling," he replied as if she'd spoken. Ardently, he enveloped her nipple, bathed it with his tongue, while his hands urged her thighs to part, opened her to his touch.
He shuddered when he found her, so satiny wet he had to grit his teeth against the climax threatening to erupt in his loins. He entered her with his fingers, feeling her inner muscles clench around him, then expand in wondrous welcome.
A soft cry escaped Sammy's mouth, and Rem lifted his head, covered her lips with his, and drank the muted cry into himself. "Move against my fingers," he breathed. "I want to feel you."
Sammy arched, her nails digging into Rem's back at the burst of pleasure his deeper penetration brought. He withdrew, then glided forward again, beginning a motion Sammy's body understood. Of its own accord, her hips began to move in conjunction with his fingers, her thighs parting to his possession. With each motion of his hand, she became more abandoned, undulating, tightening, desperate to hold him longer, deeper inside her.
"God," Rem rasped, withdrawing his fingers and rising to his knees. "I want you every way there is ... all at once." He cupped her bottom, lifting her to his seeking mouth. "I need to know your taste again."
Writhing in his arms, Sammy pressed her fist to her mouth, frantically trying to silence a scream. Her entire body was on fire, and Rem's tongue was stoking the flames so high she wondered if she'd survive. He took her to the tantalizing brink of sensation, her muscles taut, poised, frantic for release. Then he stopped.
"No!" Wildly, she reached for him. "Rem ... don't."
"I won't. Never." He came down over her, wrapped her legs around his waist with shaking hands. "Open your eyes, love. I want to watch you." With one erotic motion of his hips, he penetrated her softness. "Now." Even as he spoke, she began convulsing in his arms. "Go ahead and scream," he whispered, coverin
g her mouth with his. "Samantha . . ." The last was a harsh groan into her open mouth, his powerful body shuddering with unbearable pleasure. "God, Samantha."
He matched each spasm of her body with his own, pouring into her with more emotion than he ever knew he possessed, drinking in her cries of pleasure and giving her his.
So this was peace.
"I love you so much, Rem." Sammy's breathing, her words, were uneven, her body still quivering with magical aftershocks.
"You make me whole," he murmured, his face buried in her hair, his body buried inside hers. "And I love you more than all your dreams combined."
"Do you think anyone heard us?"
Rem grinned, happiness suddenly inundating every dark corner of his newly awakened soul. Rolling to one side, he clasped Sammy tightly to him. "I'm sure no one heard us, imp. I myself drank in all your exquisite little cries of passion."
Sammy smiled against his chest. "Does that mean I pleased you, my lord rake?"
"You nearly killed me, my lady."
Leaning back, Sammy chewed her lip in mock dismay. "Are you implying you're already spent?" She sighed. "'Tis a pity. I had exhilarating plans for the remainder of the night." Seductively, she reached down to caress his length, feeling him harden instantly at her touch. "You see, I have yet to explore you, my lord. You've given me such intriguing possibilities to contemplate; ways that I might learn your body as you learned mine ... with my hands, my mouth." Her fingers paused, hovered. "But if you're too tired, I'll understand... ."
Sammy laughed softly as Rem seized her wrist, dragging her hand back to his throbbing body and showing her without words that he was, in fact, quite revived.
"I was going to find you in the morning, before I left Allonshire," Rem murmured, absently stroking the sable waterfall of Sammy's hair, which cascaded across his chest.
"Well, now you don't have to. I'm right here." Sammy closed her eyes, curled closer against Rem's powerful body. "Moreover, the morning would have been infinitely unsatisfactory. Why, all we could do was talk ... and probably not even in private. Whereas tonight..." She sighed contentedly.
