by Andrea Kane
With a low oath, Anders bent, his uninjured arm reaching for his pistol.
"Don't touch it," Summerson commanded, leveling his gun on Anders. "I've killed once. There's nothing to stop me from doing it agai—"
A shot exploded through the room, striking Summerson's weapon and sending it crashing to the floor.
"You're wrong, Summerson. There is something to stop you from doing it again. Me."
Rem loomed in the doorway, a rigid, uncompromising predator, his own flintlock cocked and ready. "You heartless bastard—you're going to experience, firsthand, exactly what those enslaved sailors did. As of now, you're imprisoned for the rest of your life." Rem stalked Summerson, his expression lethal. "Unless of course the magistrate elects to hang you by the neck. Which would befit another of your crimes—the one you just committed here." Rem gestured toward Fuller's inert body. "Right before my eyes."
"Gresham ..." It was Anders who uttered Rem's name, belatedly reacting to Rem's unexpected intrusion.
"You, Anders, are scum." Rem cast the viscount a venomous look. "For reasons of my own, I'd like to shoot you where you stand. Unfortunately, Summerson just obliterated my grounds for doing so with his admission. If only you'd assisted him and Fuller in peddling those men, I'd have no qualms about ending your wretched life here and now."
"Who do you work for? Who are you really?" the viscount managed, clutching his wound.
"I'm the man who's going to ensure you never steal another penny. You sicken me."
"This wasn't about Samantha then, was it?" Anders realized aloud. "All this time—"
"Don't ever speak Samantha's name again. In fact, don't even think it. If you do, I'll make certain you hang right alongside your conniving merchant partner."
A sharp intake of breath from the Marquis of Hartley made Rem avert his head, raking Hartley with contemptuous eyes. "You are my gravest disappointment. Why, Hartley? Was the money that important?"
"I was losing my company, Gresham," Hartley choked out. "It was all I had—a legacy to pass on to my heirs. How could I face myself if I threw it away? How could I face the ton?"
"You're going to have to do both. Only now you not only have a floundering company to explain, but your own reprehensible behavior. You've disgraced your family name far more unforgivably than mere poverty ever could."
A lightning-quick motion caught Rein's eye, but he merely glanced up, unruffled, as Summerson lunged past him en route to the door, desperate to make his escape.
"Where are you headed, Summerson?" Boyd inquired, stepping into the merchant's path and grabbing him, locking an iron forearm around his neck. Holding him securely, Boyd stood patiently while Harris bound Summerson's arms securely with a thick piece of rope.
That task completed, Boyd strode toward Anders.
"I'm wounded," the viscount whimpered pleadingly, pointing to the blood seeping through his makeshift bandage.
"A pity." Rem seized Anders's uninjured arm and shoved him at Boyd. "Get him the hell out of here, before I reconsider and kill him. Once for me. And once for Samantha."
"So," Anders muttered with a speculative look over his shoulder, "this does concern your feelings for—"
"Speak her name and you're a dead man." Rem turned his back on Hartley and stalked the viscount, pistol raised.
"Don't bother, Rem." Boyd dragged Anders toward the door. "He isn't worth a bullet."
Rem halted, lowering his arm. "You're right. Take Summerson and Anders to Bow Street. I'll finish up here, then follow with Hartley. Tell Templar to come down and dispose of Fuller's body."
"Done." Boyd propelled Anders out into the night, simultaneously calling instructions to Harris.
Rem watched them go. "As for you, Hartley—" he began.
"Don't move, Gresham." The cold barrel of Hartley's pistol jabbed Rem in the back. "And drop your gun."
Concealing his astonishment, Rem complied. Silently, he chastised himself for underestimating Hartley's precarious state of mind. "Do you plan to shoot me?" he inquired calmly.
"Only if I must." Hartley's voice and hand shook. "I'm an old man, Gresham. I'd never survive Newgate. I don't want to kill you, but I have little to lose at this point." He gave an hysterical laugh. "This is all a horrid dream. I keep waiting to awaken."
"Hartley ..." Rem started to turn.
"Don't!" The hysteria dissipated; the weapon prodded harder, making Rem wince. "You're going to accompany me in my escape, Gresham. Once I'm free, I'll release you. But if you try to stop me, I'll shoot you."
"No, Lord Hartley, you won't."
Both men's heads snapped around at the sound of the soft feminine voice.
"Samantha!" Rem's pupils dilated in shock. "Lord ... no! What the hell are you doing here? Get out!"
"I'm sorry, Rem. That is something I cannot do." Yanking off her gardener's cap, Sammy walked toward them, weaponless but for her wits.
"Samantha?" Hartley wiped a sleeve across his face. "This doesn't concern you, my dear. You'd best—"
"But it does concern me, my lord. You see, the man you're holding a gun on is the man I love. And I cannot allow you to hurt him. Which, knowing you as long and as well as I do, I cannot believe you would." She paused, inclining her head. "I remember when I was small, my father used to tell me that should I ever require help while he and my brothers were away, I could always summon you, that you were a fine decent man ... a man to be trusted. Do you feel any of those traits apply to you right now, my lord?"
Tears trickled down Hartley's cheeks. "You're a child, Samantha. You don't understand—"
"Yes. I do understand. I followed Stephen here, and I overheard everything. I understand you built ships for Anders Shipping, then, together with Stephen and Mr. Summerson, stocked those vessels with worthless cargo so you could collect the insurance money when the ships were seized. I understand that, in your case, thievery is the sole extent of your crime ... not that I expected otherwise. Most of all, I understand that you must have had an excellent reason for becoming involved in so gruesome a plot."
A sob escaped Hartley's lips. "Hartley Shipping was nearly bankrupt I forged the records so no one would suspect I didn't know where to turn..."
"'Tis often easier to be a child than an adult," Sammy murmured. "In childhood we are told to whom we can turn; as adults we are expected to resolve things on our own. In truth, my lord, that is a dreadful fallacy, for none of us ever stops needing the support of those we love. I'm sorry you had to bear your anguish alone. I'm sorry the terror was so acute that it forced you to take steps you would never otherwise have taken. I don't condone your actions. But I still believe that my father was right. You are, inherently, a fine, decent man. Please don't prove Father and me wrong."
Rem tensed, prepared to make a move, but Sammy shook her head.
"The marquis needs no coercion. He will face his actions willingly, and with the knowledge that it's the only way he'll ever be able to forgive himself. I, in turn, will talk to Drake. Between the two of us, I feel confident that we can offer enough evidence of Lord Hartley's fine character to convince the court to reduce his punishment significantly-enough to effect the necessary retribution while eliminating a term in Newgate. My father would want it that way." A soft smile touched Sammy's lips. "So you see, Lord Hartley, you do have somewhere to turn."
A spasm of emotion crossed Hartley's face. ""You were a precious child, Samantha ... a brilliant ray of sunshine and a blessing in your father's life." His voice broke. "You haven't changed. Grayson would be extraordinarily proud." Slowly, the marquis retracted his weapon, extending it, handle first, to Rem.
"Father would be proud of you as well, my lord," Sammy told Hartley as Rem relieved him of his pistol. "The decision you just made was a remarkably courageous one." She lay her hand on the elderly man's arm. "Thank you," she whispered, pained by the lost look on his face, "I'll go home at once and speak with Drake. You should know, however, that my reasons are somewhat self-serving. Remington and I are
being married in two months' time. Since my father can be present only in spirit, it would mean a great deal to me if you would attend in Father's stead, see me walk down the aisle on Drake's arm and join with the man I love. Would you do that for me, my lord?"
Hartley straightened his stooped shoulders. "I'd be honored," he replied with as much dignity as he could muster. He inhaled sharply, then headed toward the door. "I'm ready, Gresham."
Rem was still reeling from what he'd just witnessed. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Bow Street." He glanced dazedly at the gun in his hand, then slowly assessed Sammy in her gardener's apparel. "Is that the customary attire donned by Gothic heroines when unraveling a mystery?"
Sammy's grin was impish. "No, my lord. In that way, I am unique."
"In many ways," Rem muttered, shaking his head. "Tell me, when did you take it upon yourself to come to London?"
"The moment I received your last missive. I realized at once that you needed me."
"I don't recall saying—"
"You didn't have to. My heart simply knew. Just as it knew Lord Hartley wouldn't disappoint me." Sammy caressed Rein's jaw, "I didn't get here a moment too soon."
Rem turned his lips into her palm. "That faith of yours ... it's going to be the death of me, imp." His gaze fell to her mouth and his dimple flashed. "I don't know whether to kiss you or throttle you. In fact, I'm not even certain exactly what just happened here."
Sammy gave him a dazzling smile. "I'd much prefer the kiss. As for what happened, that's easy enough to recount. I rescued you, my lord. Just as I promised I would."
Epilogue
September 1815
"Drake, I truly think you're worrying needlessly." The Countess of Gresham handed her brother a brandy and, shifting her current novel off to the side, sank down on the tufted sofa in Gresham's green salon.
"I'm not worrying, Sammy," Drake returned, scowling. "I'm reconsidering. What the hell ever possessed me to involve Barrett Shipping in a business venture?"
"It was a brilliant decision. Lord Hartley could no longer maintain a failing company, so you relieved him of that responsibility. The price he received for the sale of Hartley Shipping was more than enough to both repay his debts and to finance the first of his West Indies excursions. He's determined to recover those poor sailors, and I don't doubt that he will. Now, he is fully pardoned and can put the pieces of his life back together, while you can make Hartley Shipping prosper. It was an ideal purchase."
"Except that I didn't purchase it."
"What difference does that make? Barrett Shipping and Hartley Shipping have now merged and will become the most successful and exceptional shipbuilding firm in all of England."
"With a new name and two men at the helm."
"Drake," Sammy sighed. "I know you detest sharing control of anything with anyone. But you've managed to adapt to marriage. Surely you can adapt to having a business partner? Especially one who is as brilliant and strong-willed as you. Why, you'll be an incomparable team!" Sammy's eyes twinkled. "After all, I doubt anyone could challenge your authority more than Alex does."
"Very amusing," Drake commented dryly. "As far as your description of my partner's brilliance, wouldn't you say you're just the least bit biased?"
"You're right. I am. About both of you. I happen to think you're the two finest, most wonderful men in the world."
The sound of horses' hooves signified an oncoming carriage.
"It appears that the other finest man in the world has arrived." Drake tossed off his drink.
With a grin, Sammy rose. "You really like him, don't you? And you respect him, too."
Drake scowled. "I wouldn't have entrusted one of my most valuable assets to him if I didn't."
"Your company?"
"My sister." Drake leaned forward to ruffle Sammy's hair. "Now I'd like to hasten the signing of those final papers. Alex is expecting us all at Allonshire for a celebration dinner, and from what I understand, Gray has completed his latest creative effort: painting a new warehouse sign that reads 'Barrett-Worth Shipping.'"
The salon door swung open, and Sammy was across the room in a flash.
"Hello, imp." Rem caught his wife in his arms and held her to him, still overcome, after three months of marriage, by the exuberant inner beauty of his magnificent bride.
"I missed you." Despite Drake's presence, Sammy twined her arms around her husband's neck, gazing up at him with glowing eyes.
"And I you, sweetheart." Tenderly, Rem kissed her. "I couldn't wait to get back."
"You've been gone three hours," Drake reminded them, going to refill his glass.
Chuckling, Rem lowered Sammy's feet to the floor, taking her hand in his as he crossed the room. "Indulge us. We're newly married."
"I'll try." Drake couldn't stifle a grin. "Were the papers to your liking?"
"To both our likings," Rem amended. "They contain all the terms we agreed to. Once we apply our signatures, Barrett-Worth can begin operation." Rem brandished a quill, "Who shall go first?"
Silence.
Rolling her eyes to the heavens, Sammy walked over to the desk and extracted another pen. "Here. Sign simultaneously. Then there can be no argument as to who was the initial owner of the newly formed company. And I shall be your witness, as I am committed to both halves of the partnership."
"An excellent idea," Drake concurred.
Together, the two men dipped their quills and put their signatures on the official document that declared them equal partners.
"At last!" Sammy hugged both men. "Let's rush right to Allonshire and share the news with Alex, Gray, and Bonnie."
Purposefully, Drake extended his hand. "To a long and fruitful partnership, Rem,"
Rem's dimple flashed as he clasped Drake's hand. "With minimal violence and bloodshed."
Sammy gazed from one man to the other, her heart so full she thought it might burst. She cared not that life didn't emulate novels, for she could imagine no happier ending than the one taking place here right now. With a joyful smile, she watched her two greatest heroes merging their futures.
The brother she adored.
And the man of her dreams.
Author's Note
Need I tell you how much joy writing Samantha gave me? Never have I had such trouble bidding characters good-bye as I did Sammy and Rem—not to mention Alex and Drake ... yet again! Suffice it to say, Sammy's story will always hold a special place in my heart. I hope it does in yours as well.
The good news is that it hasn't taken me long to fall in love with the hero and heroine of The Last Duke, my next Pocket Books historical.
Lady Daphne Wyndham is the only daughter of a ruthless nobleman—a man who is determined to obliterate his daughter's compassion for the poor. Pierce Thornton is a wealthy commoner—a thriving gambler who grew up on the streets of England and, through a twist of fate, is forced to join the ranks of the aristocracy he despises.
A rare and precious jewel, Daphne needs only the right hands to expose the beautiful facets within her. And Pierce? Well, Pierce has a very special way with jewels....
I love hearing from my readers, so keep those great letters coming! And if you'd like a copy of my latest newsletter, just drop me a legal-sized SASE at:
P.O. Box 5104 Parsippany, NJ 07054-6104
