Andrea Kane (30 page)

“I don’t have it with me.”

“Tell him you’ll have it delivered.”

Her heart warmed by Rem’s show of jealousy, Sammy stepped a tad closer, her chin just brushing his frilled shirt. “You’re terribly overbearing, my lord,” she murmured softly. “’Tis fortunate I prefer an overbearing hero.”

Rem stared down into her beautiful, teasing face, and a jolt of desire shot through his loins. “Christ, I want you under me.”

Heat surged through Sammy’s body. “We can’t leave now,” she said weakly, wishing with all her heart Stephen were anywhere but here.

“Because of Anders.” Rem’s jaw clenched.

“Rem … please.” Her fingers tightened within his. “It’s not because I feel anything for him. But if we were to take our leave now, before he claimed the dance I promised him—”

“You promised him nothing. He assumed.” It took every shred of Rem’s unshakable discipline to bring his temper under control. But Samantha’s honor was at stake. “You’re right,” he agreed flatly. “If Anders sees you leave with me, he’ll assume the worst. Your reputation won’t be worth a damn. So have your bloody dance with him. But tell him it’s his last.”

“I shall, my lord.”

Rem stood stiffly by as Anders came to claim his dance.

“Samantha, you look lovely.” Pointedly, the viscount ignored Rem. “But tell me, where is the necklace I gave you?”

With a meaningful cough, Rem strolled off.

Sammy waited until the minuet was under way before she answered. “I cannot wear your necklace, Stephen.”

“Whyever not?”

“It’s very extravagant, and I—”

“Nonsense! Nothing is too costly when it comes to you. I fully intend to spoil you shamelessly.”

From an adjacent salon a clock chimed. Anders tensed, and momentarily distracted, he glanced at his timepiece.

“You don’t understand.” Once again Sammy was attempting to clarify her rejection of the viscount’s necklace, and all that went with it. “I cannot allow you to think that what I feel for you is anything more than friendship. It isn’t.”

“I didn’t expect it would be. We’ve known each other less than a fortnight. But in time—”

“No.” Sammy shook her head adamantly. “Not in time. Not ever.”

His eyes glinted with resentment. “Because of Gresham?”

“Yes.”

“He’s not the kind of man you should become involved with.”

“That is for me to decide. Not you.”

“You’re making a mistake, Samantha. You’re far too young and naive to see that Gresham’s charm might be fatal, but his intentions are ruinous. Therefore, it is up to me to protect you, to help you see the error of your ways … before any unalterable damage has been done.”

Sammy had no time to respond to his patronizing sermon. The music ended and Anders’s gaze darted swiftly back to his timepiece.

“Will you excuse me, my dear?” He hastily kissed Sammy’s hand. “There’s someone I must speak to.”

Mutely, she nodded, hastily withdrawing her hand and fighting the urge to slap the viscount’s pompous face. Not that Anders noticed her irritation. He had already left her and was easing his way across the ballroom.

Shrugging, Sammy dismissed him from her thoughts. She raised her chin, scanning the room for Rem.

He was nowhere to be found.

With a pang of unease, Sammy wondered if Rem’s absence had been triggered by her dance with Stephen. If so, where would he have gone? He would never abandon her. Therefore, he must have stepped out, hoping the night air would cool his temper.

Inching toward the ballroom door, Sammy hastened down the hallway and slipped into the night.

Rem stood still as a statue, waiting to see where Anders would head. The fact that the lecherous viscount was up to something dishonest was unquestionable. Having carefully observed him over the past quarter hour, Rem recognized all the classic signs: Anders’s subtle but distinct agitation, his repeated glances at his timepiece, his distracted behavior even during his coveted dance with Samantha. Every one of Rem’s well-honed instincts screamed out that the bastard was up to no good.

Where the hell was he going?

Noiselessly, Rem fell back into stride, noting that Anders had reached the far section of Devonshire House, which bordered on Hyde Park. Dimly lit, quiet, it was the perfect place for a covert meeting.

“Pssst …”

On the heels of Rem’s thought came the sound of someone summoning Anders. The viscount evidently heard it, too, for he veered in the direction of the noise.

Following suit, Rem slid behind a profuse section of bushes and concealed himself.

“… couldn’t meet you sooner … portion of the money … not for a week or two … Bow Street … examined the records … nothing amiss …”

Rem could barely make out the snatches of conversation, nor could he discern any physical details of Anders’s companion other than his stocky build. The fog was too hindering, the men too far off. And Rem didn’t dare jeopardize his identity by attempting to get closer.

A twig snapped in the distance.

“Rem?”

Sammy’s voice rang out clearly, and Rem bit back a curse. He should have anticipated this. If Samantha hadn’t been intimidated by the disreputable crowd at Boydry’s, why would she be unnerved by strolling dark, deserted grounds alone at midnight? Dammit. Like a bloody fool, he’d assumed she’d wait for him in the ballroom.

“Rem … is that you?”

Obviously, she’d heard Anders and his friend. Rem coiled, ready to grab her and drag her to safety.

An instant later she appeared, making her way closer—but not close enough—passing not twenty feet from where Rem crouched.

Anders and his companion froze.

“Who’s there?” Sammy asked, evidently spotting the two men.

Rem’s guts knotted and he had to forcibly restrain himself from going to her.
Wait,
he cautioned himself, appalled by his own impulsiveness.
There’s no reason to suspect they’d
h
urt her. They might not even be armed. Or dangerous, for that matter.
But his instincts told him otherwise.

“Samantha? It’s Stephen.” Anders’s reply followed a prolonged silence.

“Oh, Stephen … forgive me. I thought—” An abrupt pause. “Mr. Summerson … good evening.” She sounded distressed.

“Lady Samantha.”

Summerson? Arthur Summerson. The merchant. Rem stored that information for later, still battling with the compulsion to leap out and haul Samantha off.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt …” Samantha was backing away, once again nearing where Rem hid.

“It’s all right,” Anders called out, ostensibly trying to soothe her. Anyone listening would think his tone perfectly normal. But Rem’s trained ear could make out the thin note of tension rippling through it.

“I’d b-best return to the ball,” Sammy stammered. “Excuse me.” She bolted.

Summerson made a move to go after her.

“Leave it.” Anders’s command cracked out, loud enough for Rem to hear.

“I don’t trust that girl,” Summerson shot back, his words equally as clear. “That’s the second time she’s mysteriously appeared during one of our meetings. And I have the nagging feeling I’ve seen her elsewhere.”

“She’s a child.”

“Perhaps. But she’s also Drake Barrett’s sister. So, child or not, I plan to keep an eye on her.”

“Let me worry about Samantha. You worry about Atlantis. Now, I’d best get back into that ballroom … before my absence is noted. We’ll meet tomorrow at my office. Good night, Summerson.”

Rem waited until both men had left before emerging from his hiding place, fists clenched with fury. To hell with objectivity, blast his ever-present cool and level head. Everything was changed now. For, whatever Atlantis was, whatever seedy dealings Anders was involved in, Samantha was at risk. And whether those dealings tied in with his mission or not, Rem thought, they had just become his top priority.

Let Anders or Summerson try to harm a hair on Samantha’s head. Rem would kill them.

He had to think. But now was not the time. The most important thing now was to get Samantha away from Devonshire House and out of danger. Fast.

Scrutinizing the area, Rem determined the swiftest route back to the manor.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Stepping out of the shadows enveloping the manor’s west wing, Rem ground out his cheroot and caught Sammy’s elbow.

She started. “Where were you?”

Rem stared broodingly at the ground. His thoughts were in turmoil and, for the first time in years, so were his emotions. “You didn’t expect me to stand by and watch you dancing with Anders, did you?”

Sammy recoiled from the harshness of his reply. “No, but …” She swallowed. “You’re angry with me.”

“Angry with you?” Rem drew a sharp breath, unable to dispel the dark sense of foreboding spawned by what he’d just overheard. He couldn’t explain the reasons for his somber mood to Samantha, nor did he even want to. All he wanted was to hold her soft, warm body in his arms, bury himself inside her and hold the world at bay.

As Rem stared soberly into Sammy’s questioning eyes, something inside him snapped. He tugged her abruptly into the shadows, sliding his hand beneath her sable mane and drawing her against him. “Come here.” He seized her mouth with a kind of rough, raw desperation. “Angry with you? No, I’m not angry with you, imp. You’re all that is precious … fire and silk in my arms.” He parted her lips, delved inside, infusing himself with her beauty. “So sweet, so soft. Lord, I need you.” He kissed her throat, the delicate line of her jaw. “Put your arms around me.”

“Yes.” Sammy twined her arms about Rem’s neck, perceiving his urgency, her heart pounding with anticipation.

Whatever had instigated Rem’s sudden breach of control mattered not. All that mattered was that her long wait was over.

“Samantha …” Rem’s hands roved restlessly up and down her back, seeking the deeper joining his body craved. “I have to be inside you.”

Wordlessly, she nodded.

In one harsh motion, Rem drew back, flames erupting in his eyes. Valiantly, he battled the tempest pounding through his loins, commanding him to abandon his plan and take Samantha right here, right now, propriety be damned.

“Rem?” She lay her hand against his jaw. “What is it?”

The gentle question was Rem’s undoing, feelings stronger than lust rushing through him with the impact of a tidal wave. He’d waited this long. He could withstand another hour to make it everything Samantha deserved. “Let’s go.”

He seized Sammy’s hand, guiding her alongside the house until they’d reached the main entranceway, where some guests were departing, others arriving. Abruptly, Rem stopped, steadying his breathing, mastering his passion. When he was certain he’d regained control, he leaned forward, brushing Sammy’s hair with his lips, murmuring quietly in the final seconds before they reached the others. “Remember what I said—trust me.”

“I do,” she whispered, totally at sea.

Her puzzlement was swiftly dispelled.

“An urgent business matter has arisen,” Rem announced in a voice audible enough for those in the vicinity to overhear. “I must attend to it immediately.”

As if on cue, the carriage bearing the Gresham family crest swung into the drive, slowing to a stop before them.

To Sammy’s stunned surprise, the door opened and Boyd emerged.

“I’ve sent for Mr. Hayword, who has agreed to escort you home,” Rem explained. “Please accept my apologies, Samantha. The situation cannot be helped.”

Sammy blinked, so astounded by this turn of events that she couldn’t speak.

“My lady.” Boyd bowed, then extended his hand to assist Samantha into the carriage. “I’ll see you safely to your Town house.”

Baffled, Sammy turned to look at Rem. Their eyes met, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

It was enough.

“Very well.” Gathering up her skirts, Sammy put her hand in Boyd’s and climbed into the carriage.

“Thank you, Boyd.” Rem moved to stand beside his friend, continuing to speak in the same normal tone. “I owe you a favor.”

“You owe me more than that if I manage this one,” Boyd muttered for Rem’s ears alone. Aloud, all he said was, “It’s my pleasure. Once I’ve seen Lady Samantha home, I’ll go to your Town house and await you there.” Signaling the driver, Boyd swung into the seat opposite Samantha and sent Rem a brief wave.

They rode a block in silence. After that, Sammy could no longer contain herself.

“What on earth is going on?” she demanded.

Boyd gave her a crooked smile. “What do you think is going on?”

“You’re arranging for Rem and I to be together,” Sammy replied with no trace of embarrassment. She leaned forward. “Are you really taking me home?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m taking you to your home … and to Rem’s.”

“What?” Sammy’s eyes widened. “We’re going to Remington’s house?”

Boyd nodded. “Following our visit to yours. Now, I want you to listen carefully. When we arrive at Abingdon Street, we’re going to approach your Town house slowly—slowly enough for passersby to see the Gresham crest nearing its destination. If need be, we’ll wait until sufficient people have witnessed our approach. The carriage won’t come to a stop … if it does, there’s always the chance your butler will hear us and come out, assuming you’ve arrived home.” Another grin. “Which, despite appearances, you haven’t. Now for the indelicate part. I hope you have no aversion to carriage floors. Because, when I say the word, I want you to drop down out of sight and stay there. Don’t move or say a word until I tell you to. All right?”

Sammy could feel a sense of adventure surge through her. “Why, it’s just like a Gothic mystery!” she exclaimed. “Complete with fog, clandestine activities, and a tangled plot. And, of course, a wondrous hero.” She dimpled. “Two heroes, in fact.”

Boyd chuckled, touched by her exuberance as well as her compliment. “Does that mean you’ll do as I ask?”

“It does.”

“Good girl.” Shifting his weight, he peered out the window. “It’ll be just a few moments now. We’re lucky. Most of the
ton
is still reveling in evening festivities, so there aren’t many carriages on the road.” He fell silent, the only sound that of their horses’ hooves clomping down the street.