Andrea Kane (44 page)

Rem’s features hardened to granite. “We haven’t yet discovered all the conspirators. The identity of at least one is still an enigma to us. We do know that his two other partners have employed a privateer to attack the vessels … and we have a thorough description of that pirate.”

“Two other partners? Do you know who they are?”

“We do.” Rem’s probing gaze met Sammy’s. “They are Arthur Summerson the merchant and the Viscount Anders.”

A harsh gasp escaped Sammy’s lips. “Stephen?”

“Stephen.”

“Dear Lord.” Sammy pressed her palms to her cheeks. “You’re certain?”

“Very certain. Why do you think I didn’t want you anywhere near the bastard?”

“I assumed it was purely jealousy, because Stephen wanted me.” Sammy’s eyes widened, not with dismay, but with realization. “Was his interest in me all a sham?”

“Unfortunately, no. The scum really does want you. Which makes me want to kill him all the more. I nearly did so that night at Devonshire House when you interrupted his little tête-à-tête with Summerson.”

“You were there?”

“A mere fifteen feet away, imp, in the bushes to your right. I followed Anders from Devonshire House. I’d been observing him all night—all week, in fact—trying to fathom his inexplicable and sudden affluence. For a man my sources claimed was nearly destitute, he seemed to be affording some rather extravagant diversions: a high-stake game of whist at which he cheerfully lost thousands of pounds, and an enormously expensive necklace.”

“The one he gave me.”

“Yes. So, when I saw how jumpy he was at the Devonshire ball, I became curious. I followed him across the grounds and hid in the bushes while he met with Summerson … which is where I was when you came looking for me. As for Summerson, that was a revelation. Until that moment I had no idea he was involved. Speaking of Summerson”—Rem took Sammy’s hands in his—“upon your intrusion, he behaved rather oddly. He watched you scurry off and threatened to go after you, muttering something about this being the second meeting of theirs you’d interrupted and about your looking familiar—and I don’t mean as Drake Barrett’s sister. Think, imp, do you know what he meant?”

Sammy lowered her eyes. “I know exactly what he meant … and it will explain to you why I ‘scurried off,’ as you put it. The morning I visited Stephen’s office—do you recall; it was the day you and Boyd came upon Cynthia and me at the docks … ?”

“I remember. The morning after Anders’s ship went down.”

She nodded. “When I first entered Stephen’s office, another man was there talking with him. I had the distinct feeling I’d interrupted a heated discussion.”

“Arthur Summerson.”

“Yes. Even then Mr. Summerson was uncomfortable around me, staring at me as if we’d met before. I convinced him it was because I was a Barrett.”

“But it wasn’t?”

“No. The dawn I snooped around the wharf in my gardener’s clothes, I accidently stumbled upon Lord Hartley deeply immersed in conversation with another gentleman. I knew the marquis would recognize me, boy’s clothes or not; he’s known me since birth. So I darted between the warehouses and made my escape. I eluded Lord Hartley’s detection … but not his companion’s. At the time, I had no idea who that other gentleman was … until Stephen formally introduced us in his office. It was Arthur Summerson. Evidently, although he’d only spied me beside that warehouse for an instant, he remembered my face.”

“What you’re telling me makes me twice as grateful that I got you away from London when I did—before Summerson could hurt you.”

“Do you really believe he would?”

“He’s a murderer, Samantha. A murderer, a thief, and an immoral animal. If he had the slightest glimmer of a notion that you were suspicious of him, he wouldn’t hesitate to silence you, permanently. But that’s never going to happen.” Rem’s brows darted together. “Why would Summerson be meeting Hartley at dawn?”

“Oh, Rem, no.” Following Rem’s line of thought, Sammy shook her head emphatically. “Lord Hartley is the kindest, most gentle man I’ve ever known. He and my father fox-hunted together, made their fortunes together, spent holidays together. He would never commit the kind of crimes you’re suggesting.”

“Every man is capable of committing crimes if pushed far enough, imp. True, some motives are uglier than others. But the fact remains that, until I seize every man involved in this conspiracy, no one is above suspicion.”

Sammy stared at Rem for a long moment. “I can see now why the Admiralty depends upon you. You do battle with a clear head and a brilliant, logical mind.”

“If you’re implying that I’m brutally unfeeling, you’re right,” Rem replied grimly. “But remember, imp, until you came into my life, emotions were unneeded. I’m firmly convinced I was heartless.”

“You’re so wrong.” Sammy stroked his jaw. “That’s not what I meant at all. To the contrary, I’m impressed by your ability to remain unbiased. As for being heartless, your heart is—has always been—extraordinary. The problem was, it belonged to the world, leaving no part of it for yourself. Now, it belongs to me. But fear not, my lord, I intend to take excellent care of it … forever.”

Reverently, Rem pressed Sammy’s palms to his lips, first one, then the other. “I’m relieved to learn that my heart is in the finest, most loving of hands.”

Sammy swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Now … tell me everything. We must resolve this case in record time so I can begin ministering to your poor, neglected heart.”

“
We
are not going to resolve anything, imp.
I
am.”

“I was just speaking figuratively,” Sammy amended at once. “What is the reason for Stephen’s and Mr. Summerson’s hateful scheme? Who is the mysterious privateer, and how do you plan to expose him? How many others do you suspect are involved, and what is Drake doing to assist you in your search?”

“Another bevy of questions. I should be accustomed to them by now, shouldn’t I?” Rem teased tenderly. Wrapping Sammy’s hands tightly in his, he told her everything: beginning with the insurance money Anders and Summerson would procure from their fictional losses, progressing to Captain Towers and the conversation he’d overheard about the conspirators’ mysterious partner, and culminating with the odious fact that, not only was Towers’s ship annihilated, but his men sold as slaves, earning additional profits for Summerson and his accomplices.

“You and Boyd have no idea who this horrid pirate is?” Sammy asked, white-faced.

“I have a detailed description of him. Now he must be unearthed … which is where your brother comes in.” Seeing Sammy’s puzzled look, Rem continued. “Drake is giving me the access I need to the docks. As of tomorrow night, I’ll be assuming the role of Barrett Shipping’s night watchman, strolling the docks from Barrett to Anders Shipping and back. The moment that privateer shows his face, I’ll grab him. At which point I’ll convince the bastard to summon his cohorts.
All
of them. That should nicely resolve the question of how many men are involved,
and
force them all to surface. The rest should be easy.”

“Easy? To confront a roomful of dangerous—probably armed—men? Rem …”

“I won’t be alone. Boyd will be there to back me up, along with several other reliable men—men I’ve worked with for years. I’ll be safe, imp.” He smiled. “And then I’ll be yours.”

“All these years I’ve been a child and you’ve been putting your life on the line for England,” Sammy whispered incredulously, the full impact of Rem’s position hitting home. “No wonder you found me so foolishly amusing.”

“You, my darling, are my savior, my heart and my future … all of which are far from foolish. If you had any idea how much I need you, you would understand how desperate I am to keep you safe.” Rem framed her face between his palms. “Promise me you’ll do as I asked. Let me take the risks. I’ll have Boyd bring you word of my progress each time he visits Cynthia. And the moment I’ve apprehended the culprits, I’ll return to Allonshire … and you. Promise me.”

Sammy nodded. “I promise. I’ll do just what I vowed.” Silently, she recalled that vow: to share her worries with Rem and allow him to take the risks.

Unless the danger threatened him.

At which point, she would act.

T
HE WATCHMAN’S STANCE WAS
infinitely relaxed.

His gaze, however, was that of a tiger stalking its prey.

Wary, acute, it enveloped the entire wharf, end to end, absorbing all that was visible, plus a good deal of that which was concealed.

Three days into his vigil, Rem had witnessed more two-bit crimes than he cared to recall: wharf rats passing stolen goods from hand to hand, pickpockets slithering up and down the docks counting their night’s spoils, smugglers carrying bags of tobacco from anchored ships. More than once Rem had found himself lunging forward to seize them, and had to forcibly exert self-restraint, reminding himself that he was a mere night watchman, not a Bow Street runner.

And still there was no sign of the privateer.

Where the hell was the bastard? True, he might already have returned to sea, but Rem’s instincts said not. He knew the minds of these sea wolves. Having just returned, jubilant, from his capture of the
Bountiful,
and with no notion that Captain Towers was alive and restored to England, the pirate would doubtlessly be enjoying the funds Summerson had already paid him, while plotting to collect more before leaving English soil on his next pillage.

No, Rem was willing to bet the culprit was still in London.

And damn him to hell, he’d be found.

Flexing his muscles, Rem began the return trek to Barrett Shipping, scrutinizing all the shrouded corners of the docks that, as experience had taught him, were meeting points for scum.

He was just rounding Anders Shipping, when a shadowy figure slipped through the narrow alley leading to the warehouse. Quickly scrutinizing the area, Rem ascertained that he was undetected, then walked soundlessly in pursuit. Flattening himself against the warehouse wall, he inched along, praying he wasn’t wasting his time stalking a street urchin whose intentions were merely to steal a shilling for food.

“That’s the last payment for now. You’ll get more after you’ve completed your next task.”

The muffled words obliterated Rem’s doubts. The voice belonged to Arthur Summerson.

Heart pounding in anticipation, Rem waited.

“A pleasure t’ do business with ye.” The answer was uttered in a low, harsh rasp: Towers’s exact description of the privateer’s voice.

“I’ll say farewell now, Fuller. You’ll be taking to sea by week’s end.”

Fuller.

Rem slid his hand into his pocket until it closed around his pistol’s cool handle. Gripping it tightly, he silently maneuvered back to his original path, nonchalantly resuming his watchman’s rounds.

A moment later Summerson emerged from the path beside the warehouse, walking right by Rem and disappearing into the night. In the aftermath of his fading footsteps, a husky form followed suit, striding into the open and moving directly past the innocuous-looking watchman.

In the blink of an eye Rem’s arm was around the privateer’s throat.

“What the—”

“Listen to me, Fuller,” Rem instructed in a cold-blooded whisper. “You have two choices. You can either come quietly with me to a private place where we can talk, or I can break your neck here and now and throw your body into the Thames as food for the gulls. It’s up to you.”

“I’ll … come …” Fuller wheezed.

“Good.” Rem extracted his pistol, shoving it in Fuller’s ribs. “Now turn around and start walking. If any passerby should spot us, let’s just pretend we’re having the friendliest of strolls together. If you choose to elaborate on that explanation, I’ll have no compunction about putting a bullet in your back. Is that also clear?”

“Who th’ hell are ye?”

“I asked if that was clear, Fuller?” Rem dug the pistol deeper into the pirate’s back.

“Damn.” Fuller winced. “All right. Ye win.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later Rem thrust Fuller into Barrett Shipping’s darkened warehouse and locked the door behind them.

“We have a great deal to discuss.” Rem’s fingers tightened on his pistol. “Sit down … where I can see you.”

“Ye can’t see anything in ’ere.”

“You’d be surprised. For example, I can see your hand creeping toward your boot. Continue,” Rem ordered, when Fuller halted. “Then toss your knife onto the floor … along with any other weapons you have.” Rem lowered his gun a tad. “Let me give you some advice, Fuller. Even if I were unarmed, you’d be dead less than a minute after coming at me. Therefore, why not spare your life and my energy? Forego any idea you have of slitting my throat. It’s not going to happen. And maybe, just maybe, if you tell me what I want to know, I might let you live.”

Hearing the chilling resolve in Rem’s tone, Fuller swallowed audibly and complied, sending two ugly knives clattering to the warehouse floor. He didn’t sit, but stood warily against the wall.

“Good.” Rem scooped up the weapons, tucking them, and his pistol, into his pocket, keeping his hand securely beside them. “Now, I want to know everything about the assignments you’ve been receiving from Mr. Summerson.”

Fuller blanched. “Who are ye?” he whispered again. “What do ye want?”

“Fortunately for you, you’re a very small part of what I want, else I would have shot you down days ago. Now, tell me about Summerson, his partners, and your role in sinking their ships.”

“I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”

“I’m not certain you understand me, Fuller.” Rem drew out one of the pirate’s knives, fingering the blade thoughtfully. “I’m not a patient man. In fact, my patience is rapidly ebbing. If you continue to avoid my question, I’ll cease being a gentleman and resort to other methods of persuasion.” The blade glinted ominously.

“All right! I do work fer Summerson now and again. And I do ’elp myself to a bit of ’is cargo.”

“His cargo? Don’t you mean his men?”

“I don’t ’urt his bloody men.”

“You just sell them.” Rem advanced menacingly at the pirate. “Who do you work for?”

“Ye said it yerself. Summerson.”