Andrea Kane (7 page)

“Over and above these scheduled visits, your services will be required to assist Boyd at the docks. I’ve already hired men to scrutinize the Thames, but I need trained officials to question any unorthodox-looking sailors, sea captains, or dock workers. Use whatever means of persuasion you deem necessary … and if that fails, let me know. Skeletons lurk in everyone’s closet, and I’m quite adept at finding them.” Rem flicked his ash carelessly. “So is Boyd. It’s amazing how the casual mention of an indiscretion encourages a man to talk freely, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is.” Boyd refilled his mug.

“As always,” Rem added, “the docks are Boyd’s turf; he is completely in charge. Follow his orders unconditionally. Is that clear?”

Harris and Templar nodded.

“Did I omit anything?”

It wasn’t the Bow Street men Rem was consulting, but Boyd.

“I see no problems.”

“Good.” Rem turned back to the other men. “Any questions?”

“Only one.” Uncomfortably, Templar scuffed the tip of his boot along the wooden floor. “About payment …”

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot,” Rem interrupted. “This is a complicated dilemma that must be resolved swiftly and cleanly with a minimum of public knowledge. If—I should say
when
—you’ve accomplished that goal, you’ll receive twice your normal amount.”

“Twice?”

“Yes. Does that suit you?”

Templar raised his mug in satisfied tribute. “You’re a generous man, Gresham.”

“And a determined one.” Rem pushed his own drink away. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You’re leaving?” Known for his ability to remain unruffled at all costs, Boyd now looked positively startled.

“We’re finished for tonight.”

“But …”

Rem grinned. “Enjoy yourselves men.” He turned to go.

“Rem?” Boyd caught his arm, speaking in low tones so as not to be overheard. “Are you all right?”

“Of course. Why?”

“You know damned well why. It’s not like you to decline a night with a beautiful woman. Do you have other plans?” He shot Rem a look that no one but Boyd could get away with. “With Lady Samantha Barrett, for example?”

Rem stiffened. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Did you return her carriage?”

“Yes.”

“And … ?”

“And nothing. I told you—she’s a bloody child, for God’s sake!”

“A child who seems to have the most unusual effect on you. Are you sure you did no more than drop off her carriage?”

“Yes. Why? Did you think I tumbled her in her brother’s Town house?”

“Testy, aren’t we?”

“Don’t push me, Boyd.”

“Don’t get in over your head, Rem.”

“I have my reasons.”

“You always do.”

“Not
those
kind of reasons.” Rem shook his arm free. “Look, if you want to hear my motives, I’m on my way home. You’re welcome to join me. If you’d prefer to indulge in Annie’s entertainment, I understand. But I won’t discuss Samantha with you while standing in a brothel. So which is it?”

“I’ll get my coat.”

“Do you want another drink?”

“Thanks, no … I’ve had my fill.” Boyd folded his arms behind his head and settled himself on a straight-backed chair in Rem’s study.

Rem poured himself a brandy.

“Evidently,
you
haven’t,” Boyd noted dryly.

“Haven’t what?”

“Had your fill. Is the brandy for pleasure or courage?”

“I’m not enjoying your barbs tonight, Boyd.” Perching on the edge of his desk, Rem raised the glass to his lips. A sudden image flashed through his mind, of Samantha’s mortified face when she’d downed half a goblet of brandy in two gulps. Her charming, transparent attempt at sophistication had blown up in her beautiful, disappointed face.

He’d actually felt her unwarranted shame, and his response had been instant and fierce—he had to restore her smile and resurrect her spirit. Hatchard’s had been the ideal solution; seeing her lost in her joyous world of books had given him more satisfaction than—

“Rem?”

Boyd’s questioning voice yanked Rem from his musings. “What?”

“Where are you tonight? You’re staring at that brandy as if there were somebody in it.”

“Sorry.” Rem sipped his drink, then placed it on his desk. “Templar and Harris will do quite well, don’t you think?”

“You know they will. We’re not here to talk about Templar and Harris. In fact, we’re not here to discuss business at all. We’re here to talk about Samantha Barrett.”

“I beg to disagree with you, Boyd. Samantha Barrett
is
business.”

Boyd frowned. “You’ve lost me.”

Rem extracted his copy of Briggs’s list. “Did you read the names of the shipping companies on this list?”

“Of course.”

“Did you notice that one of them was Barrett Shipping?”

“You knew Samantha was Drake Barrett’s sister. What’s the great revelation?”

“When I was scanning the
Times
at Hatchard’s this afternoon, Samantha noticed—”

“You took Samantha to Hatchard’s?” Boyd’s shaggy brows shot up. “I thought you only returned her carriage?”

“I did. Then I offered to escort her to Hatchard’s so that she might purchase some books. It was hardly a romantic liaison.”

“I see.”

Clearing his throat, Rem ignored the pointed disbelief in Boyd’s tone. “As I was saying, Samantha noted that I was reading an article concerning the missing British ships. We chatted about the situation. I discovered that she is highly knowledgeable … much more so than I expected.”

“Rem …” Boyd leaned forward. “You’re telling me that the girl you keep referring to as ‘a child’ knows something about who’s guilty of—”

“No. Rather, if she does know something, she isn’t consciously aware of that fact. But she’s obviously privy to detailed conversations between her brother and his colleagues … conversations that could prove highly useful to us.” Rem gripped his knees. “Boyd, if I spend time in her company, encourage her to talk, it’s possible she could provide me with motives or information that would otherwise take me weeks to learn.”

“And if she suspects what you’re doing?”

A small smile touched Rem’s lips. “Samantha is the most guileless, trusting young woman I’ve ever met. It would never occur to her to suspect anything other than genuine friendship.”

“Friendship? Rem, what if the innocent, young Lady Samantha, like every other breathing female in the world, develops feelings for you?”

Rem’s smile faded and his jaw tightened reflexively. “Feelings won’t be an issue.”

“I could argue that point, but you’d be too stubborn to listen. So, let’s discuss physical involvement instead. Exactly how far are you willing to carry this scheme?”

“I won’t ruin her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Only use her, then discard her.”

“Dammit, Boyd!” Rem slammed down his fist. “Since when have you become so bloody noble?”

“Nobility has nothing to do with it—pragmatism does. Drake Barrett is a powerful, influential, hotheaded man. By toying with his sister, you’re inviting trouble.”

“Trouble? Hell, Boyd, we’ve got a crisis on our hands!”

“And are you going to explain that crisis—along with all our other
secret
missions—to the Duke of Allonshire when he calls you out?”

“Allonshire needn’t know anything. Not if I’m discreet. His valet, Smithers, tells me the duke is preoccupied with the forthcoming birth of his second heir. It’s doubtful he’ll even make an appearance this Season.”

“Berkshire is a mere hour’s drive. Gossip travels faster than coach.”

“Enough!” Rem exploded. “That’s a chance I’ll just have to take, then. What the hell’s gotten into you, Boyd? Our only concern is to eliminate the threat to England.”

“Yes, our sole duty … to see that justice is done.” Boyd’s gaze was filled with sorrowful understanding of the forces driving his friend. “Very well, Rem. Have it your way.”

Rem averted his eyes, staring intently at a single spot on the carpet. “Let’s not argue further over Samantha Barrett. She is but one thread in this web of discovery. The Season is commencing with its first official ball at Almack’s the night after next. Imagine the information I can glean there.”

“As always,” Boyd agreed.

The fashionable world was Rem’s undisputed domain, mingling within it one of his most fruitful methods of garnering incriminating details.

Ignorant of Rem’s connection to the Admiralty, the
ton
never questioned that Lord Gresham was exactly what he appeared—a dashing earl, returned from sea to drown in life’s wanton pleasures. And Rem used that impression to his advantage; attending one ball after the next, charming men and women alike until they lowered their guards, revealing tidbits that often alerted Rem to possible suspects.

Too often, traitors and thieves were actually respected members of the peerage who had fallen out of favor with the Crown or foolishly squandered away their wealth. If Rem happened to hear of a notoriously destitute nobleman who was suddenly and inexplicably brandishing large sums of money, or an ousted member of the House of Lords who was receiving mysterious visits from powerful foreign figures, his warning bells would immediately sound. Nine times out of ten his instincts were right, the culprits were apprehended, and no one was any the wiser.

“The
ton
will, once again, be caught unaware as you strip them of their secrets,” Boyd murmured with perpetual amazement. “More’s the pity, for they will never know how truly brilliant you are.”

“Not brilliant, Boyd, just resourceful. As for the naiveté of the
beau monde,
it is essential to our cause that they remain so. Let them see only that side of me I choose to reveal—it harms no one but those who deserve to be harmed.”

“Remember that in your dealings with Samantha Barrett,” Boyd added quietly, and with far greater insight than Rem could yet perceive.

“You’ve made your point … quite clearly.” Rem frowned, more bothered by Boyd’s words than he cared to admit, even to himself. “I’ll do my best to see that Samantha—and her feelings—remain intact.”

Boyd cleared his throat. “So, you escorted Samantha to Hatchard’s. …I take it she enjoys reading?”

“I don’t think the term ‘enjoy’ is powerful enough to describe the relationship Samantha has with her books.” Rem grinned, remembering the look on the harried footman’s face when he’d seen the towering pile of reading matter Sammy had purchased in one hour’s time. “The stack we carried to the carriage was taller than Samantha herself. She assures me, however, that she will have read the whole lot of them in a fortnight.”

“Then you’ll have to take her back for new ones, won’t you?” Boyd asked carefully, studying his friend’s face.

“Yes. I suppose I will.”

A flicker of awareness registered in Boyd’s eyes, then vanished. “I’d best get some rest. The next few days promise to be taxing ones.” He rose. “How do you want to handle the situation with the Bow Street Magistrate? Do you want me to contact Briggs?”

Rem nodded in obvious relief. “I had planned to pen him a note—in code, of course—and have one of my servants deliver it, but since you’re here rather than at Annie’s …” Leaning over his desk, Rem extracted a plain sheet of paper and a quill. “It would be safer for you to handle the situation. Briggs must receive the message before dawn, so that the Admiralty can arrange things immediately … by midday, hopefully.”

“It’s as good as done.” Boyd glanced out the window at the pitch-black skies. “I’ll go to Briggs’s residence directly from here, while it’s still dark. Then I’ll snatch a few hours’ sleep and make my way to the docks.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll arrive just in time to have breakfast with our assistants on the wharf.”

“Excellent.” Rem completed his cryptic note with a flourish, folded it and handed it to Boyd. “Can you be back here by mid-afternoon? I should have news from the Admiralty by then.”

“I’ll be here. Your food is better than mine, anyway.”

Rem didn’t smile. “We’ve both grown spoiled, my friend. Do you remember what we used to eat at sea?”

A shadow crossed Boyd’s tired face. “I have the same memories you do, Rem. But those days are behind us now.”

“Are they?”

“They must be.”

“I still have nightmares … vivid ones.” Rem inclined his head, meeting Boyd’s eyes with a penetrating stare. “Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Don’t you find yourself questioning the fates?”

“No.” Boyd brushed a lock of shaggy hair from his face. “Nor should you. Because it’s futile to do so. All the answers we ever hope to attain, we already possess.” He held up one finger. “I joined the navy to escape my mother’s interfering domination and managing a dull textile business. You had a relentless dream to leave your mark on this world and a spirit that refused to be tamed.”

Counting off his second finger, Boyd continued. “I left the navy because I no longer wanted to run. I felt I had something meaningful to do—you provided me with that opportunity. You left because the innocent bloodshed sickened you and your dream was transformed into an obsession for justice. As for everything else—the death, the futility—there are no answers to those things, Rem. Stop looking for them. All you’re succeeding in doing is torturing yourself. You’re accomplishing all you intended—righting the inequities within your control. The rest is up to fate. When are you going to accept that?”

“Perhaps never.”

“Never is a long time, my friend.” Boyd lay his hand on Rem’s shoulder. “Isn’t it time you made peace with yourself?”

“I don’t know if that’s possible. Not in a world as ugly and unjust as ours.”

“There’s beauty, too. Seek it out.”

“I’d rather not. Beauty elicits emotion, and I have no desire to grapple with feelings of any kind, other than conviction and passion. I find solace in my conviction and distraction in the arms of willing women.”

“You’re still searching,” Boyd assessed quietly.

“You’re wrong. The dream you alluded to died long ago, along with the boy who envisioned it. Now there is only reality.”

Boyd held Rem’s gaze. “That’s no longer enough. Not for me … and I don’t think for you. Your thirtieth birthday came and went last year, and mine two years before that. Surely life must hold more for us than rushing from one mission to the next?”