Andrea Kane (8 page)

Rem’s brows rose. “I had no idea you were unhappy.”

“Not unhappy, Rem. Just lonely. Even jaded seamen can want something tangible to turn to in their old age, can’t they? Something that is truly theirs?”

Abruptly, Rem turned away. “I don’t know, Boyd. I honestly don’t know.”

“No … you don’t,” Boyd said sadly, scooping up his coat. “I pray that changes, for your sake. Good night, Rem.”

A
LMACK’S,” SAMMY BREATHED. “AT
last.”

She scarcely heard her own name or Aunt Gertrude’s being announced, so intent was she on drinking in the graceful arches that defined Almack’s famous ballroom, the rainbow of colors filling the assembly walls as the
beau monde’s
most noted ladies twirled by in gowns of the latest fashion and hue.

Almack’s. How many nights had she watched Alexandria ready herself for balls such as these, always wishing, dreaming, that she could accompany her beautiful sister-in-law? How many arguments had she and Drake had over this issue, ending always with his firm refusal to bring her out one single day before her eighteenth birthday?

At long last, she was here.

“Aunt Gertie, I’m so happy,” Sammy breathed fervently.

“Oh dear.” Gertrude pressed her fingers to her throat in distress. “I
am
becoming absentminded. I forgot to warn you, didn’t I?” She leaned closer to Sammy’s ear. “The food they serve here is atrocious,” she confided, speaking in what she presumed to be a whisper. Two of Almack’s patronesses turned around to scowl. “If you were hungry, you should have eaten before we came.”

“I said
happy,
not
hungry,
Aunt Gertie,” Samantha explained over the strains of violin music, simultaneously gifting the notorious Lady Jersey with an apologetic smile.

The influential matron wavered for a moment, then relented beneath Sammy’s innocent charm. With a curt nod of acceptance, she moved off.

“I’m glad, dear.” Gertrude absently patted Sammy’s arm. “For it appears you shan’t have time to eat, anyway.” Pointedly, she rolled her eyes in the direction of the dance floor, where three eager gentlemen were crossing toward them, their delighted gazes glued to Samantha. “Your first ball promises to be a great success!”

“If I can remember how to dance,” Sammy muttered under her breath.

Evidently, she did, because the next few hours were spent breathlessly whirling about the room, her attention vied for by the affluent Marquess of Katerly, the persuasive Earl of Tadum, and the charmingly handsome Viscount Anders. It seemed she only just returned to her aunt’s side after each dance when she was claimed for yet another.

Samantha’s first ball was an unequivocal and overwhelming success.

Samantha, on the other hand, was thoroughly miserable.

Where was he? she wondered, anxiously peering over Lord Anders’s shoulder. Why hadn’t he arrived?

Anders winced as Sammy trod upon his foot.

“I’m dreadfully sorry, my lord,” she apologized instantly. “I’m afraid the minuet is the dance at which I’m the clumsiest.”

“Nonsense.” The viscount’s smile was gently reassuring. “You’re a splendid dancer. You merely missed a step, ’tis all.”

“You’re very kind, sir.”

“And you’re very beautiful, if I might be so bold as to say.”

Samantha lowered her lashes, wondering how to respond to such overt flattery.

“Now it’s my turn to apologize,” Anders murmured over the delicate strains of the strings. “I fear I’ve embarrassed you. That was not my intent. But you are extraordinarily lovely. Tell me, when was your presentation at court? I don’t recall hearing any news of it … or of the ball that followed in your honor.”

“That’s because there was no ball. As for my court presentation, it was far less dramatic than originally planned, due to the timing.” Seeing Anders’s questioning look, Sammy smiled. “My brother’s wife is on the verge of making a presentation of her own. She is about to gift Drake with the birth of their second child. Hence, neither she nor Drake are in London this Season, and therefore could not host the lavish party they’d initially intended in honor of my coming out. Instead, Drake brought me to St. James’s Palace for a private audience, then placed me in Aunt Gertrude’s capable hands for the Season’s festivities.”

“Then tonight is your first official ball?” Anders asked delightedly.

“Indeed it is.”

“How fortunate! Then I’ve not missed any previous opportunities to dance with you.”

“No, my lord, you haven’t. Although, considering the damage I’ve just done to your foot, I shouldn’t think you’d want—” Sammy’s breath lodged in her throat, cutting off the remainder of her reply. Mesmerized, she stared, her gaze riveted on the ballroom entranceway … and its occupant.

She recognized him long before the attendant announced his name.

Clad in elegant dark evening clothes, his crisp white cravat impeccably tied, Remington assessed Almack’s with the same bold appraisal as he had Boydry’s.

Sammy began to tremble.

“Are you fatigued, my lady?” Anders asked, concern knitting his brows.

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose I am. I’m unused to so much excitement. It is my first ball.” Sammy wondered if she were babbling.

“Of course. I’ll return you to your aunt at once.”

“Thank you, yes. I mean … that would be best. That is … perhaps if I rested a bit …” Now she
knew
she was babbling.

Safely restored to Aunt Gertie’s side, Sammy berated herself for acting such a ninny. She’d expected Remington to attend … prayed he would do so. Now he was here and she was behaving like a lovesick schoolgirl.

Samantha helped herself to a glass of punch from a passing tray.
That’s because I
am
a lovesick schoolgirl,
she mourned, gulping down her drink. Steeling herself, she placed the empty glass on another tray.
Remember: act sophisticated. Adult. Worldly.

“Hello, imp.”

His husky voice shattered her reserve, her nerves, and her heart, simultaneously. Pulses racing, she turned to face him. “Good evening, my lord.”

Penetrating gray eyes roamed leisurely over her face and figure, blatantly appraising every inch of her from the pearl-woven crown of her tresses to the full skirt of her deep green satin gown. When Rem’s eyes again met hers, Sammy flushed at the flagrant admiration he made no attempt to hide.

“You look breathtaking, Lady Samantha,” he murmured, kissing her gloved hand. “Almack’s should be honored to have you join its coveted ranks.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Never.” He shook his head, thus catching sight of the elderly woman who stood beside Samantha. “You must be Lady Gertrude—’tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your great-niece has spoken highly of you.” With an engaging smile, Rem bowed.

“Aunt Gertie, this is the Earl of Gresham,” Sammy explained. “He’s the kind gentleman I spoke of … do you recall? The one who rescued Smitty and me from the storm and made arrangements for my carriage.”

Gertrude blanched. “Really, Samantha, that’s preposterous! Despite your youth, you must realize that it’s not up to a gentleman—kind or not—to arrange a lady’s marriage. That’s what your brother has entrusted me to do!”

Sammy felt her cheeks flame.

“The duke has chosen wisely, Lady Gertrude,” Rem answered smoothly, his smile never wavering. “For I’m certain he could not have entrusted his sister to a more discerning guardian.”

“Why … no, he couldn’t have; thank you, Lord Gresham.” Gertie stood a tad taller, preening her thin wisps of white hair.

The musicians struck up a waltz.

“May I have your permission to dance with Lady Samantha?” Rem requested, the essence of proper decorum.

“Of course, Lord Gresham.” Gertie tucked Sammy’s hand through Rem’s arm. “I only wish every gentleman were as well-bred as you.”

Her hopes shattering along with her pride, Sammy lowered her lashes, accompanying Rem to the dance floor in distraught silence. For the first time, he’d actually been viewing her as she willed him to—not as an amusing child, but as a woman. Now Aunt Gertie had ruined everything with her appalling announcement. Not only did it make her sound like a mindless dolt who relied upon others to unearth her proper mate, but it made her feel like a piece of sought-after chattel.

She wanted to die.

“You
can
look at me, you know,” Rem murmured as he led her into a waltz.

“No … I can’t.” Sammy stared at the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Why not?”

“I’m certain you know the answer to that, my lord. You were present during that disaster of an exchange.”

Rem chuckled. “Hardly a disaster, imp. You yourself told me your aunt was deaf; consequently, I was prepared.” He paused, tightening his grip around Sammy’s fingers. “What I wasn’t prepared for was you.”

Embarrassment cast aside, Sammy’s chin came up, her eyes meeting his. “I?”

“Ah … you
can
raise your head above my waistcoat. Tell me, am I really so dreadful to look at?”

Her lips curved. “You know you’re sinfully handsome, my lord.”

“And you’re exquisitely beautiful, my lady.”

Which scorched her more deeply? Samantha wondered, pleasure shooting through her in lightning streaks. Was it the heat of his gaze, his words, or his touch, which burned right through her glove?

The combination was lethal.

Hope was reborn.

“Are you warm?”

“Hmmm?”

Rem’s thumb brushed her cheek. “You’re flushed. I was wondering if you were warm.”

“I don’t know.”

He smiled. “Would you like some punch?”

“I’ve had some, thank you.”

“Shall I return you to your aunt for further instruction?”

“No. Nor should you continue to tease me. It makes me feel flustered.”

“I see.” He swept her around the far corner of the ballroom. “You aren’t thirsty, you don’t wish to join your aunt, and you won’t allow me to tease you. Then, as we have no reading material to divert you, the only other remedy I can suggest is a few minutes respite in less frenzied surroundings. Would you care to stroll through Almack’s with me?”

“Yes,” Sammy answered without hesitating.

“I’ll just tell your aunt—”

“No.” Glancing over, Sammy saw that her aunt was talking with the elderly Dowager Duchess of Arvel. “Aunt Gertie won’t object. In fact, she’ll probably never notice.”

Chuckling, Rem led her into the hall. After a quick perusal of the nearby chambers, he guided her into a small, dimly lit anteroom. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.” Sammy could scarcely see, especially after Rem shut the door behind him. Still, she’d managed to determine the most important thing—they were alone. She turned to face him.

“Are you enjoying your first ball, Lady Samantha?” Rem’s voice was deep and husky as it echoed through the empty room.

Sammy’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Very much.”

“I’m glad.” He wrapped a tendril of her hair around his finger. “And is the uncrowded room helping to cool you?”

“No.” She stepped closer, wishing she knew what to do next, unaware that she was already doing it. “I don’t think a change of scene is what I require.”

Something smoky and intangible flashed in his eyes. “Really?” His fingers left her hair, trailed across her cheek and down the side of her neck. “What is it you require then?”

She trembled. “I …”

“Is it this, Samantha?” He framed her face between his hands. “Is this what you want?”

Her eyes slid shut as she unconsciously leaned into him, awaiting his kiss.
Will it be all I imagined?
she wondered in the dizzying second before their lips touched.

The reality exceeded the dream.

Rem’s mouth brushed hers softly, gently, circling slowly around to repeat the caress. Butterfly light and infinitely controlled, he continued the motion, a chaste prelude to sensation, a maiden’s first kiss.

For Samantha, it was not nearly enough.

Reflexively, her hands clutched his coat, urging him nearer as she rose on tiptoe to reach his mouth. She felt him start, then draw back, catching her hands in his.

“Don’t, imp,” he cautioned, an uneven whisper against her lips.

“I want to,” she breathed back, unable to think beyond the wondrous new awakening.

He hesitated, and Sammy could actually feel his indecision.

“I do want to,” she repeated softly, freeing her hands to glide up the front of his shirt. “Please.”

Rem’s muscles tightened, with surprise or pleasure, she wasn’t certain. Then he lowered his head, catching her arms to bring her closer, taking her mouth wholly under his.

Sammy dug her fingers into his shirt as he worked his magic, kissing her in a way that made her knees buckle.

“Better?” he murmured.

“Yes, better … but not enough.”

Again she felt him start. “What am I going to do with you, imp?” He lifted a handful of her hair, sifted it slowly through his fingers. “Your honesty constantly astounds me. But tell me, my trusting Samantha, whose undoing will it be, yours … or mine?”

“There is more, isn’t there? There must be.”

“Must there?” He nibbled at her lower lip. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough of a lesson for one night?”

He was going to pull away. Sammy knew it. And she couldn’t allow it—not yet. “Please, Remington …” She pressed closer, twining her arms about his neck and lifting her gaze to his. Her eyes were candid, appealing, wide with discovery, misty with pleasure. “Please … kiss me.”

Was it her entreaty that did it? She never knew. Nor did she care. All she knew was that he swallowed her plea with his mouth, crushing her against him, taking her lips in a series of long, drugging kisses that made tension coil inside her like a drawn bowstring. A never-before envisioned yearning ignited inside her, a need like none she had ever imagined. Whatever this wildness was, only her hero could assuage it.

“Remington …”

She parted her lips to ask him to do more, and by her very action, received what she sought.

Rem’s tongue slid into her mouth, touching every sensitized nerve ending, gliding over each tingling surface until it mated with her own.

Sammy whimpered, bright lights exploding inside her head. She relented without thought or hesitation, opening to him, yes, but so much more than that … eagerly joining in the wondrous caresses. Her tongue intertwined with his, mimicked his every motion, then gracefully eased into his mouth to intensify the heady sensations and share the euphoria.