Samantha

by Andrea Kane

  "I agree." Sammy nodded sagely, thanking her lucky stars that, unlike Millie, Cynthia was quite talented at selecting gowns and arranging hair. This particular night, Samantha was in no condition to manage on her own. Not with her hands trembling as if winter's frost had descended upon them.

  Moistening her lips, Sammy glanced at the clock, her heart keeping pace with its ticking, her mind racing ahead to the wondrous adventure that awaited her.

  In a matter of hours, she'd belong to Rem.

  How would he manage it? she wondered, anticipation tingling through her. Where would he take her to make her his?

  "Is she very beautiful?"

  "Pardon me?" Sammy blinked.

  "Bonnie, your new niece," Cynthia prompted, exasperated and puzzled. "What on earth is wrong with you tonight?"

  "Nothing. Yes, Bonnie is precious." Hastily, Sammy brought the subject back to safe ground. "She looks just like Alex, with huge gray eyes and delicate little features." Sammy grinned. "And a powerful shout when she wants something."

  "Your brother must be thrilled."

  "That was the only disappointing part of the day. Drake was away from Allonshire all morning. He left for his banker's estate just prior to my arrival. Evidently, he decided to use the hours that Alex, Gray, and the baby were napping to conduct business. So, other than Humphreys, whose chest is as swollen with pride as Smitty's—honestly, you'd think the two of them had fathered Bonnie themselves—I saw no one but my new niece. And even she slept during most of our first meeting. A humbling experience, at best."

  Cynthia smiled wistfully. "It must be wonderful to have such a loving family."

  Sammy met Cynthia's gaze in the mirror. "It is. But things weren't always as they are now," she returned quietly. "Don't presume the tranquility you see has perpetually graced the Barretts. There are many skeletons in the family closet. Someday I shall regale you with them."

  A knock sounded on the bedchamber door.

  "Yes?"

  "Pardon me, m'lady." The young maid curtsied. "The Earl of Gresham asked me to tell you he has arrived."

  "Thank you." Sammy rose, snatching up her wrap. "Good night, Cynthia."

  "Samantha—"

  "Good night, Cynthia." Pausing in the doorway, Sammy's tone was as emphatic as her stance. She was in no mood for a lecture on the dangers of caring for Rem. Nor did she have any intention of allowing Cynthia to accompany her. "Please," she said softly, inclining her head in Cynthia's direction. "Not tonight."

  "Enjoy yourself, my lady." Cynthia's reply was as reluctant as it was relieving.

  A tiny smile hovered about Sammy's lips. "Thank you. I shall."

  Rounding the second floor landing, Sammy fought the impulse to raise her skirts and dash down the stairs to the sitting room, and Rem. She counted to ten slowly, then began her descent.

  Halfway down she halted, clutching the handrail for support.

  Rather than doing what was proper—patiently awaiting Sammy's arrival in the sitting room—Rem was standing at the foot of the stairs watching her approach. Hands clasped behind his back, he studied her from beneath hooded lids, drinking her in like a rare and fine wine.

  Sammy could feel the intimate possession of his stare burn through her, a hot brand deep inside her.

  "I followed your instructions precisely, my lord," she murmured breathlessly, gliding down the final step to meet him. "As promised, I didn't keep you waiting."

  "Didn't you?" Rem raised her fingers to his lips, lightly caressing her hand in a kiss as suggestive as it was brief. "It seems I've waited an eternity for you."

  Trembling pleasure shimmered through her. "If you continue talking to me like that, I'll be unable to walk, much less dance."

  "Then we'll have to adjourn to a bed, won't we?" He pressed his open mouth to her wrist, nudging aside the lilac silk of her sleeve.

  "Rem ... don't," she whispered.

  "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he questioned huskily, his tongue finding her racing pulse. "Have you any idea how profoundly you affect me?"

  "I'm almost afraid to know."

  "I'll show you." His fingers closed possessively around hers. "Later."

  The sound of footsteps interrupted them.

  Glancing up, Sammy saw Smitty approaching, his jaw set. Thankfully, she realized he was too far away to have witnessed the intimacy of Rem's greeting. Still. . .

  Swiftly, Sammy urged Rem toward the door. "We'd best be off—before a confrontation ensues."

  "My lady, you didn't mention that you'd be going out this evening," Smitty called, scowling at Rem.

  "Didn't I? I suppose I was preoccupied with Bonnie." Sammy gave Smitty her most winning smile. "In any case, Lord Gresham and I had best be on our way. He has promised to whisk me in and out of countless parties."

  "Where is your aunt Gertrude, may I ask?"

  "Abed." Casting pretense aside, Sammy gazed pleadingly up at her guardian. She could, in all candor, demonstrate her eagerness, though she dared not reveal its cause. "Please, Smitty. There are parties at Devonshire House and Chesterfield House, not to mention the elegant soiree at Lord and Lady Rathstone's estate, and innumerable other grand balls. You know how long I've waited for nights such as these. I realize I should be chaperoned, but no one will suspect that I'm not. Aunt Gertrude rarely stays awake past ten o'clock, anyway. After that, she retires to our carriage, where she snores the duration of the evening away." Sammy paused only to suck in air before plunging on in an attempt to win Smitty over, and to soothe his growing agitation. "The point is, no one expects Aunt Gertrude to partake in the merriment. I'll just make my usual excuses, tell everyone she was fatigued. They'll assume she drifted off for a nap. Please, Smitty, I know how you despise impropriety; but just this once, don't say no."

  "Lady Gertrude actually sleeps in the carriage, while you . . ." Smitty withdrew his handkerchief and proceeded to mop his brow.

  "Smitty . . ." Samantha lay her hand on his arm. "Lord Gresham will keep me safe. You have my word. Please ... let me go."

  Indecision warred in Smitty's eyes.

  "Thank you." Sammy gave her guardian a quick, hard hug.

  "All right," Smitty conceded. Roughly, he cleared his throat. "The duke would have my head."

  "Perhaps." Sammy dimpled. "But I much prefer your heart, anyway."

  Rem was still reeling as their carriage sprinted off into the foggy London night. "Well, imp, even Smithers is captivated by your charm." He drew Sammy against him, tenderly pressing her head to his shoulder. "I can't blame him. You're fatal, you know."

  "Am I?" Sammy snuggled closer, inhaling Rem's heady masculine scent. "I hope so." A nagging thought plagued her, marring the perfection of the moment. "I've never lied to Smitty before."

  "You didn't lie to him now." Rem nuzzled her hair. "You said I'd keep you safe ... and I will."

  "I also said we'd be attending dozens of extravagant London balls," she reminded him.

  "And so we shall."

  Sammy sat bolt upright. "What? But I thought—"

  Rem smoothed his knuckles over her flushed cheek. "Patience, my beautiful romantic. Patience."

  She turned her lips into his hand. "Patience has never been one of my virtues, my lord."

  "Nor mine, my lady. But tonight we shall both learn to exercise some." He tipped her disappointed face up to his. "By the time I take you to bed, I want you on fire for me." Slowly, hungrily, he buried his lips in hers.

  With a low moan, Sammy relinquished herself to the kiss, Rem's words seeping into her like the most potent aphrodisiac. She was already on fire for him, her untutored body clamoring for more, unwilling to wait.

  Avidly, she tried to deepen the kiss ... and was thwarted by Rem's maddening refusal to do so.

  "Patience," he murmured softly, nibbling at her lower lip.

  "But when will we—"

  "Trust me. Didn't I give you my word that I'd never leave you aching again?"

  "But I am aching," she said in a
bewildered whisper.

  Rem made a husky sound that was part laugh, part groan. "You won't be. I promise, once this night is over, you won't be. Will you have faith in me?"

  Sammy stared into the mesmerizing gray of his eyes. "Yes."

  "Good." He brushed his lips across hers, a whisper of sensation against her feverish skin. "Then, Lady Samantha, I suggest you prepare for a long and exhausting evening."

  15

  Long?

  Endless would have been a better choice of words, Sammy rued silently, feeling her leg muscles throb their agreement.

  She and Rem had finally arrived at Devonshire House. It was well after midnight, the ballroom crammed with partygoers, and Sammy was coiled tight as a spring. In three hours time, she'd made appearances at five balls and three soirees, danced with over a dozen men, drunk enough Regent's punch to make her dizzy, and smiled until she thought her cheeks would break.

  Only two things sustained her.

  One was the possessive way Rem escorted her into each gathering; keeping her staunchly by his side, his hand firmly gripping her elbow, almost as if he were publicly proclaiming her as his; relinquishing her only when protocol insisted he allow other men their chance to dance with her.

  The other was the constant flow of suggestive words and intimate looks Rem lavished upon her throughout the night, making everything inside her turn liquid with longing.

  Sammy wondered if she could withstand the torment much longer.

  "Are you enjoying yourself, imp?" Rem questioned, leading her onto the dance floor for the waltz she'd promised him.

  "What?" Sammy turned dazed eyes to his.

  Rem's dimple flashed. "I asked if you were enjoying yourself." Lazily, he caressed her palm with his thumb.

  Sammy's heart lurched. "You're torturing me," she whispered.

  "No, sweetheart. I'm heightening your anticipation."

  "You're so ... experienced," she blurted out, lightheaded from the punch she'd consumed, her nerves taut to breaking.

  Rem chuckled, maddeningly. "And you're so innocent." His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "I want to drown in you."

  Sammy's eyes slid shut. "Can we please leave?"

  "Soon." He whirled her around. "Very soon."

  "I believe the next dance is mine."

  Viscount Anders's voice was like a bucket of ice water on Sammy's heated body.

  "Stephen?" She knew she sounded disoriented, but Anders was the last person she'd expected, or wanted, to see.

  "Good evening, Samantha." Stephen's tone was frosty, his expression emanating irritated censure. "I hear you've cut a path at nearly every party in London."

  "We have. And if you wish to speak with Samantha, you'll have to wait. This particular waltz belongs to me." Rem whirled Sammy off.

  "Oh, Rem." Sammy felt all too sober as she glanced uneasily back at Stephen's furious expression. "Did you have to be so rude?"

  Rem shrugged. "I loathe the man, I loathe the way he looks at you, the way he speaks to you, the way he thinks of you as his. I also distrust him. I think he's an unprincipled snake. So, yes, I had to be rude. And incidentally, as your visit to Allonshire precluded Anders from calling on you today, this is the perfect time for you to return his necklace."

  "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 b
arely 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 hurt 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.