"Have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?" Rem murmured, guiding Sammy along.
"No, but please do."
Heatedly, Rem surveyed the low-cut bodice and flowing layers of her bottle-green gown. "That color makes your eyes glow like rare pieces of jade."
"I wore it intentionally," Sammy confided, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "So you would look at me the same way you did at Almack's . . . the last time I wore green."
Rem chuckled. "And have I disappointed you, my honest romantic?"
"No."
The intimate silence that followed made Sammy's heart pound with fevered anticipation.
Her hope was shattered by Rem's next question.
"When did you meet Cynthia?"
Sammy tensed. "Several days ago."
"Really? Smithers must have been tremendously impressed by her references."
"Why do you say that?"
Casually, Rem sipped at his punch. "Because she's a veritable stranger. And you're his most precious charge."
"Are you mocking me?"
"Never. I'm only stating the truth. Your brother's valet is very protective of you—which is why you were entrusted to his care to begin with."
"Actually, Cynthia is almost as protective of me as Smitty is."
"Why is that?"
"She thinks I'm too innocent for my own good."
"I'm not surprised."
Sammy halted, turned to face him. "What does that mean?"
Stopping beside her, Rem tossed off the remains of his drink.
"Why don't you like Cynthia?"
"I don't know her well enough to like or dislike her. Neither, for that matter, do you."
"You're wrong, Remington. I'm not nearly as naive as you think I am."
Another silence.
"When will you stop viewing me as a child?" Sammy tilted her face up to his.
Rem smiled, traced his forefinger down the bridge of her nose. "I never viewed you as a child, imp. A very beautiful, very romantic distraction, perhaps; but never a child."
"You know what I mean. I'm certainly chaste and untutored compared to your other women."
Rem chuckled. "A very forthright distraction," he amended.
"Would you prefer me to be coy?"
"I prefer you just as you are."
"Even if I'm not like the women at Annie's?" The minute the words were out, Sammy wanted to kick herself.
Fiercely, Rem seized her shoulders. "What do you know about Annie's?"
"Cynthia told me," she managed, chilled by the fury in his eyes.
"So you know where your lady's maid originated."
"She's not like them. She's . . . different."
"Samantha—"
"Please don't patronize me, Remington. She is different. As for Annie's, I knew what a brothel was long before I met Cynthia. One needn't frequent them to know they exist. What I don't understand is, why do you frequent them? With scores of women like—what was that stunning marchioness's name—Clarissa . . . ? With an abundance of Clarissas anxious to sample your charms, why do you visit Annie's? Is it the feeling of anonymity that appeals to you? Is it the sense of detachment? Or is it the variety? I assume you grew used to diversity when you served in the Royal Navy."
Abruptly, Rem's anger transformed to amazement. "I can't believe we're standing here discussing—"
"Why not? I want to understand what draws you to a woman. Is it experience? Then why do you object to my gaining some?"
"Because you're not like Annie's girls. Nor like the women I met at sea."
"If I became like them, then would you want me?"
Rem knocked their drinks to the ground and caught Sammy's face between his hands. "Is that what this is all about? You don't think I want you?"
"Do you?"
"So much that it terrifies me."
Sammy stepped closer. "Show me."
"I'm not sure I'll be able to stop."
"Oh, Rem ..." With a dreamy sigh, she leaned against him, twined her arms about his neck. "Don't you know by now that I don't want you to stop?"
Restraint snapped.
Days of unsatisfied need converged in Rem's gut, pounding through his loins and obscuring his judgment ... if he ever had any where Samantha was concerned. His hands left her face to clamp her waist, dragging her closer, until there was nothing between them but the hindering layers of their clothing. Slowly, maddeningly, he lowered his head, covered her trembling mouth with his, parting her lips to accept the intimate invasion of his tongue. Her response was instant and ardent. She whimpered softly, tightening her hold about his neck and melding their tongues in an innocently seductive act that nearly brought Rem to his knees.
Somewhere in the distance a bell sounded, a silvery echo through the garden. On its heels, a bright cascade of multicolored light infused the sky with a magical glow.
"The fireworks are beginning," Rem murmured, tangling his fingers in the glorious sable waves of Sammy's hair.
"Really? I thought they'd already begun." With a siren's smile, she traced his lower lip with the tip of her tongue.
"Christ, Samantha . . ." he muttered, "I'm only human. Do you have any idea what you do to me?" He didn't wait for her answer. She never intended to give one.
Burning with a fire all its own, their kiss exploded into passion. Preliminaries cast aside, Rem possessed Samantha fully, crushed her in his arms until neither of them could speak. He absorbed her shiver, tasted as well as felt the innocent awakening of her body. Her breasts swelled against his chest, her nipples hardening through the confines of her gown. Gliding his hands down her back, he cupped her bottom, lifted her against him purposefully, determined that she should experience the full extent of his desire. Half expecting her to recoil with horror, Rem was stunned when Sammy tightened her embrace, pressed her body closer to his ... and severed yet another filament of his control.
"Samantha ..." Her name was a harsh rasp from deep in his chest, his lips leaving hers to burn urgent kisses on her cheeks, her neck, the graceful column of her throat. The scent of flowers was all around them, fragrant and sweet— as sweet as his mouth on her skin, the seductive words that spilled from his soul, unchecked and uncensored. "I want you... you can't know how much. In my bed, naked, pleading for me to make you whole. I want you under me, wrapped around me, crying out my name again and again." He moved his hips seductively against hers. "Not want you? Feel me, Samantha, and know how wrong you are." Sammy's eyes slid shut, her entire being concentrated beneath her throbbing senses. She arched her back, silently begging for more, wanting to drown in the hypnotic spell Rem was weaving.
With shaking hands, Rem eased her deeper into the shadows, unfastening the tiny row of buttons down the back of her gown. Discretion be damned, principles be damned, missions be damned. Nothing mattered but having this woman. Now. Now.
Desire pounding through him in a relentless surge, Rem tugged Samantha's gown and chemise down to her waist, aroused nearly beyond bearing by her eager attempts at assistance. He raised his head, the faint moon glow enough to reveal the incomparable treasures he'd just bared for the first time.
Rem's breath actually lodged in his throat, tenderness momentarily taming passion. Mesmerized, he stared down at her breasts, moved by an emotion he didn't quite understand, one that unfurled like warm mists of smoke in his chest. She was beautiful, so beautiful, and so very trusting, waiting for him to touch her, offering him anything he wanted.
God, if she only knew how badly he wanted.
"Am I all right?" Sammy whispered, her eyes as soft as the grass beneath their feet.
"All right?" Reverently, Rem caressed her with light, feathery strokes of his fingertips, reveling at her warm, responsive flesh, the quiver that raced through her, the never-before-touched splendor beneath his hands. "You're perfect. More than perfect. You're every exquisite fantasy a man envisions." Slowly, he lowered his mouth, acutely attuned to her response as he brushed his lips against the warm curve of her br
east. Her soft sigh, the acceleration of her heartbeat rippled through him, and he grew bolder, tracing the sensitive outline of her nipple, nuzzling its taut peak, finally surrounding it with his lips and tongue.
Sammy cried out, her legs buckling as dizzying sensations coursed through her blood in pulsing bursts. "Remington. . ." If there were other words to say, she couldn't imagine what they were. Nothing could describe this shattering feeling, this all-encompassing storming of the senses. She never, never wanted it to end.
Scooping her into his arms, Rem carried Samantha to the nearby bench, lowering her gently, half covering her with himself. "This is madness, imp," he murmured, taking her mouth in a long, drugging kiss, caressing her swollen breasts. "Anyone could discover ..."
His words of caution dissipated the instant her soft hands slid inside his jacket and beneath his shirt. Everything inside him went rigid, aching, as she unbuttoned first his waistcoat, then the shirt, tugging them away from his skin.
"I want to touch you," she breathed, smoothing her palms over the powerful muscles of his chest, gliding her fingers through the dark hair that curled on it. "Is that all right?"
"Christ, I want your hands all over me," he rasped, his whole body shuddering at the erotic contact.
Sammy watched him, her eyes wide with wonder and joy. "You're even more magnificent than I imagined." She leaned up to kiss his throat. "And I did imagine, Rem ... just as you did."
A harsh groan rumbled from his soul. "Sweetheart... you're killing me." His hands grew more feverish on her breasts, his mouth following in their wake. He pressed her down onto the bench, lost to the craving that was stronger than he. She was scented heaven beneath him, warm and soft and willing, and no amount of reason was going to make him stop. His lips closed around her nipple, tugging at it once, twice, then rhythmically until Samantha whimpered, feverish with a need she'd never envisioned.
"Remington ..." She shifted restlessly. "Please ..."
Her plea blazed through him like a brushfire. "Ah, Samantha ... my beautiful Samantha ... do you really know what it is you're begging me for?" God, he wanted to tear off her gown and bury himself inside her. It was beyond need; it was compulsion.
"Yes, I do." She caressed the broad expanse of his shoulders, staring up at him through trusting eyes that were misty with passion. "I've known from the instant we met that I was going to belong to you. Make love to me."
They were the most beautiful words Rem had ever heard. Also the most sobering. He gazed down at her, half naked in Vauxhall's very public gardens, and guilt reared its ugly head. Guilt, mixed with that strange new emotion in his chest and some very old, very ingrained truths about himself. What the hell was he on the verge of doing? "No."
Sammy blinked. "No?"
His breathing ragged, Rem hoisted himself to a sitting position, resolutely pulling up her gown and chemise and refastening them.
"Why?" she demanded in a tiny whisper.
"Because you're far too precious, that's why."
"Far too precious for what?"
"For a quick tumble on a bench at Vauxhall. For a quick tumble anywhere."
Silently, she watched him rebutton his shirt. "To me, it wouldn't have been a quick tumble," she said at last. "But you already know that. Just as I know that it's not merely my vulnerability you're so driven to protect." Gracefully, she stood, smoothing her hair back into place.
"Isn't it?" Rem's tone sounded wooden.
"No. 'Tis your own vulnerability as well." Sammy's eyes were filled with sad resignation. "You see, Rem, for the first time in your life, this wouldn't have been a quick tumble for you either."
10
Knollwood was already waiting.
Keenly aware of Templar and Harris concealed nearby, Rem headed toward the orange glow of Knollwood's cheroot, forcing everything but the confrontation ahead from his mind. Samantha's words still haunted him with their uncanny insight, resurrecting memories long since buried. Her reference to his staunch attempts at self-protection wasn't a revelation—Lord only knew how many times he'd heard it from Boyd—but from Samantha's lips the words were different, more profound. Boyd was his closest friend, the one who'd shared his pain, been there when the wounds were inflicted. But Samantha was ... different.
Rem needed to be alone, to probe into his own needs and motivations. But later, after Knollwood had been dealt with.
"Gresham. You're late. I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."
"Hardly." Rem glanced at his timepiece. "It's seven minutes past three, Knollwood. I had to conclude my evening plans and slip away. Oh, and stop for. this." He brandished a quill. "You did say to bring a writing implement?"
"I did." Knollwood blew a ring of smoke over Rem's head. "Are you ready to use it?"
"Did you bring my money?"
"My
money, Gresham, my money." Knollwood snapped open a small leather bag, exposing piles of neatly stacked bills. "Your loan, but my money. Don't forget that." "I won't." Making a quick mental assessment, Rem concluded that the full amount was there. "All right. Where's the note you want me to sign?"
"Right here." Knollwood reached into his pocket and withdrew a single sheet of paper. "Sign at the bottom."
"After I read what I'm signing." Rem scanned the document, unsurprised by the exorbitant amount of interest Knollwood was demanding. "My instincts had better not fail me," he muttered just loud enough for Knollwood to hear. "These terms are outrageous."
"You're reconsidering your original intentions?"
"No. I still believe my ship will succeed. I'll find a way to ensure it will."
"How?"
"That's my problem." Rem paused. "Unless you have a suggestion. In which case, I'm listening."
Taut with anticipation, Rem awaited Knollwood's next, all-important response.
"I'm a businessman, Gresham, not a prophet." Knollwood jabbed his finger at the signature line. "Now, pen your name. Unless you don't want the funds after all."
Studying Knollwood through narrowed eyes, Rem had his answer. The despicable parasite wasn't the national culprit they sought. Evidently, he wasn't astute enough to pull off so sophisticated a scheme.
Rem scrawled his name and shoved the document back at Knollwood. "Here. Now my money."
Thrusting the bag into Rem's hands, Knollwood didn't release it until the note was safely tucked in his waistcoat. "I'll be in touch," he promised, relinquishing his grip on the bag's handle. "Soon. And Gresham ... I'm sure I don't need to remind you not to do anything stupid. I always keep abreast of my business associates ... and their friends."
"I don't doubt it."
"Speaking of which—how is Lady Samantha Barrett faring these days?" Rem's guts clenched.
"She's a beauty, Gresham. Fresh from the schoolroom, too. Quite a change from your usual sort. She must be an avid learner in bed."
"You filthy bastard." Rem's cool veneer dissipated in a heartbeat. Lunging forward, he grabbed Knollwood by the throat. "If you ever even mention Samantha's name again, I'll break every bone in your despicable body."
"Let me go, Gresham," Knollwood rasped.
Rem's thumb depressed on Knollwood's windpipe. Vehemently, he averted his head, calling, "I've had all I can take. Templar, Harris—get this scum out of here."
On the heels of Rem's command, the sound of rustling trees and thudding feet split the night. Before Knollwood could move, Templar had a gun pointed at his head.
"B-But you came alone," Knollwood stammered at Rem.
"No, I just happen to know what hiding places your men don't check." With a chilling expression, Rem released his hostage.
Knollwood rubbed his neck with shaking hands. "I'll lessen the payments. And increase your time to pay them."
"Really? How reassuring." In one casual, adept motion, Rem extracted the note from Knollwood's pocket, tearing it once, twice, three times, and scattering the pieces to the wind. "Payments? What payments?"
"What do you want, Gresham? The
money?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Knollwood. If all I wanted was your money, I needn't have gone to so much trouble. I'd just have taken it."
"Then what do you want?"
"To put you somewhere far away from your poor, unsuspecting prey."
Sweat broke out on Knollwood's forehead. "On what grounds? It's your word against mine. You just destroyed the only evidence you had, you fool."
"Did I? How clumsy of me." Rem tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Harris, do you think we might produce some additional evidence, since I just impulsively shredded my own?"
"I think so." Harris's pistol flashed as he carefully backed up Templar.
"Good. That eases my mind quite a bit."
"What evidence?" Knollwood demanded. "Who the hell are these thugs anyway?"
"Oh, did I neglect to introduce you? How tactless of me. Meet Templar and Harris, two of Bow Street's finest runners. They have scores of witnesses who can attest to your vast number of crimes, plus a multitude of papers to substantiate the witnesses' claims. As luck would have it, both Templar and Harris are also personal favorites of the Bow Street Magistrate ... to whom, incidentally, they are about to deliver you."
"You bastard. And what about my money? Are you going to turn that in, too?"
"Your
money? Don't you mean my money?" Rem shook his head. "How quickly you forget." "You're going to keep it, aren't you?" Knollwood made a dive for Rem, one that was quickly checked by Harris's iron grasp and the cold steel of Templar's pistol against his head.
"Careful, gentlemen," Rem cautioned, never flinching. "We wouldn't want to injure Mr. Knollwood. Then he couldn't enjoy his long stay at Newgate." He gestured for his men to take Knollwood away. "Oh, and don't worry about your money, Knollwood. I promise to put it to excellent use."
"It's done?"
Boyd unlocked the front door of Boydry's and opened it just enough for Rem to slip inside.
"Yes ... Mr. Knollwood won't be blackmailing anyone for a long, long time."
"And? Did he offer you the incentive you suspected?"
"No. Another impasse."
Boyd sighed. "I was afraid of that." He poured two glasses of gin. "Where are Harris and Templar?"