"You can say that after tonight?"
"Tonight was beautiful ... a magical, extraordinary fantasy. But today is what's real."
"I won't believe that."
"You have to." Rem ached for the bewildered hurt he saw in her eyes. "Sweetheart, there are things about me you don't know."
"Then share them with me."
"It's not that easy. My life, my history—" He broke off. "You're precious and sheltered. Let it go."
"I can't. I want to know all of you." She leaned forward, lay her hand on Rem's jaw. "I love you."
Rem squeezed his eyes shut. He'd thought himself prepared for what lay ahead, for the hurt he would now have to cause her. He wasn't.
"I'll speak to your brother today," he said with quiet resolve, wanting to envelop her and free her all at once. "After that, I'll make arrangements for a special license. We can be married immediately."
Samantha's joy was extinguished by the resignation in Rem's tone. "You sound like a man condemned. Is the thought of wedding me so unpleasant?"
A rueful smile touched Rem's lips. "No, imp, never unpleasant. You're a rare and priceless treasure. I'll do everything in my power to make you happy."
"And you? Will you be happy?"
Until I see the sparkle fade from your eyes,
he wanted to blurt out. "Yes, I'll be happy." Sammy searched his face. "Why are you proposing? Is it because you took me to bed?"
"Absolutely not." This he could give her. "It was very much the other way around. I took you to bed only after I'd decided our future."
"How dispassionate. You decided our future. You made love to me. You proposed. Tell me, Rem, where do feelings factor into your plan?"
"I think you know how much I care for you."
"Care for me," Sammy repeated, chewing her lip. "What about love?"
This was the part Rem had dreaded most. "Love," he repeated woodenly.
"Yes. Love." She stared down at her clasped hands. "It would be foolish at this point for me to lie. I want to be your wife. I want that more than anything on this earth, and I have from the moment you walked into Boydry's. But I want you to wed me out of love, not duty." She raised her head. "Do you love me, Remington?"
"Samantha—"
"Do you love me?" she persisted.
"I care for you more than I've ever cared for anyone in my life, more than I ever dreamed possible. I want you with an insatiable intensity that astounds me. But love? The kind of love poets write about, men give their souls for, live for, die for ... the kind of love I know you want of me ... I'm just not capable of so vast and absolute an emotion."
"I won't accept that." Her lips quivered.
"Sweetheart..." He reached for her.
The carriage came to a halt.
Pushing open the door, Sammy climbed down, battling desperately not to cry. "It's late, Rem. Or rather, early. We can't have this conversation now."
He caught her arm. "We can't turn back, Samantha. It's too late for that. And not only because of what happened tonight. Even if I hadn't made love to you, it wouldn't stop me from burning for you, from craving your sweetness, from killing any other man who touched you."
Sammy's anguished expression tore at his heart. "Imp ..." He cupped her chin. "I'll give you all I have to give; my devotion, my fidelity, my protection. You'll never want for anything—including an unlimited stream of novels from Hatchard's." Tenderly, he caressed her cheek with his forefinger. "And I'll bathe your senses in pleasures you've never even dreamed possible."
"Don't, Rem." Sammy shook her head to ward off the effect of his promise. "I need to think. And I can't do that when you seduce me with words."
"Don't think. Just consider us betrothed. Let me talk to your brother."
"No ... not yet." A lone tear slid down Sammy's cheek. "Under the circumstances, I'm not ready to deal with Drake."
From somewhere inside the Town house a door closed.
Sammy jerked around. "I have to go."
Rem couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so frustrated, so emotionally raw. "Meet me later today, then. We'll ride through Hyde Park." When she refused to answer, struggling instead to free herself, Rem's grip tightened. "Please, love," he added softly, "tonight was too beautiful to end like this. Please don't cry."
The tenderness in his voice was Sammy's undoing. She stopped struggling, staring up at him, a hard knot forming in her throat. She hadn't been wrong, her heart cried out. It was there; in his eyes, his tone, his touch. All his words, his professions of inability, were for naught, and she refused to accept them. Whatever in Rem's past had scarred him so deeply, tainted his ability to care, she would discover it. And, oppressive though it might be, she would combat it. Because she knew something Rem did not.
He might not think he loved her ... but he did.
"I'll be ready at five." Gently, Sammy disengaged her arm, feeling even more a woman now than she had during those pivotal moments in Rem's arms. "Good night, Rem."
"So you actually heard Summerson say he planned to keep an eye on Samantha?" Boyd asked, leaning forward.
"Yes." Rem paced the length of his sitting room, brow furrowed in worry. "It was clear that her relationship to Drake made her a threat ... to whatever illegal dealing Anders and Summerson are involved in."
"Atlantis." Boyd tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Sounds like the name of a ship."
"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Rem came to a halt, exchanging a meaningful look with his friend.
"You're obviously thinking exactly what I am—that Anders and Summerson could be the culprits responsible for all the lost vessels."
"Responsible or merely working for those who are. I tend to favor the latter, at least in Anders's case. He hasn't the intelligence or the cunning to devise and carry out such a sophisticated scheme on his own. I don't know Summerson well enough to make the same judgment. But whether they're working alone or with others, the motive is there."
"Insurance money," Boyd put in.
"Exactly."
"But our Bow Street men examined Anders's and Summerson's records; in both cases they were impeccable."
"Anders muttered something of the kind to Summerson. Which tells us what we already know—that records can be tampered with."
"True." Boyd still looked troubled. "There's another hole in our theory," he continued with a frown. "The name Atlantis wasn't on the list Briggs gave you."
"All that says is that the Admiralty has no record of a ship by that name going down, or that the Atlantis hasn't sunk—or possibly even sailed—yet."
"How do you suggest we proceed? We have no proof."
"First, I'll contact Briggs, have him run a check on any ship by the name Atlantis. If such a vessel does exist, we'll find out who built it, who owns it, and what its current status is.
"In the interim, we need to more thoroughly investigate our friends Anders and Summerson: find out what they're up to, who their cohorts are, why they're conducting secret meetings at midnight." Rem gulped down a cup of black coffee. "Since they were clever enough not to leave clues in their business accounts, let's delve into their personal lives."
"Should I notify Templar and Harris?"
"Good idea. I'll need them to take over some of the covert work. I plan to spend most of my time keeping a close eye on Samantha. No one is going to hurt her."
Hearing the anxiety in Rem's tone, Boyd frowned. "Do you think Anders's relentless pursuit of Samantha relates to his illegal business dealings? That he wants to get close to her because of her connection to Barrett Shipping and that he's hoping to gain information from her without her realizing it?"
"I think Anders's interest in vying for Samantha's hand could very well have begun for those reasons. But no longer." Rem resumed his long strides. "I've seen the hungry look in his eyes when he watches her, and believe me, it has nothing to do with Barrett Shipping. I also saw his reaction tonight when Summerson attempted to go after her. Anders stopped him—quite insistently—ordering him to stay away
. So, while I'm sure the viscount wants to learn all he can about whatever Barrett Shipping information Samantha might possess, I can safely say that his futile designs on her are quite personal."
Boyd cleared his throat. "How much do you want me to tell Templar and Harris?"
"Just tell them we'll all meet tonight at Annie's. By then I'll have mapped out our plan."
"Done." Boyd studied Rem's haggard expression. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked at last.
" 'It'? Which 'it' are you referring to?"
"The one that's tearing you apart. Other than worry. Is it guilt? Because if it is, I'd reconsider. That was one happy woman who left here a few hours ago." Boyd found himself chuckling. "She's quite a little whirlwind, your Samantha."
"She's like a dazzling watercolor, all vibrant and rare and beautiful. And fragile." Rem turned to stare moodily out the window. "I hate being the one destined to cause her pain."
"Why do you assume you will?"
"You, of all people, know that my capacity for deep feelings is long gone."
"Is it? It doesn't sound that way to me. It sounds to me like you're in love with Samantha Barrett."
"I am. God help her, but I am."
"Perhaps your capacity to love is greater than you think."
Rem shrugged. "Perhaps. But it can never be the all-encompassing love Samantha dreams of, the kind that dwarfs all else, that consumes one's life and one's being."
"I see. Quite a quandary. How do you plan to resolve it?"
"I plan to go to Allonshire and ask Drake Barrett for his sister's hand. And then I plan to do my damnedest to ensure that Samantha never regrets becoming my wife."
"But Rem—"
"Enough. Let's talk about you." Rem poured himself another cup of coffee. "How did your evening with Cynthia go?"
"Much as Samantha portrayed in her one-sided discourse. Cynthia has rigid walls erected—walls that are not going to be easy to break down." He grinned. "Speaking of breaking down, I could barely get through her front door. It took me almost an hour to convince her to let me in."
"And when you did?"
"Smithers had no objection to our visiting in the sitting room, since Cynthia's mistress was out for the evening."
Rem snorted. "I wish he took as kindly to me. Most of the time he looks at me as if he'd like to toss me out with the rest of the rubbish. As does Cynthia. In fact, I'm firmly convinced that the only household member who doesn't find me distasteful is Lady Gertrude. Even Samantha's Maltese pup is cool toward me. He hasn't forgiven me for referring to him as a rodent."
Boyd chuckled. "Rejection will keep you humble, Rem. Besides, aren't you forgetting one very important Barrett? Someone who happens to think the sun rises and sets on you?"
"Samantha is too romantic for her own good."
"Then isn't it comforting to know that you can spend the rest of your days watching out for her?"
"I thought we were discussing Cynthia."
A grin. "We are."
"So you visited in the sitting room. You chatted. Did she warm up at all?"
"I never found her cold. But if you're asking if I'm making headway, I think so. It pains me deeply, Rem. Someone has hurt her, crushed her spirit so badly that she's afraid to trust anyone ... especially men."
"Why was she working at Annie's?"
"She'd only been there a week when Samantha rescued her. After she'd rescued Samantha, of course."
Rem started. "What are you talking about?"
"Didn't Samantha tell you how she and Cynthia met?"
"No. And I don't think I'm going to like this."
Boyd shifted uncomfortably. "Cynthia assumed you knew."
"Then tell me and I will."
"Evidently, the night you left Samantha at the opera you told her you were en route to a business meeting because you were short of funds."
"I did."
"She was worried about you and determined to see if she could help. She hid in your carriage and accompanied you to Annie's."
Rem groaned. "Now I know I'm not going to like this. The little fool! What did she think she was—"
"She loves you, Rem."
A muscle worked in Rem's jaw. "Go on."
"If you recall, that particular night you couldn't shake the feeling you were being followed. Well, you were right."
"I said, go on."
"Samantha stayed outside the brothel during our meeting. A group of ruffians accosted her. Cynthia bullied them off, threatening to tell Annie they were assailing one of her women. It worked. Samantha was grateful as hell. She hired Cynthia on the spot. End of story."
Dropping down into a chair, Rem swore softly. "She could have been killed."
"That's probably why she was reluctant to tell you about it."
"What the hell am I going to do with her?"
Boyd bit back a smile. "Probably a great deal of what you did with her last night."
"Probably. That's the only time I can be sure she's not in danger." Rem gave Boyd a measured look. "Samantha trusts Cynthia implicitly. I gather you do, too."
"I do. I'd also stake my life on the fact that she's never worked in a brothel before, and wouldn't have this time if the circumstances hadn't been dire."
"I could ask Samantha about Cynthia's history."
"You could. But I'd rather Cynthia tell me herself. I'm a patient man, Rem. Especially when I want something. And I want Cynthia. Badly. So I'll wait. Besides," Boyd added quietly, "many of us have pasts we'd prefer to forget. The present is all that matters ... and the future."
"Did you make plans to see her again?"
Boyd's eyes sparkled. "Today is her day off. I'm going to close Boydry's early and take her to a coffeehouse for dinner."
"Good for you."
"What about Samantha? Are you seeing her tonight? Or are you going straight to Allonshire to talk to the duke?"
"I'm taking her for a carriage ride this evening. After that, we’ll see. If I can't make it to Allonshire and back in time for tonight's meeting at Annie's, I'll visit Drake tomorrow. Either way, Samantha and I will be married within a week."
"A week? Why?"
"Why not?"
"Surely you realize a woman like Samantha will have dreamed of a church wedding, an elegant gown, lots of guests; not to mention what her brother will want for her."
"Surely you realize how impractical that is, given the circumstances."
"What circumstances? The fact that planning your wedding might detract from our bloody mission?"
"The fact that Samantha could be carrying my child."
"Not a likelihood after being together one night. And, even if she is, no one will be able to notice for several months. Which gives you more than enough time to give her the kind of wedding she deserves. In the meantime, just keep your hands off her for a month or so and your heirs will arrive without scandal."
"I can't."
The fervor of Rem's admission made Boyd start.
"You have no idea what happens when Samantha and I are together. Trust me, Boyd, abstinence is not an option; for either of us. The sooner I put a ring on her finger, the better. Moreover, I'll be in a better position to protect her when I'm her husband. No, the wedding must take place immediately."
Boyd gave a low whistle. "You're even worse off than I thought."
"I'm also exhausted." Rem rubbed his hand over the shadow of a beard that darkened his face. "So, if we're finished, I'd like to get some sleep."
With a knowing expression, Boyd rose. "See you at Annie's." He paused. "Oh ... and Rem? Good luck with Samantha."
Samantha was praying for much the same. Retying the velvet ribbon in her hair for the third time, she glanced at the clock and frowned. Unfashionably early, even without the benefit of Cynthia's able assistance. But that wasn't surprising. She'd had hours to select her gown and arrange her hair. In fact, aside from taking a bath and nibbling at her lunch, she had done naught but sit at her bedchamber window all day, gazing out at Abi
ngdon Street and thinking of Rem.
'Twas just as well that it was Cynthia's day off, Sammy thought. Lord knew, she was not ready to face anyone, least of all her new friend, who would take one look at her and know exactly what had transpired. No, her emotions were still too chaotic, her transformation too new, too overwhelming to hide.
She'd awakened at noon, but remained abed until one, devoting a full hour to a tantalizing remembrance of last night. No dream could have been more perfect than the reality of becoming a woman in Rem's arms. She was his now, irrevocably so, and nothing the future held could change that.
The future.
That vast, unknown entity had dominated Sammy's thoughts for the duration of the day. She was not naive enough to believe the future awaited smooth and untainted ... not with the deep trenches of Rem's past scarring its path. No, those trenches had to be mended, carefully and with an enveloping blanket of love.
It was up to her to do that. A formidable task indeed. But Sammy wasn't deterred. In fact, she was exhilarated. For at last her role as a heroine was defined.
Time after glorious time, Rem had proved himself to be her hero: rescuing her, protecting her, cherishing her as he introduced her to a world of dazzling sensations. Now it was her turn. She would be the most valiant of heroines, restore to her hero the peace he craved, and at the same time, heal the scars he abhorred and guide him to the emotional exultation he never knew he yearned for.
Rem was in love with her. Sammy knew it. And once she'd fulfilled her role as his heroine, he would belong to her as totally as she already belonged to him.
Smoothing her bodice, Sammy reminded herself that Rem wasn't aware of the depth of his own feelings. Nor could she thrust them at him. She had to patiently, steadfastly, chip away at the debris surrounding his heart, until it was free of its restrictive burden.
But first she had to find its cause.
It didn't involve a woman. Rem had told her so himself the night they'd attended the opera. He'd implied that his cynicism was precipitated by something far more devastating than a woman's deception.
But what?
Perhaps their upcoming ride through Hyde Park could provide her with some answers ... if she asked the right questions, carefully and without triggering Rem's self-protective mechanism.